Separated at Death (The Lakeland Murders) (19 page)

‘Who did we get in the lucky dip?’ asked Hall.

‘Simon Hamilton. Just seemed sensible for us to stick to the immediate family. And I didn’t think a sensitive soul such as yourself should have to meet an undertaker.’

Hall smiled, but he wondered if it was a bit of a dig. However, after a working life as a copper even Andy Hall had developed a little bit of a hide.

‘Is he at home?’

‘Just spoke to his wife, and he’s expected home any time now.’

‘Then let’s go.’

They drove out of Kendal on the Crook road, Hall obeying the speed limit all the way. The sat-nav got them to Hamilton’s postcode, then they drove slowly until they saw his house name at the end of a long drive. Hall could see the light reflecting off Windermere ahead of them.

‘There must be money in MDF’ said Mann.

‘I think there used to be’ said Hall. ‘But it wasn’t MDF back then, all solid timber.’

‘You sound just like my dad’ said Mann.

Simon Hamilton answered the door when Mann rang the door bell. As they’d pulled into the drive Hall’s headlights illuminated a Porsche coupe and a Mercedes estate, and even in the fading light they both looked as if they’d just been driven off the forecourt.

‘I have my doubts about anyone whose car is that clean’ said Hall. Mann kept his mouth shut.

Hamilton introduced his wife, Sarah, who immediately went to the kitchen to make coffee. They were both well dressed, and Hall thought that Simon Hamilton looked a lot younger than his brother. But it was partly the clothes, which Hall, although forbidden from his children from any fashion-related comments, thought were a bit too young and ‘street’ for Hamilton. In particular he noticed his shoes, which he thought were a good deal too pointy for comfort.

‘I hear that you’ve arrested my brother. You can’t possibly believe that he had anything to do with my niece’s death. That could never happen.’

‘We were hoping that you could help us with something in particular’ said Hall.

‘Anything, if it helps my brother to prove his innocence.’

‘Have you been round to your brother’s house since it happened?’

‘Yes, of course, I was there on Thursday. For about an hour, soon after he got the news about Amy.’

‘Was anyone else there?’

‘Let’s see. There was Amanda, John’s daughter Lucy and our mum. I think that was all. Things were pretty fraught as you can imagine.’

‘And can you remember which rooms you were in?’

‘Which rooms?’

‘Yes, which rooms did you spend time in?’

‘Let me think.’

Sarah Hamilton came into the room with their drinks, and put them down on the coffee table. Although the house looked to Hall as if it was built between the wars the furniture was all very modern, and it didn’t look as if any of it came from the family’s shops. Sarah showed no sign of wanting to stay in the room. ‘Why don’t you stay, Mrs Hamilton?’ said Hall.

She smiled briefly, and sat down. She busied herself with the coffee, offering milk and sugar to Hall and Mann.

‘I think we were all in the kitchen, and the living room’ said Hamilton. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s it.’

‘You didn’t go upstairs?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

‘You don’t think so?’

Hamilton was very aware that both policemen were watching him closely.

‘I’m sure.’

‘And were you in any of those rooms on your own? Take your time.’

‘No, I don’t think so. I’m sure. I wasn’t.’

‘Thanks’ said Hall. ‘We’ll need you to pop down to the station at some time in the next day or so and sign a statement to that effect.’ Hall looked around the room. ‘This is a lovely house, Mrs Hamilton. Have you been here for a long time?’

‘We moved in about six years ago.’

‘Managed to catch the top of the market with this place too’ said Simon Hamilton. ‘But they aren’t making this view anymore, so I’m confident the price will come back.’

Hall got the impression that Sarah Hamilton had heard this before.

‘Still, a home isn’t just about money, is it?’ said Hall, looking at Sarah. She didn’t reply. They all sipped their coffee.

‘Do you see much of your brother?’ asked Mann, putting his cup down. He had never seen the point of cups and saucers.

‘Not much lately. I’m in Manchester a lot these days, and you probably know that I’m not involved in the family business anymore.’

‘That must have been a wrench’ said Hall.

‘No, not really. I can’t see a future in high street retail, full stop. And my brother hasn’t really moved the business on. I’ve never been one for history either. I’d rather build something on my own.’

‘And that’s your property empire?’

‘I wouldn’t call it an empire. But yes, and funny enough the only value I can see left in the family business is the property portfolio. Furniture shops tend to be big, and often have big yards and outbuildings, so the firm has got some very decent sites, all owned outright.’

‘But isn’t that a bit of a happy accident?’ said Hall. ‘Presumably your family built up their property holdings in the course of business, and over a pretty long period of time. It always strikes me that people usually make money on property by accident.’

‘That’s a very shrewd comment Inspector’ said Hamilton. ‘Have you got a buy-to-let portfolio tucked away by any chance?’

‘Sadly not sir. Don’t even own my own shoes. No, the Police pension and an occasional go at the Lottery, that’s my lot.’ Hall didn’t know why he’d said that, because he’d never played the Lottery. It all went very quiet. ‘Thanks again Mrs Hamilton’ said Hall, ‘we’ll leave you to enjoy your evening in peace. Would you mind if I used your loo before you go?’

‘That reminds me’ said Simon Hamilton suddenly. ‘I think I used the loo at John’s house.’

‘Upstairs or downstairs?’

Hamilton hesitated for a second. ‘Downstairs. Yes, I’m sure it was downstairs.’

On the way back to the station Mann called Jane and asked for the details of what John Hamilton had said about his brother’s visit.‘Yes, he confirms what Simon is saying. Didn’t mention him using the loo, but otherwise it all ties up.’

Hall sighed. Exhaustion was really starting to catch up, and he was dazzled by headlights of cars coming the other way. He dropped Mann off at the station and drove home listening to The Low Anthem. He pulled into the drive, turned the engine off, and sat until the cold really started to bite.

Ryan had been sitting in his mum’s old Fiesta since soon after ten that morning. He didn’t care if Adam was the devil incarnate, there’s no way that Wayne would be up earlier for anyone.

By two in the afternoon Ryan was regretting not spending more time in bed himself. There’d been no movement at all at Wayne’s house. He’d played so many games on the new phone he’d bought with most of the rest of his £500 that the battery was almost flat.

Every time a car came down the street he slid down in his seat, but he’d parked between an old Nissan with two flat tyres and a kitchen fitter’s van, so he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be spotted anyway. And since he didn’t know what Adam looked like then there had to be a good chance that Adam wouldn’t recognise him either.

It was half three before anything happened. The kids had made their way past him on the way home from school, walking slowly in groups of two and three, before he saw the motorbike. There were plenty of bikers round about, but they tended to ride sports bikes with fairings, and this was a big, off-road ready sort of bike. Not that it looked as if it went off road much, if at all.

Ryan thought he’d got his hopes up for nothing when the bike passed Wayne’s house, but a couple of minutes later he saw it in the rear view mirror, stopped on the opposite side of the road fifty metres down the road. Ryan couldn’t tell if the bike was still running, but the rider was still on it, and his helmet was on. Another minute went past, then the rider put the bike on its stand and walked towards Wayne’s house. His crash helmet was still on, and Ryan slid down in his seat as the man walked past.

Something about the bike, and the expensive looking leathers, told Ryan that this bloke wasn’t local, and sure enough he walked straight up to Wayne’s door. It opened immediately and the man stepped inside.

So this was Adam. Had to be. Ryan made a snap decision, got out of the car and walked back, behind the parked van, and then crossed over to look at the bike. He snapped a quick picture of the number plate with his phone, and walked round. It looked nearly new, expensive, and well cared-for. It certainly didn’t look like a drug courier’s bike.

Ryan didn’t hang around, and was soon glad he hadn’t. He’d already decided to try to follow Adam, although he noticed that the Fiesta’s fuel gauge was almost in the red, so he better not be going far. Ryan was sure that Adam would go back the way he’d come in to the estate, because the other way just went further in, so he started the car and drove up to near the exit on to the main road. And he’d only been there for a couple of minutes or so when the bike came up the road.

The bike turned right onto Windermere Road, heading towards the Lakes, and Ryan pulled out behind. Adam rode towards the middle of the road, and within the speed limit. For a second Ryan was reminded of a police motorcyclist. Surely he couldn’t be a copper? Ryan wouldn’t put anything past them.

At Plumgarths roundabout the bike indicated well in advance, and took the Crook road. Ryan was now right behind the bike, so he fell back a bit. Adam was obviously a cautious man, but Ryan doubted that he’d notice an old, locally registered Fiesta trundling along behind him.

The fuel warning light soon came on, and Ryan was a bit surprised that it still worked. He’d give it to Bowness he decided, or maybe as far as Newby Bridge if he went south, or the Lakes School if he was further going into the Lakes. When they got onto the main road again there’d be more traffic to stay behind anyway.

The bike turned left when it got to the lake road, but within half a mile turned right, down a drive to a few lakeside houses. Ryan didn’t follow, but drove back to Bowness and parked up. He walked to the chipper, which had only just opened, bought a large bag of chips and sat in the car eating them. He was hungry, and the first few burned his mouth he ate them so fast.

When he’d finished he walked down to Ferry Nab, to see if there was a path along the shore of the lake to the houses. As he expected there wasn’t, so he walked along the main road instead, and when nothing was coming either way he ran quickly into the drive, then slowed and walked instead.

The houses were large and far apart, and they just got bigger the nearer the water he got. Ryan thought about his excuse if he was asked what he was doing, because this certainly looked like a neighbourhood watch kind of area. He decided to go for window cleaner’s mate, dropped off to collect money. Maybe one of the nosey bastards might even pay him.

But no-one came out, so Ryan walked as far as the last house, whose far side must have had uninterrupted views of Windermere. He’d seen no sign of the bike, nor of Adam. So he started walking back, and as he passed a gravel drive he noticed a distinctive tyre track, just one, and it was most definitely a motorbike.

He looked up at the house. Adam must be an ace drug dealer. No wonder he wanted to keep his identity secret from bottom-feeders like him. But as he walked back up the long drive and along the verge back to Bowness Ryan had another idea. What if Adam had come from money to drugs, and not the other way round? That might also explain why Adam tried so hard to keep out of sight.

And Ryan realised that maybe this showed Adam’s weakness, rather than his strength. Because all that cloak-and-dagger stuff was fine when things were going well, but a proper hard man wants his people to know who he is when he needs to keep them in line, so they’ll recognise the man with the fists, or maybe the knife, when they see him.

As he drove slowly home Ryan reckoned that he’d done a good day’s work. He didn’t know Adam’s name, but he knew his address, because where Adam lived houses had names, not numbers. He also had the registration number of the bike, and the name of the dealership it came from, because that was written on the numberplate. So getting Adam’s real name was going to be easy. And if Adam was just some rich bloke who wanted a bit of excitement then Ryan was beginning to think of a few ways that he could provide some.

Hall had woken several times in the night, and thought he’d heard his wife come in at about two. But he wasn’t thinking about her, he was thinking about John Hamilton in the cells that night. What if he wasn’t guilty? How would he be feeling in that case? And how would he be feeling if he was?