The Fell Walker (16 page)

Chapter 25

The discovery that Mrs Fraser had the same left eye injuries as Tessa and Mrs Metternich was the stimulus Ben had been looking for. Up till then, he had been blowing hot and cold about the whole thing. Up one day, down the next; always feeling that it might not be worth the candle; always aware that he could pack it in and go fishing. Now he couldn’t. Mrs Fraser had changed all that.

Now he had something tangible to work with. Two people with the same injuries could be coincidental, but not three. And it hadn’t escaped his notice that all three were female. Was a second pattern starting to emerge? Time would tell. He jotted down: ‘7. All three female so far.’

This also kick-started the possibility that Jack Fraser had not been the main target. Maybe the fact that he was a government minister was totally irrelevant. Maybe, to the killer, he had been just another member of the public out walking with his wife. And it was his wife who interested the killer.

If this proved to be the case, it would be a big shock to Sophie Lund. She was convinced it was all about Jack, and politics, and the nuclear industry. She was counting on it.

At this stage, he decided, he wouldn’t be passing on any of these thoughts to Sophie Lund. As long as she didn’t have an answer, she would still be useful to him. He was still waiting for her ‘boys’ to send him the police records on each fatality, and maybe they could help with some future queries, as yet, unforeseen.

Ben had always felt that not enough attention had been paid to Mrs Fraser’s death; the media and the police being so absorbed with her famous husband. Was there something special about her? Was there something she had in common with Tessa and Mrs Metternich? Or was it just because they were female? Was there another sick Ripper-type out there?

It was probably going to be a long, painstaking, journey to find out. But now that he had something to really get his teeth into, he wouldn’t let go. He would work at it and worry it until he found the answer.

Before he could pick up the next set of reports, however, the phone rang. It was Bill Unwin making his routine call to check if he was okay for golf that afternoon. For the first time in his life, Ben felt he should forego the pleasure of a round of golf and a pint of ale. He should stay at his desk and get stuck into the remaining reports. But it was only a fleeting aberration. ‘See you on the first tee at two,’ he said.

*

Bill was waiting for him, practising his swing on the first tee.

‘Sorry I’m late, ‘Ben breathed, dragging his trolley alongside the tee. ‘Got caught up in something.’

The ‘something’ had been the arrival, by e-mail, of a huge quantity of police records relating to all the fatality incidents. Once again, the ‘boys’ had succeeded.

Before leaving for golf, Ben had quickly flicked through the pile and discovered that a large proportion of it was concerned solely with Jack Fraser’s case; the rest being mostly brief notes and statements covering, what were assumed to be, routine accidental deaths. It would seem, from what he had recently learned, that all that police effort had probably been misplaced.

He had managed to staple each police record to its relevant batch of documents already on his desk, and hurriedly hid them away, before dashing off to the golf course.

On the quiet drive to the course, the full implication of having those records surfaced again. He was certain that he was now a criminal.

He had got himself into this situation, initially due to his own inquisitive nature and a soupcon of lust, and later through underestimating Sophie Lund’s capabilities. Now, he was not only a criminal by deed, he actually felt like one. He felt guilty, and not a little sordid. He hoped none of it would show when he met his mate - the policeman.

*

After four holes of equal scoring, but unequal conversation, they set off after their drives down the long tree-lined fifth. Bill said: ‘You’re a bit quiet today...you okay?’

‘Yes...yes...’ Ben mumbled, as he made an exaggerated gesture of looking ahead for his ball. ‘Just a bit tired I think. Don’t know....’

‘Not getting enough sleep eh?’ Bill interrupted. It’ll be the worry of stealing all those police records.’

Ben stopped in his tracks, utterly shocked. He didn’t know what to say. Bill had continued walking ahead. He turned when he realised Ben had stopped. He could see by the look on Ben’s face that he had been taken seriously. ‘Just joking, Ben...sorry...no offence,’ he stammered. ‘It was just...with you asking me to get all that information for you, and Penrith telling me that we’ve had a few cyber hits recently...I mean, I knew it couldn’t be you...’

‘A few what? Cyber hits? What the heck are cyber hits?’

‘See,’ Bill laughed, slightly nervously, apparently bothered about upsetting his friend, ‘you don’t even know what cyber hits are...I knew it couldn’t be you.’

‘But you have just tested me, haven’t you?’ Ben was thinking quickly now, desperate to walk through the door Bill had left open for him. ‘I’m a bit surprised,’ he said firmly, trying to take the initiative. ‘I thought you knew me better than that.’

‘Yes...well...sorry mate...but you did push me hard for that information. Anyway, let’s forget it eh? I shouldn’t have brought it up on the golf course.’

Ben’s heart started to slow down. What incredible luck. He had been let off the hook. Just to make sure, he decided to go on the offensive to try to clear the suspicion once and for all. He picked up his step, and put on his most friendly smile.

‘I know as much about computers as you do about sinking putts over ten feet,’ he joked.

‘Hey, steady on,’ Bill laughed. ‘I have been known to sink a few. Let’s think...there was that one in 1983...and that one...’

‘Okay, I’ll grant you that,’ Ben said quickly. ‘You know
more
about putting than I know about computers.’

An unsteady silence followed. It was as though the subject had suddenly been closed by mutual consent, and neither knew what to replace it with. Ben sensed that Bill wished he hadn’t raised the subject in the first place, and was now feeling uncomfortable. Now was the time to ram home his ‘innocence’ and be magnanimous at the same time.

‘Tell me about this cyber hit business, Bill. Sounds intriguing. I take it from what you said that some unauthorised person has been accessing, or should I say stealing, some of your records. Does it happen often?’

‘You’d be surprised how often it’s happening,’ Bill explained. ‘I don’t see much of it myself, but the boys at Penrith HQ are always on about it. They reckon we should now treat the World Wide Web and the Internet as virtual city streets. They say that every criminal activity that takes place on our city streets is now also on the web, plus a few new ones. Apparently, we now employ a full time computer whiz kid at Central Records to watch out for cyber invaders would you believe. He’s nicknamed the cyber sleuth. It was him who informed us that our records had been hit recently. He is supposed to spot these attacks in advance and ward them off. Don’t ask me how; it’s all double Dutch to me. Seems he didn’t see the latest hits coming, says there’s some very clever opponents out there; computer boffins who’ve been lured into crime with big money.’

‘It sounds incredible,’ Ben said convincingly. ‘So now you’ve got virtual crime as well as real crime to deal with.’ He paused as they approached his ball and he took his shot with a two-wood. A low slingy slice left the ball well short of the green. ‘Still, it’s good for the old job security,’ he said lightly, trying to jolly things along. ‘Sounds like you’ll never be out of work.’

‘You can say that again,’ Bill agreed, tersely, before slamming a three-wood miles down the fairway. He seemed to have put extra venom in the shot.

They set off walking again. ‘I suppose it’s a pretty serious offence - stealing police records?’ Ben asked, trying to sound casual.

‘Very serious.’

‘What are we talking? A heavy fine?’

‘Let’s just say - if it had been you, you wouldn’t be tasting a Cumberland ale for a long time.’

‘My God! That is serious.’ Ben said it jokingly, but registered it with full gravity in his mind. He really could not afford to let Bill know anything about his dealings with Sophie Lund, or about his continuing investigations. Bill was already suspicious and was obviously as straight as a die. He would arrest him - friend or no friend.

He had been going to ask him if CID had reached a decision on whether or not to investigate the Metternich deaths, and if anything had happened since he brought the increase in fatality statistics to the notice of his oppo at Penrith HQ. But now he thought better of it. It would be wiser to let Bill think he had given up on his private detective work, and anyway, Bill would probably have offered the information by now, had there been anything to tell.

With a burgeoning workload, it was very unlikely that the police would drop their current priorities, which were no doubt based on sound evidence, to go chasing cases based on a member of the public’s concern about a few statistics.

The rest of the round passed pleasantly enough, the conversation finding its way out of the rough, back on to the smooth green of small talk. Not surprisingly, Bill won easily, and Ben had to buy the ale.

They had almost finished their pints when Bill said casually: ‘I take it you’ve dropped all that detective stuff about Tessa Coleman and the other fallers. You haven’t asked me anything about it today? I didn’t hear anything back from my oppo in Penrith by the way. To be honest, I didn’t expect to - they’re up to their eyes down there.’

‘Well, I’ve had to drop it haven’t I,’ Ben lied. ‘No information, no can do, it’s as simple as that. But I am keeping my eyes and ears open. I’m still convinced there’s something very suspicious about some of those falls.’

Bill leaned forward, and lowered his voice. ‘Look, mate, you might be right for all I know. And if you are, and you get involved, you could find yourself in danger. I haven’t been able to help you very much with the paperwork, but if you ever need any physical assistance, don’t hesitate to shout. We’re good at the strong-arm stuff.’

With that, he downed the dregs of his beer and took his leave.

Ben sat holding the remainder of his pint, puzzled. He didn’t know whether he had just had an offer of help or a warning to keep his nose out. Surely the police weren’t involved in a government cover-up, as Sophie Lund had suggested. He didn’t want to underestimate Bill Unwin the way he had Sophie Lund. Maybe the solid station sergeant was cleverer and more subtle than he seemed. Then again, maybe he was getting paranoid. He finished his ale quickly. He needed to get back home; to a warm fire and a cuddle from Helen; he needed a strong dose of normality.

*

Back home, the cuddle from Helen was comforting but brief. She had her usual pool staffing problems to deal with and was busy phoning around her existing staff, telling them about two new temporary pool lifeguards she had just taken on. Rearranging the shift rosters to accommodate the newcomers seemed to take ages, as each temporary staff member had other work and family commitments to take into account. Ben admired the way she went about it all calmly and persuasively, and usually came up with a satisfactory conclusion.

*

The following morning, after an unavoidable two-hour spell for the Tribune, Ben hastily retrieved the pile of documents from their hiding place and sat them on his desk. In spite of what might have been a warning from the police, he couldn’t wait to resume his examination of them.

Now that he had the police records, which contained the photographs taken by the mountain rescue teams, he possessed virtually all the records he had asked Sophie Lund to supply. He still found it hard to believe that she, and her ‘boys’, could produce such results.

From the police records he extracted the mountain rescue photographs of Tessa, Mrs Fraser and Mrs Metternich. In gruesome, bloody detail they confirmed that similar violent damage had been done to their left eyes. Tessa and Mrs Metternich also had similar left ear injuries. Mrs Fraser’s left ear was missing. The photographs of the two husbands, Jack Fraser and Professor Metternich, showed no such damage. So far, his theory was holding up.