Dead Man Walking (22 page)

Gemma climbed into the back seat and closed the door, while Heck fastened his seatbelt and started the car. Only then did he notice that she’d kicked her shoes off and was in the process of unbuttoning her blouse.

‘What’re you doing, ma’am?’

‘What does it look like? I’m getting changed.’

‘In here?’

‘Well there’s clearly no time for me to get settled into my room. Eyes front, if you don’t mind.’

‘We’re only two minutes from the nick.’ He turned the ignition and put the car in gear.

‘Drive slowly then.’

Not that there was much option about that. Thanks to the fog, they cruised laboriously up Truscott Drive, the rapid rustling of clothes from the back seat suggesting Gemma was working at a faster pace.

‘If you adjust that rear-view mirror one more time, sergeant, I’ll have you on a disciplinary,’ she snapped.

‘Sorry, ma’am. But I need to know what’s going on behind me.’

‘Yeah, I bet you do. Does this nice lady, Hazel, whose own crimes you’re mysteriously cuffing, know what she’s getting into, I wonder?’

‘Probably not.’

By the time they’d rolled up at the police station, Gemma had changed into jeans, walking boots, a hooded black sweat-top, and a black waterproof jacket. The nick was unlocked, Heggarty behind the front desk, stripped to his shirt-sleeves. He buzzed them through into the back office. Heck introduced Gemma, but the PC regarded her blank-faced – clearly the name ‘Gemma Piper’ meant nothing to him, though he acknowledged her rank with a curt, if surprised, nod. Half a second later, introductions were made again as Mick McGurk arrived.

‘Taken a turn around the village,’ he said, removing his hat and unzipping his hi-viz coat. He used a thick, hairy forearm to mop a sheen of sweat from his brow. ‘Nae’n around anywhere.’

‘No sign of Mary-Ellen either?’ Heck asked. ‘I see no Land Rover.’

McGurk gave a laconic shrug. ‘Didn’t see her, sarge.’

‘I don’t know where she is either,’ Heggarty said, though his tone implied this was a more complex question than Heck realised. ‘Is she still on shift, for instance?’

‘Shift?’ Heck replied.

‘Me and PC McGurk are officially on overtime now. I presume PC O’Rourke is too, but I see no overtime charts on the walls here. And as you’re her skipper …’

‘And is that your priority at present, PC Heggarty? How much you’re getting paid?’

‘People need to go home sometime, you know, sarge.’

‘
This
is Mary-Ellen’s home. She rooms in the flat upstairs.’

‘She’s nae there either,’ McGurk said. ‘We checked up there soon as we got here.’

Heck eyed Heggarty warily. On closer inspection, the rangy young constable didn’t just look the sort who’d be a stickler for procedure, but probably for workplace fairness as well; which would be reasonable enough in normal circumstances – there were far too many middle-aged, middle-management skivers in the police – but it was hardly a consideration at present.

Heck pushed past him and hit the playback button on the messaging machine. There were several missives waiting from Windermere Comms, none of which told him anything he didn’t know, apart from the last one.

‘DS Heckenburg … we’ve had a Met Office update. The fog’s definitely set to clear by mid-morning tomorrow. Maybe earlier. Mountain Rescue are going up into the Pikes at first light. The chopper will be in the air as soon as it’s safe. Probably around the same time …’

‘Jane Dawson will have been missing about thirty hours by then,’ Heck muttered, unable to contain his frustration.

‘We can’t control the weather, sarge,’ Heggarty replied.

‘There are also several search parties headed your way first thing tomorrow, though some are going up via Dungeon Ghyll as well. They include PSUs, off-duty officers, members of the public who’ve volunteered and even some Territorial Army lads who’ve been camping in the Kirkstone Pass, so we won’t be short on numbers. The low-level search will be under the control of Chief Inspector Dewhurst from Kendal. DI Mabelthorpe will be on his way up to Cragwood Vale first thing as well, with dog units, photographic and SOCO. The MIR’s down here at Windermere, but he wants to open a subsidiary Incident Room at the Cragwood Keld office … can you call us back and let us know if you don’t think that’s practicable?’

Heck glanced around the narrow confines of his small workplace. ‘Practicable, no … possible, probably.’

Heggarty was duly shocked. ‘They’ll be like sardines crammed in here, sarge.’

‘It’ll only be temporary …’ Heck glanced to Gemma for support, but she was now poking casually around the office, oblivious to the conversation.

‘Temporary or not,’ Heggarty said, ‘HR’ll go mad if the conditions aren’t conducive to …’

‘We’ve got a cellar too,’ Heck interrupted him. ‘Plenty of room down there if we chuck all the junk out.’

‘A cellar!’

‘Look, we’ll find somewhere. There’re cottages-to-let up at the Ho. We’ll commandeer one of those. Plenty light and ventilation there.’

‘But …’

‘I’m not doing CID admin’s job for them,’ Heck retorted. ‘If they can’t be arsed calling the Force Buildings Officer and checking the blueprints, that’s not my fucking problem. I’m much more concerned about the situation at Fellstead Grange.’

‘Perhaps it would help if you enlightened the two constables,’ Gemma suggested. Apparently she’d not been quite as distracted from the conversation as Heck had thought, though she’d now taken a dog-eared scrapbook down from the shelf above his desk; it was the scruffy old tome in which he kept mug-shots of all those murder victims he’d gained convictions for during his career. She leafed through it. ‘Put them in the picture, like …’

‘Erm, yeah, of course.’ In the whirlwind of recent events, Heck hadn’t stopped to consider there were some folk here who knew even less than he did. He filled the PCs in as quickly as he could, emphasising how vulnerable Annie Beckwith was, and how vulnerable Hazel probably was too, even though she’d gone up there gun in hand.

‘In that case, we should wait for armed support,’ Heggarty stated flatly. ‘I mean, if there are guns on the plot …’

‘There are guns on the plot anyway,’ Heck reminded him. ‘Our suspect has already shot someone … which is why SFOs are en route. Just don’t ask me when they’ll get here. They’ve got to travel all the way down from Penrith.’

‘But if this bloody madwoman’s carrying a loaded shotgun …’

‘Hazel is not a madwoman.’

‘It’s foggy, sarge … there could easily be a misidentification.’

‘So we proceed with caution. At the end of the day, she’s only got two slugs. If it’s really bothering you, Heggarty, make sure you’re the third man in.’

‘So you aren’t going to make any kind of formal risk assessment?’

‘I already have,’ Heck lied. ‘And it’s acceptable.’

‘Acceptable?’

‘We’re the police, Heggarty. Sometimes it’s beholden on us to take risks.’

‘It won’t look good if one of us gets injured …’

‘It’ll look even worse if two women die because we’re too busy watching our own arses.’ There was a long silence at this, Heggarty’s face tingeing bright red.

Gemma shoved the scrapbook back onto the shelf. ‘Anymore questions?’ she asked.

‘Yeah.’ This time it was McGurk. ‘We
all
going?’

‘Not this time,’ Heck said. It was tempting – strength in numbers again, but the landline at the nick was the only working phone they had, so it needed manning. The question was, who did he take? He assessed the two uniforms. Heggarty was the prig, and clearly the most likely to query instructions. In addition, he was young, inexperienced and a physical beanpole. Leaving him here, where he was out of the way, would be ideal. By contrast, dour combat-veteran McGurk would be much more use up on the fells, though he’d also be useful protecting the villagers here at Cragwood Keld. If something kicked off here and civilian lives were put in danger, did they really want Heggarty in charge?

‘PC McGurk,’ Heck said, ‘you okay holding the fort?’

McGurk shrugged. Which seemed to be his answer to almost everything.

‘Obviously report developments down to Windermere by the landline,’ Heck said. ‘Keep your eye on the pub too. It’s just the other side of the green, but that’s where the locals are gathered at present. And make your presence visible. Go round there once in a while. It’ll reassure them.’

McGurk nodded.

‘Keep the Astra too,’ Heck said as an afterthought. ‘PC Heggarty, you can ride with me and DSU Piper in the Citroën. Okay, everyone … let’s get cracking.’

Heck and Gemma filed back out of the station, Heggarty tagging at the rear, looking vaguely disconsolate as he re-donned his hat and hi-viz coat.

‘Thanks for the magnificent amount of help by the way,’ Heck said quietly.

Gemma didn’t look at him. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘When Citizen Smith back there was having a pop.’

‘Easy, sergeant. He’ll probably end up being Chief Constable.’

‘So will you, ma’am … most likely. But you weren’t exactly chucking your weight about when I needed it.’

‘And would it really have helped if I was? You know these guys. I don’t.’

‘I
don’t
know these guys.’ Heck unlocked the Citroën. ‘Not really.’

‘Anyway …’ Gemma slid into the front passenger seat. ‘You seem to have everything well in hand. Including the local landlady.’

He realised she’d spotted the calendar hanging next to his desk. It was a locally produced piece of promotional work on behalf of The Witch’s Kettle, depicting both Hazel and Lucy, looking uncharacteristically glamorous in bright make-up, short, tight dresses, high heels and fancy hair-dos, posed outside the hostelry on a glorious summer day; the tarn lay like a flat mirror behind them, vividly reflecting the azure sky and purple/green mountainsides.

‘Don’t tell me that’s bugging you?’ he smirked. ‘I mean … for real?’

‘No, but it’s interesting. In your former life there was never much time for love.’

‘Yeah, well in
this
life there’s plenty of time for everything. Until these last few days of course.’

Heggarty now clambered into the back seat, and they pulled away from the kerb, prowling west to Cragwood Road, and then heading north towards the Ho. As before, they could only advance at a frustrating crawl.

‘What’s that for?’ Heck asked, noticing through the rear-view mirror that Heggarty was inscribing something on a clipboard.

‘I don’t like to work directly into my pocketbook,’ Heggarty replied. ‘His eyes flirted towards Gemma, and he flushed. ‘Sorry about that, ma’am … it’s just to make sure I get everything right before it goes down on official paper.’

‘It’s okay, PC Heggarty,’ she replied. ‘They may not teach you that when you’re being puppy-walked, but I think it’s a good idea.’

‘I’m dead keen on good paperwork,’ Heggarty added. ‘Only like to hand mine over for inspection at the end of each shift when it’s bang-on. Every i dotted, every t crossed, spelling and grammar all present and correct.’

‘Like there’s not enough writing in this bloody job,’ Heck grunted.

‘You’d rather we ran around being totally unaccountable?’ Heggarty asked.

‘It’s not that,’ Gemma said. ‘It’s just that in his eighteen years in the job, DS Heckenburg’s form-filling skills have never been better than execrable. I know … I’ve had to sign most of them off.’

‘Paperwork’s a pain in the arse, I’d agree,’ Heggarty said. ‘But it’s a necessary evil and we’ve got to be professional.’

‘And what are you being professional about now?’ Heck asked him.

Heggarty tapped his clipboard. ‘We’ve already got a number of offences to look into. Obviously the assault on Tara Cook is the main subject of the enquiry. But there may be care and neglect issues around this old lady, Annie Beckwith. And then we’ve got the unlicensed shotgun, not to mention the fact it’s being carried around in public and may be loaded.’

‘The important thing, though, is to remember why we’re here,’ Gemma said.

‘Of course, ma’am.’

‘And not let ourselves get side-tracked.’

‘No … I understand that …’

‘It’s also important we get there in one piece.’ She glanced at Heck. ‘So why don’t we slow down a bit?’

Heck eased his foot off the gas, having not noticed they’d slowly accelerated to thirty miles per hour. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘if we meet Hazel coming the other way, or Mary-Ellen, I’ll be a happy bunny. Even if we hit them head-on.’

‘Well, writing cars off has always been a habit with you. At least this time it won’t be coming out of
my
budget.’

Gemma said this without humour, her eyes roving the turgid blackness enshrouding the car, occasionally narrowing as she caught fibrous hints of foliage along the roadside. In all the years they’d been work colleagues, and especially when they’d lived together as boyfriend and girlfriend, Heck had seen every kind of emotion from Gemma. This aloof ice-maiden was the image she reserved for television interviews or appearances before public inquiries, while the human spitfire was the one he and his fellow officers were more familiar with – Gemma did not suffer fools lightly. But he’d never seen her look afraid or even unnerved, and she’d faced down dozens of hardcore criminals in the past. Now however, perhaps for the very first time, she looked a little uneasy. It was possible that as an officer who’d seen most of her service in the big city, she was feeling like a fish out of water in this country wilderness, but perhaps she was also bewildered to have discovered that such conditions as these could actually exist in the real world.

‘We’re high up, here,’ Heck said by way of explanation. ‘If it’s not fog, we get low cloud. And then there’s the tarn. It’s ultra-deep and always freezing cold. We’ve had mist lying in this valley for hours after it’s cleared everywhere else.’

‘By the sounds of it, it hasn’t cleared anywhere just yet,’ she replied.

‘Fifteen hours to go, the Met Office reckons, ma’am,’ Heggarty piped up.

‘Hmmm,’ she agreed. ‘Sounds quick when you say it like that, doesn’t it?’

The first thing they noticed on arrival at the Cragwood Ho car park were the two empty vehicles sitting side-by-side: Hazel’s Renault Laguna and Mary-Ellen’s police Land Rover. Heck jumped out, checking all around both cars, but there was no sign of damage. They had simply been parked and locked. That was probably reassuring, though once again the strength of his concern for Hazel discomforted him slightly. It wasn’t like she was his wife, or even his girlfriend. They had an informal arrangement; that was all. Or so he kept telling himself.