Riddled on the Sands (The Lakeland Murders) (18 page)

‘I know, mate. It’s a bit of a bugger all round.’

They stood in silence for a while.

‘Come on’ said Mann eventually, ‘let’s go and get some lunch in the pub. Don’t know about you, but I’m bloody starving. Must be all this fresh sea air. Ozone, or whatever they call it nowadays.’

They’d barely ordered their drinks when Geoff Atkinson came in.

‘What are the chances?’ said Atkinson, looking surprised.

Pretty high, thought Hall, especially since you’ve been standing watching what’s been going on from your front window all morning.

They sat together at a table by the window. The pub was quiet.

‘No luck?’ asked Atkinson.

Mann shook his head.

‘Well, you’re not finished yet, are you? Your lads are still searching. Something might turn up yet.’

‘Like what?’ said Hall, and Mann was surprised at the edge in his voice. ‘An assault rifle, a shed-load of drugs, Jack’s bloodstained clothing? They’re all long gone, Geoff.’

‘So where does it go from here?’ asked Atkinson. ‘You can’t be giving up on Pete Capstick?’

‘Of course not. Give up on him and we might as well close the file right now. We’ve got bugger all else to go on. But we’re just going to have to accept that we’re not going to be able to link him forensically to the killings. My guess is that whoever did it was careful to keep him well away from Jack’s body, and from any drugs or whatever it was they were shifting. We’ve bagged and tagged all his outdoor gear, and anything that looked like it might be worth examination, and it’ll probably keep the lab busy for a month. But we’ll get nothing, I’ll bet you. If I’m right, Pete was just small-fry, if you’ll excuse the pun, and his only job was to drive the stuff back to the shore, nothing more. And I still think it’s possible that this was his very first time, in which case he may not even have seen what was being smuggled.’

A waitress brought over their lunches, and Mann and Hall ate fast and hungrily. Hall went and ordered coffees for them all from the bar, and Mann nipped out to check on progress at Capstick’s cottage. He wasn’t gone long.

‘Nada. The lads are just packing up. I said thanks.’

‘OK, thanks’ said Hall. ‘I feel like a total tit, but there’s nothing to be done now. So let’s assume that we turn up nothing on Capstick today, maybe because of the reasons I said. How do we nail him? That’s the question, isn’t it?’

‘Well, if we’ve got no forensic or information trail then we’ll have to connect him to someone else who’s involved’ said Mann. ‘I can’t see any other way.’

‘Exactly. All we’ve got left is that we know Capstick’s connected to what happened to Jack, even in some relatively insignificant way, so we have to go back to him. Ian, when we get back to the office let’s start to look at Capstick’s activity in the weeks before Friday the 14th. Did he go away anywhere? Did he meet anyone? Was anyone new seen around the village?’

‘That hasn’t happened since 1968’ laughed Atkinson. ‘And it turned out that bloke was lost.’

Hall smiled, but Mann didn’t. ‘Ray’s already looked at that, Andy. He’s got nowt.’

‘Then he needs to look harder’ said Hall. This time even Atkinson picked up his tone. ‘I’m sorry’ Hall apologised immediately, ‘it’s just the bloody early start talking. You’re right, Ian, of course you are. Ray will have done a thorough, careful job. So let’s look at this another way. Capstick doesn’t have any history of criminal activity, and other than Geoff here he’s never mixed with the wrong crowd. As far as we know he’s just fished for money, and drunk for England. Correct?’

‘Aye’ said Atkinson. ‘That’s about it. Although he wasn’t always a drinker, mind.’

‘Fair enough. So let’s ask ourselves this question: it doesn’t matter whether we’re talking drugs, human trafficking, whatever it is that he’s mixed up in, the question we have to ask ourselves is how did he get involved in the first place? What was the process? Did he approach someone else, or did they approach him?’

‘Got to be the second one’ said Mann. ‘It’s much more likely that someone tapped him up.’

Hall turned to Atkinson. ‘Geoff, what do you think?’

‘I agree with Ian. Pete’s no bloody criminal, not by nature anyhow.’

‘Yes, I think so too. A pissed up, almost reclusive net fisherman living and working in a little Cumbrian village just doesn’t make connections with serious organised criminals, even if he wants to. So we can safely assume that he was approached, can’t we?’

‘Aye’ said Mann, ‘but where does that take us?’

Hall pushed away his coffee cup. ‘I think the gang must have a local contact, maybe even a local member. Someone who knows the patch, the people, and who knew that Pete was perfect for the job. He’s weak, vulnerable even, but he knows the sands like the back of his hand, and he has every reason to go on and off the Bay. He doesn’t need to do anything remotely covert. So how easy would it be for him to bring whatever it is off the sands, and then this other gang member just collects it later?’

‘But Andy’ said Atkinson, ‘we’ve got a few bad lads round here, I won’t deny it, but there’s no-one in this league, is there? I certainly don’t know of any.’

‘You’re right, Geoff. There’s no-one. So two possibilities occur. One is that someone has gone up in the world, so we need to look again at all the usual suspects who live within five or ten miles of here, and the other is that we’ve got a clean skin. Someone with no record, but who is somehow properly connected to whatever’s going on here.’

Mann nodded.

‘So which do you think is more likely?’ asked Atkinson.

Hall turned to him. ‘Well, the whole lot is conjecture, isn’t it? I may just be pissing in the wind here. But given that we’ve been swarming all over this place for a fortnight, and that there’s a fifty grand reward from the fisherman’s co-op for information, the total lack of progress tells me that we’re dealing with a cool customer. Someone who knows how to keep their head down, and their mouth shut. But I’ll tell you one thing. If I’m right, that person knows Pete Capstick pretty well.’

Hall was looking at Atkinson as he said it, and Atkinson realised that Mann was too.

‘Don’t look at me like that, lads’ he said, and they all laughed.

‘Come on, Ian’ said Hall. ‘Let’s go and wake Capstick up. Let’s get a list of everyone he says he knows, and we’ll talk to the whole bloody lot of them.’

‘Even me?’ asked Atkinson.

‘Especially you, Geoff. Especially you. Seriously, then we need to do the usual. Ask everyone on the list who else Capstick knows, or has seen recently, and let’s see if we make any interesting connections. You never know, we could get lucky. And the other thing is to keep the pressure on him. He’s bound to realise how much attention we’re paying him and why, no matter how much he tries to drink it all away, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he owns up, and soon.’

‘What makes you say that, Andy?’ asked Mann.

‘We know his drinking’s got worse, don’t we? Our working hypothesis is that he’s new to this game, whatever it is, and we know for sure that he’s no kind of career criminal. He’s frightened, of course he is, because he very probably saw his mate get gunned down out there. But maybe he’s also worked out that his new friends might well make sure that a fishing accident befalls him in the not too distant future, which wouldn’t surprise me at all, and that he’d at least feel better if he told us the lot.’

‘You want me to have a chat with him?’ asked Geoff. ‘Say pretty much that, like. It might persuade him to talk.’

‘No, thanks, it would need to be Ian. But give it a day or two yet. I’d rather let the pressure build a bit more first. It would be much better if he came to us, and I really don’t think that’s impossible. He might work the situation out for himself.’

‘Clutching at straws a bit though, aren’t we?’ said Mann. ‘I could get him back in tomorrow, and tell him how it is. Lay out his options for him.’

‘I’m sure you could’ said Hall. ‘But, like I say, let’s really focus on him and his circle for a few days. Where he’s been, both before and after Bell’s death, who he knows, any changes in his pattern of behaviour. I know we’ve done lots of it already, but let’s do all of it again, and do plenty more on top. That sat-phone call is all we need to justify the additional cost, because without it we’d have to go into ongoing enquiry mode, and you all know what that means.’

‘No enquiry at all’ said Atkinson.

‘Pretty much. But we’re not in that situation yet, not by a long chalk, and all because Capstick probably didn’t do what his mates told him to, and he made that call using his own phone.’

‘You want us to set up an observation on him, too?’ asked Mann. ‘Might be worth it.’

‘Yes, it very well might be worthwhile, but we’d need more to go on. An indication that he was currently active, say, and that seems unlikely. My guess is that Capstick’s little jaunt out on to the Bay that night was his last ever trip, even if it wasn’t also his first. The kind of pros that we seem to be dealing with here would never risk using him again, I’m sure of it.’

‘But what if they try to take him out?’

Hall nodded. ‘I agree, that’s a risk, but Gorham would never wear the cost. You’re talking about upwards of five grand a day to do anything worthwhile, and we just don’t have that kind of money. So I’m afraid Pete Capstick is on his own, unless he decides to do the right thing. He got involved with some really scary people, and now he’s got to face the consequences. And he’s got to do it all alone, at that.’

Jane put the phone down, and then looked at it for a moment. ‘What a dick’ she said, to no-one in particular.

‘Andy, was it?’ said Dixon, from across the office.

Jane wasn’t in the mood, so she didn’t take the bait. She just filled out the online form, saying where she was going, and why, and grabbed her car keys.

‘How many days is it now?’ she said to Ray as she passed his desk, and regretted it straight away. She almost went back to apologise, and she stopped at the top of the stairs for a second, wondering why she’d been so cruel. But then she carried on, and walked quickly out to her car.

When she got in she found her phone, and texted Ray. That made her feel a bit better. And by the time she reached Penrith she felt fine, and was even thinking about picking up a few tasty treats from the deli in the square. She knew Andy would appreciate that.

She parked outside the house, and looked at it. She could just see herself and Andy in an Edwardian villa like this, rather than that functional housing-estate box that he’d bought his kids up in. But they’d be gone soon, at least for most of the year, and she reckoned that somewhere like this would do nicely. It would be good to get Andy out of Kendal, and at the very least out of that house, and she meant to make sure that it happened.

She knocked at the glossy green door and waited. The sandstone step was slightly worn in the middle, and she liked that. When the door opened Jane was surprised, not at the voice, which would have sounded angry saying ‘thank-you’, but at the body. The man was small and wiry, and she’d expected a burly, red-faced bloke.

‘Couldn’t you have just sent someone from Penrith? Your HQ is only a mile away you know, but you’ve driven all the way from Kendal. Using our petrol, not your own, I’ll bet. It’s a bloody disgrace.’

Jane could feel her good mood fading as quickly as it had arrived.

‘Mr. Anderson, could I come in? Perhaps we could have a cup of tea, and a chat?’ Jane smiled, but it didn’t seem to be having any effect. But she was wrong. It had.

‘Aye, of course, come in. It’s that little creep you’re interested in anyway, and I knew he was a wrong ‘un. Face like a weasel sucking a lemon. What’s he been up to, then?’

‘Perhaps I could tell you inside?’

Anderson stepped back, and Jane followed him in to the house. It was a bit of a disappointment when she saw how it was decorated, but then she’d already imagined it just the way she wanted it to be.

Anderson set about making them tea.

‘So what’s he done, then? Fraud, I bet.’

‘No, Mr. Anderson. He was victim of a crime, arson in fact, not the perpetrator.’

‘As far as you know.’

Jane smiled. ‘That’s right. You didn’t read about it in the paper then? Someone set fire to his garage, his stock-room if you like.’

‘No, I didn’t know. Shame about one thing though.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That he wasn’t in it.’

‘You don’t mean that, Mr. Anderson.’

‘Don’t I? But he wasn’t inside it, I take it?’ Jane shook her head. ‘Probably just kids then, round them garages.’

Suddenly Jane wasn’t thinking about interior design any more. ‘How do you mean, round them garages?’

‘Just a figure of speech, like.’

‘Have you ever been to Mr. Perkins’ house?’

‘No, of course not. I just sold him some stock, or rather he stole it off me.’

‘Stole it from you how, exactly?’

‘He messed me about for weeks, until I had to sell. He knew that, and he just played me along, the unscrupulous little bastard. Nice stuff it was, too. There should be a law against it.’

‘What kind of stuff?’

‘Lighting. Lamp shades, bases, bulbs, all sorts. That’s what my shop used to sell. But I thought it was him you’re interested in, not me.’

Jane heard something in his tone that she didn’t much like.

‘I’m investigating the fire, and also some threatening letters that were sent to Mr. Perkins.’

‘Well, they’ve got nothing to do with me. Like I said, it was probably just kids.’

‘Do you have children, Mr. Anderson?’

‘No. What’s that got to do with anything? First the questions are about Perkins, now they’re about me all of a sudden. What’s this all about, eh?’ He had stopped making tea. The kettle had boiled, but the pot stayed dry. Jane got the message. She didn’t have long.

‘Children don’t really send letters, do they, Mr. Anderson? Not these days.’

‘How do you know that the person who sent the letters started this fire?’

Jane smiled. ‘We don’t.’ She paused. ‘Did you send those letters, Mr. Anderson? If you did, and you didn’t start the fire, it would be sensible to tell me now. It would save us both a good deal of trouble. I can’t promise, but I expect you’d only receive a caution. But the arson is different. Whoever did that will be going to jail when we catch them.’

‘If you catch them, more like. And of course I didn’t send them. What do you take me for?’

‘But you were angry with Mr. Perkins?’

‘He’s a thief, no better than an opportunist thief. He picked his time. So aye, I’m angry, with him and plenty more besides. Who’s going to look after my customers now? Not some bloody cowboy on the internet, that’s for sure. This country’s going to the bloody dogs, and that little mongrel is one of the worst of the lot.’

Jane tried not to smile, but she’d rarely seen anyone become quite so visibly angry quite so quickly. She couldn’t see Anderson sending threatening letters. He didn’t have the patience for it.

‘So did you confront Perkins about what he’d done? I read your emails to him, and they were pretty angry.’

‘Aye, but there’s no law against that, is there? Of course I was angry. But no, I haven’t seen him again, not since the day he turned up in a van and took my stock away.’

Jane made a note. ‘So you don’t think that perhaps you’re blaming Mr. Perkins for what happened to your business? You know, transferring your anger?’

Jane realised immediately that she’d said the wrong thing, and instinctively she reached for her bag.

‘What are you, a copper or a bloody psychiatrist? I told you, the man’s a bloody thief, that’s why I was angry. Now get out of my house, and don’t come back. I’m pleased that someone has burned all his stock, and I hope he goes bankrupt. He deserves it. Now what are you going to do, bloody arrest me?’

Five minutes later Jane was in the deli, thinking hard about which kind of olives to buy. And she spent most of the drive back to the station deciding how she’d lay the kitchen out in Anderson’s house. The old fool had it all wrong.

Thursday, 27th June

Jane hadn’t talked about work the previous evening, and neither had Andy. But as they drove into work that morning she said that she needed ten minutes to chat through the Perkins arson case, and Hall hadn’t hesitated, not even for a moment, before he agreed. She’d heard that the Bell case was pretty much becalmed, and she knew that Hall would be trying to come up with a way of getting it moving again, so she appreciated the fact that he didn’t even think about trying to put her off. But, she thought as they drove, he’d probably seen her question coming anyway, and had thought about his own response in advance.

When they got to the office Hall made a round of teas, had a quick chat with Ian Mann, and then he and Jane sat at the meeting table in his office.

‘So how’s the Perkins case file looking then, Jane?’

‘Thin. His customer files turned up bugger all. No disgruntled punters living locally, and I had a few with records checked out by other forces. They’ve all reported back, and drawn a blank. But I did look at a couple of the people he’s bought stuff from, because a few are local, and larger sums were involved as well.’

‘Good idea. Anything?’

‘I’m not sure. One of the vendors has moved away, possibly abroad, so I’m counting him out for now. I’ve talked to two other local men, one in Kirkby Lonsdale, an older chap, seemed harmless enough. And there’s one other, up in Penrith. Bit of a temper on him, but he doesn’t seem likely either.’

‘OK, Jane, so tell me this. Have you spotted any emails, from anyone at all, that match the style of that letter?’

‘No, none of them do.’

‘Have you seen all of Perkins’ complaints?’

‘He says I have, but I can’t be certain. He sent over the ones he could find.’

‘Doesn’t want us poking around on his computer, eh? A surprisingly wise decision.’ Hall thought about it for a moment. He picked up his mug, and put it down again. ‘So here’s an idea. Why not take a few phrases from the letter and ask Perkins to search his entire email trail, looking for any of them, in all or in part? We all have stylistic tics, so you might get lucky.’