Riddled on the Sands (The Lakeland Murders) (30 page)

‘So this Miles Robinson is your arsonist?’ he said, when Jane had taken him through the email analysis.

‘He might be. The Home Office bod sent us that report, and he seems pretty sure.’

‘Not absolutely convinced though, is he? He says that the phrases aren’t especially indicative on their own, but that the broader stylistic similarities are striking.’

‘Exactly.’

‘The trouble is that, as he also points out, most of them are indicative of age and education. Saying ‘I shall’ instead of ‘I will’ for example, that’s more of an indicator of age than anything else. So even if we did get Robinson in the dock I can’t see it getting us far. His defence would just argue that all this proves is that we’re looking for someone older, and decently educated. Plus, it’s still a stretch from the letters to the arson, assuming that he continues to deny it.’

Jane found herself becoming irritated. ‘But surely we’ve got enough for a Warrant?’

‘Of course, Jane, I’m not saying that we haven’t. A bit of physical evidence would make a huge difference. And I might be wrong in saying that he won’t own up. A man like that, he’ll never have been interviewed under caution before, so you never know.’

‘No, he’ll deny it.’

‘What makes you so sure?’

‘I think he holds Perkins responsible for what’s happened to him. His business going bust, maybe even his wife’s death. I have a feeling that he has a fairly old-fashioned notion of justice.’

‘An eye for an eye, you mean?’

‘More or less. And who’s to say he’s so wrong?’

Jane knew Hall well enough to know that she’d get a rise out of him with that, even if it was a distinctly slow, careful one.

‘You don’t mean that, Jane. Is something wrong?’

‘Wrong? How do you mean, wrong?’

‘I don’t know. You seem a bit tetchy.’

Jane got up from the table so quickly that she knocked over her empty mug, and both of them reached out to grab it.  The both failed, but neither laughed when they realised that it was empty.

‘So you’re happy for me to get the Warrant and execute it today?’

‘Yes, if you can get enough trained folk together. It’s just his house, is it? He doesn’t have any outbuildings, other premises?’

‘Of course not. I would have mentioned it if he had, wouldn’t I?’

Hall was going to mention that he’d be home late, because he was going out to meet Ian and the team that evening, but he didn’t get the chance. Because Jane had turned on her heel before she’d even finished speaking. And somehow he doubted that Jane would have been interested anyway.

By the time Hall left for Flookburgh he was feeling tired, and a bit depressed. He couldn’t even listen to music as he drove, and he snapped off the news when an item about the new Police Commissioners came on. He didn’t want to raise his blood pressure any further.

As he drove Hall tried to tell himself that it was the Bell/Capstick case that was getting him down. He was bad at insulating his work from his life, and he knew it. But he also knew that this time work was only a contributory factor. Because while there was pressure on him to make progress he knew that the inevitable external review of the case, assuming no arrests were made in the near future, would take a positive view of his own work and leadership to date. He wasn’t as optimistic that a review would endorse his decision to mount such an expensive surveillance operation now, though, especially since the reviewing officer would have the benefit of twenty-twenty hindsight.

Hall felt himself losing confidence in the plan with every mile he drove. What if Vic Osman and his people were wrong, and no big shipment was coming in over the next few days? At well over ten grand a day all up Hall wouldn’t be able to keep everyone in place for more than a few days, so he might easily have to stand everyone down the day before the drop. It would be just his luck, he thought.

And would anyone really try the same plan twice, knowing that they’d been spotted the first time around? Usually Hall had no trouble putting himself in an offender’s place, given a particular set of circumstances, but he knew that he was always bad at assessing their tolerance of risk. Because, almost by definition, someone who had spent his entire working life in the Police would have a much lower risk-tolerance than a working criminal. So maybe that concern was unfounded, and they would try it again, especially if their person on the ground was convinced that the Police had withdrawn.

And there was one thing that Hall was still absolutely sure of. Whoever had stabbed Capstick knew him well, everything pointed in that direction, and Hall was sure that the few people he’d told, unofficially, that the investigation was being wound down wouldn’t keep it to themselves. So whoever that person was would already know what Hall had said to Betty Bell and Geoff Atkinson, and the apparent absence of Police in the village would only reinforce that lie.

But his thinking felt fractured, dull and tired, like there were things he was missing just on the edge of his vision, and he knew why that was. He’d lived with that feeling during the last year or two of his marriage, trying to insulate his working self from the rest of his life. It had worked, up to a point, and even in retrospect he was still surprised at how well he’d kept everything together, even as his marriage finally collapsed. But he hadn’t expected to feel that way again, and certainly not so soon. And just as he was starting to doubt his professional judgement Hall felt far from sure that he’d made a good decision about Jane, and he wondered if she was starting to feel the same way too.

So Hall was relieved when he pulled into the farmyard, and saw Mann swinging open the back door of the truck. It would be all work from now on, all details and decisions, and that was just what Hall wanted.

Wednesday, 3rd July

‘You are entitled to have a solicitor present, Mr. Robinson’ said Jane. ‘And you do understand that you’re under caution?’

‘I do.’

‘And you still maintain that you had nothing to do with the fire at Mr. Perkins’ garage?’

‘Absolutely. I have no knowledge of the event whatsoever. And I’m equally sure that your very intrusive search of my home proved fruitless.’

‘Not quite. You have a one gallon petrol can?’

‘Is that a statement or a question?’

‘A question.’

‘Then yes. I have a petrol-powered lawn mower, and the gardener fills the can up periodically, I understand.’

‘So you don’t handle the petrol can yourself?’

‘I will have done in the past. I used to cut the grass myself, but recently it’s got a bit too much for me to manage.’

‘How recently?’

‘I engaged the gardener last summer, during my wife’s final illness.’

‘And you haven’t purchased any petrol since then?’

‘That’s right. So you probably won’t find my fingerprints on the can, and certainly not any record of me buying petrol and putting it in the can, or any trace of fuel on my clothes or shoes. There’s bound to be some on my old gardening gloves and boots, because I wore those when I was grass-cutting myself, but they’ve not been touched in months.’

‘You could have worn other clothes, and disposed of them since the fire.’

‘And that’s an assertion, is it? Am I required to reply? There are any number of things that I could have done, but haven’t. I do hope that we’re not going to have to go through them all in turn.’

‘Have you destroyed or disposed of any clothing recently?’

‘No. I only buy new clothes when the old ones wear out, and that happens very seldom these days.’

Jane pushed a small pile of printed emails across the table.

‘And did you send these to Mr. Perkins?’

Robinson flicked through the pile.

‘I’d have to read them against the originals on my own computer to be sure, but at a glance they do look familiar.’

‘This is a copy of the letter that Mr. Perkins received, before the fire.’ Jane pushed it across and Robinson read it, quite slowly.

‘How very distressing for him.’

‘Do you recognise the stylistic similarities with your own emails?’

‘Not at first reading, no. Why, do you?’

‘Yes, we do. Our own expert says that it’s perfectly possible that you wrote this letter.’

Robinson smiled. ‘May I read this report? I have an interest in linguistics. The inevitable result of spending my life among books, I expect.’

Jane opened her file, and passed the report. It was less than one side of A4 in length. Robinson read it, then read it again. She could see his eyes flicking across the lines, and a slight smile starting to form too. He was home free, and that was the moment that he knew.

‘And you’ve gone to all this trouble, and no doubt expense, because of this document?’

‘No, not entirely. You must admit that your tone does become increasingly hostile during your email exchange with Mr. Perkins.’

The smile had faded, and Robinson looked angry now. ‘Young woman, my wife was dying while I was negotiating with Perkins. He knew that perfectly well. The whole business worried her terribly. I tried not to talk to her about it, but she insisted on knowing. But perhaps you’ll do me the courtesy of answering a simple question from me, perhaps even two.’

‘Go on.’

‘Do the emails, which you claim were written by me, make any threats of any kind against Perkins?’

‘No.’

‘And does your expert conclude that I am, definitively, the author of the letter that you just showed me?’

‘No, he doesn’t reach that precise conclusion. But he does think that you could be the author.’

It sounded feeble as soon as Jane said it. She needed to take control of the interview.

‘What do you think of Mr. Perkins?’

‘I barely know the man.’

‘Does he represent anything to you then?’

‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘Do you draw any wider conclusions or inferences, based on your interaction with Mr. Perkins?’

‘Now that, young woman, is an interesting question.’

Jane decided to push her luck. ‘And do you have an illuminating answer?’

‘Not really. I’m not a profound man. I wish I were. But as one grows older it’s inevitable that one becomes aware of standards slipping, of the world becoming a coarser, uglier place. But I’m sure that you’re far too young to have noticed that yet. But perhaps your colleague has?’ Robinson smiled at Ray Dixon, who hadn’t spoken since he’d been introduced to Robinson.

‘I’m old enough to have noticed’ said Jane. ‘Really, I am.’

‘Well then, has it ever occurred to you that it might be you that’s changing, rather than the world? That is an alternative explanation, especially because, throughout history, writers and thinkers have made the observation that the world had become a more violent, less attractive place since their youth. And they can’t all have been right, can they?’

‘I suppose not. So what’s your point?’

‘Simply that it’s very easy to assume that older people have a particular world view, in which they regard change as always being deleterious. But that’s a lazy assumption.’

‘So you’re saying that you didn’t dislike Mr. Perkins? That he simply represented a younger generation?’

‘I’m not saying that at all. I’m simply saying that I don’t believe that he represents anything.’

Jane had the strong feeling that she needed to keep Robinson talking, that he was about to open up.

‘So you did dislike him?’

‘Of course, but purely for what he was. Or rather, what he is. Not as an archetype, but as a human being.’

‘So how would you characterise him?’

‘I can only form a view based on his business dealings, of course. But I’d say he’s a thief, plain and simple.’

‘Because he bought cheaply from you and then sold the merchandise online? That sounds like good business, not theft, to me.’

‘No, not because of that. But because he stole from me, he quite literally stole from me. He took a number of signed books, some with dedications to me or my late wife, which I explicitly excluded from the sale.  I was very clear on that point. So what is that, if not theft?’

‘A mistake perhaps. I didn’t see any emails about this.’

‘I telephoned him, and called round to his house in Kendal.’

‘So you do know where he lives. And what did he say?’

‘He simply lied, and said that he hadn’t taken them. He implied that I was either confused or was trying to defraud him.’

‘So what did you do?’

‘I came here.’

‘To the Police Station?’

‘Yes, and I reported the matter. But I was told that it was a civil matter, and that there was nothing that you could do to help.’

Jane looked at Ray. ‘Can you remember the name of the officer who said this to you?’