Death on High (The Lakeland Murders) (5 page)

He enjoyed the drive to Ambleside too, listening to the Drive-By Truckers nice and loud. He sang along, well out of tune, and decided he’d definitely go for a walk after he’d seen Dougie Quayle. He found a parking space in the Rescue team’s yard, and Quayle was the only person in the big shed, where the vehicles were neatly parked up in line. He was older than Hall had expected, almost his own age but thin and grey bearded, and he seemed to be checking through coil after coil of rope.

‘Some of our members put gear back in the wrong place, even though I always tell them to check. It drives me mad. You must be Inspector Hall.’

‘Andy Hall, yes.’

‘What can I do for you Andy? It’s about that fatal on Fairfield isn’t it?’

‘Yes. I wanted you to tell me what happened.’

‘Not much to tell really. We took the call, and couldn’t call the helo in because the vis was terrible, and getting worse all the time. We were eight up, I can give you the names if you want, and because it was a Sunday we were away from here double quick. Probably within ten minutes of the shout. We drove to Rydal Mount, on up the valley as far as we could, then walked in from there. So we came at the casualty from below, although I sent one of the lads up to the top. He’s a fell runner, one of the best, so he was up in no time. We sent the dog up the scree slope ahead of us, and sure enough Jasper went straight to the casualty. He was in a bad way. Anyway, we got him back to our vehicle, then out to the ambulance. But we didn’t think he’d make it to be honest. We see too many fallers, as you’d expect, and you do get to know how bad they are when you see them.’

Hall thought about what Quayle had said, and decided to ask an open question.

‘Did anything about the incident strike you as unusual?’

‘Not really. Sadly we had a fell runner collapse very close to the point where our casualty fell a year or two back, and we’ve had a few other incidents on that route over the years. It’s one of the busiest walks in the Lakes. Some days I don’t know why they do it. Manchester is probably quieter.’

‘What about falling from Hart Crag, down into the valley? It looks like a long way.’

‘It certainly is. Got to be a thousand foot, and very steep. We had to scramble and climb up to the casualty. He was about half way up, in amongst the rocks. His head was pretty bad, and we didn’t have a doctor with us, so we did what we could to stabilise him and brought him down. But now you come to mention it I suppose it is unusual that he fell where he did. We do get people falling off the edges, where there are long falls on both sides, but most people are sensible when there’s a huge flat top on one side and a drop on the other, like there is on Fairfield. It’s just common sense really. But, like I said before, when you do this job you quickly get to learn that some people leave their common sense at home.’

‘So you haven’t had to rescue anyone from that position before?’

‘Not to my knowledge, no.’

‘And lots of people do that route?’

‘Even in the winter, on a pretty poor Sunday like that one was, I’d expect it to be in to the hundreds.’

Hall thought for a moment.

‘Did Mr. Harrison seem well equipped for the job?’

‘Yes, he did. I always notice that. He was properly dressed and I remember that he was wearing very good boots, I have a pair just the same myself, and they’d been re-soled relatively recently. We didn’t look inside his sack, but it seemed to be well packed with everything you’d need for a day on the fells.’

‘So he didn’t strike you as being the risk-taking type?’

Quayle suddenly looked slightly uncomfortable.

‘No. No, I suppose he didn’t. Look Andy, where is this going?’

‘Just background. And nothing struck you as unusual about the nature of his injuries, or how you found him?’

‘No, his injuries were exactly what you’d expect from someone who’s fallen several hundred feet down rocky scree. He was a mess. But we were slightly surprised to find he’d fallen so far. He must have taken quite a header over the edge. I remember a couple of the lads mentioning it actually, and I agreed with them.’

‘Do you happen to remember which way the wind was blowing?’

‘Don’t think there was much above a light breeze, even at the top. It wasn’t all that cold, so I’m guessing a westerly or nor’westerly. I can check if you like, but if I’m right the wind wouldn’t have been a contributory factor.’

‘What might have been?’

Quayle put down a coil of rope, and looked up at Hall.

‘Overconfidence maybe, and a bit of bad luck. Walk right at the edge, slip on a wet rock or a piece moves under you, and that’s all it takes to send you straight over the edge.’

‘Thanks very much Dougie, I’ll leave you to your ropes.’

Quayle nodded, and looked keenly at Hall.

‘So is this an official call then? Something I need to enter into our log?’

‘No, no, just satisfying myself on a few points.’

‘I see’ said Quayle, though his expression said otherwise.

Hall realised that he didn’t have time for a proper walk, so when he got back to Windermere he turned right and followed the road down the lake. He parked in the car park below Gummers How, and strolled up to enjoy the view across the lake and to the wooded hills beyond.

Even after all these years he still felt privileged to live and work in the Lakes, even though his born-and-raised colleagues hardly even seemed to notice the beauty of the landscape most of the time. But as Hall stood at the top of the How he too was guilty of thinking about what Quayle had said rather than taking in the beauty of the scene, the low and reddening sun picking out the white farmhouses and the craggy tops in the distance. So he didn’t hang about at the trig point, but headed for home and planned what he’d cook the girls for tea as he walked down the path back to the car. Then he started worrying about how far behind he was with the washing.

Ian Mann did what he usually did on a Saturday morning, and cleaned the house and then started on the car. It really needed vacuuming out. In the afternoon he watched the rugby while surfing the Subaru and Cumbrian modified car message-boards. BB82 seemed to post fairly regularly on a number of sites, and sure enough in the early evening he turned up on two of them. He got involved in a complicated discussion about aftermarket shock absorbers on one, which became pretty heated, and on the other he responded to a question about who was going to the Carlisle cruise that night. He said that, subject to his little one settling down and his wife giving him a pass-out for the night he’d be there, though he wouldn’t be able to stay late. He took a bit of friendly abuse from some of the younger lads, but BB82 certainly gave as good as he got.

Mann grilled some chicken and made sticky rice, and at eight he drove to the car park. He was one of the first to arrive, and for the next half hour he was certainly the oldest too. He’d cleaned up the engine bay, so he did what lots of the kids had done, and opened the bonnet on his Impreza. A couple of the kids commented approvingly on his engine mods.

‘What’s she got now marrer? 250 horse? 275?’

‘About that. I’ve not had it on a rolling road.’

The night was dry and cold, and the kids milled around happily, eating burgers, turning their stereos up to 11. Mann could see the tops of a few of the cars moving in time to the bass pulses from inside.

Finally he saw Brockbank’s Subaru pull in, and park up a few cars down from his. Brockbank was on his own. Mann kept moving, chatting to some of the other lads with Subarus, but kept an eye on Brockbank. When he saw him approaching his car Mann walked back towards it.

‘This one yours?’ asked Brockbank.

‘Yeh.’

‘Nice one. I used to know someone with one exactly the same as this. Had it long?’

‘No, just a few weeks.’

‘Happy with it?’

‘So far.’

Brockbank was looking at him, maybe wondering why a bloke with grey temples would be driving a modified Subaru.

‘Don’t you find it a bit loud?’

Mann smiled. He’d been right. ‘Yeh. I might take that airbox off for a start. The induction roar would wake the dead.’

‘You’ll lose a bit of power.’

‘I can live with that.’

Brockbank nodded.

‘Where did you say you got it from again?’

There was something about the question that made Mann cautious.

‘Funny enough it was a Police auction. When I came back home and needed a car a mate told me about them. So I picked it up there. Didn’t think they’d sell me a nicked one anyway.’

Brockbank looked satisfied.

‘Yeh, I think it used to be my mate’s. He got done for a cannabis farm down near Ulverston, and they impounded his car after.’

‘I’m sorry mate.’

‘Don’t be. He won’t be needing a car for another year or two, and when he does he’s got enough tucked away to buy himself something new. The name’s Ben by the way.’

‘Gary.’

Brockbank looked in the engine bay.

‘It’s cleaner than I remember it. Nice job. You planning to do anything else?’

‘Thought I might uprate the brakes a bit. When I’ve got a bit of cash, that is.’

‘What is it you do?’

‘Right now I’m signing on. I used to be in the forces, then I did security work down on the Costas, but the work dried up last year, so I came back home. And you?’

‘Contracting. You know, farm work.’

‘I’ve been thinking of getting into that.’

‘You come from a farming background then?’

‘No, a council estate in Kendal. But I’m pretty good with machines, and I don’t mind hard work.’

Brockbank nodded. ‘Tell you what marrer. A group of us meet up at a pub in Alston once a month, all Scooby owners, and a bit older than this lot. Come along if you like. Wednesday night, at the King John.’

‘Cheers, I might just take you up on that. I don’t really know anyone up here yet, which is why I came to this playground tonight.’

Brockbank smiled.

‘I know what you mean. Still, it keeps them from getting up to mischief. Maybe see you around marrer.’

Mann gave it another twenty minutes and then left. The smell of chips and petrol was making him feel queasy. He parked the car at home, then walked to two of the pubs where Spedding and his crew were known to drink, and had a swift half in each. There was no sign of Spedding, and no-one seemed keen to chat. But thanks to Ray Dixon’s good work he’d struck lucky with Ben Brockbank, so Mann strolled home feeling happy enough with his night’s work.

Sunday, 17th February

Jane Francis wasn’t good at lie-ins, and as she got older she found it even harder to stay in bed. But she made an effort and managed to doze until nine. She didn’t like Sundays much either, but she was meeting her friend Sally Bristow for a walk at eleven, as she often did. So that was something to look forward to.

The forecast had been right, and it was a stunning late winter’s morning. On impulse she texted Sally, ‘How about Fairfield Horseshoe today? I’ll pick you up if you’re on.’

Jane showered, had breakfast and checked her phone. ‘You’re on’ Sally had texted back.

So Jane made her sandwiches, looked out the right OS map from the pile and packed her daysack.

‘I thought we going to do Blencathra today.’ said Sally, as they drove.

‘I just fancied Fairfield. Haven’t done it in ages.’

They’d been at university together, and Sally now worked for the local council in Kendal, and she knew her friend well.

‘Is that the only reason?’

Jane smiled. ‘All right, it’s a fair cop. We had a death up there a fortnight ago, someone fell off the crags, and Andy, my boss, thinks it’s worth a look.’

‘I wondered how long it would be before his name was mentioned.’

‘Give over. I’d never get involved with anyone from work.’

‘It’s happened before.’

‘That’s why it won’t ever happen again. It was a very long time ago, and look where it got me. Anyway, how’s your better half?’

‘Worried about his job, worried about the kids, worried about everything.’

‘Worried about you too?’

‘Oh, I’m all right. They’re fighting like rats at work to avoid the chop when the next round of redundancies comes, but I’m not bothering to get involved. Bill gets all worked about his place, forever trying to work out what’s happening and who’s said what to whom, but that’s a bit like watching the waves two hours before a tsunami hits. It doesn’t tell you anything worth knowing. Anyway, fuck it, let’s enjoy our walk. So long as you don’t want me to take part in some kind of re-enactment of course.’

Jane laughed. ‘It was a bloke who went over the edge. He was out walking with his wife.’