Hail and Farewell (The Lakeland Murders) (27 page)

Before lunch Jane strolled into town, bought some of Hall’s favourite treats, and walked back home again. Maybe Hall’s mood was catching, but she suddenly felt much more confident about the investigation. They would tie Matt Hayton to the killing of Chris Brown, and they would expose the gang’s inside man at Workington nick. By the time she got back to the house she was starting to believe that they’d even bring George Hayton down too. When she’d been at HQ she’d had a five pound bet with a smart-arse young DS in the intelligence unit that they would make a conspiracy charge against Hayton stick, and it was a bet she’d be delighted to collect on.

Hall was up and dressed when she got home, and it was so warm that they were able to eat in the garden. She almost suggested some wine to go with lunch, but she didn’t. For the last few days she’d been off alcohol completely, and she was sure that Hall would have noticed. When they’d first got together she’d been slightly unnerved to discover that he was just as observant and watchful in his private life as he was at work. But now she knew that he wasn’t the way he was because he was a policemen. It was actually the other way round entirely. Because, in fact, Andy Hall had become a policeman because of the kind of man he was. Recently she’d tried to imagine what other job he’d want to do, or be able to do, and she couldn’t think of a single one. She’d had a life before the job, and for the first time she was starting to imagine a life after it, but it worried her that she couldn’t imagine Hall doing anything else. His mind was subtle enough, but it most certainly wasn’t flexible.

But that was a problem for another day, and as they ate they chatted about the case, quietly so that any green-fingered and sharp-eared neighbours couldn’t hear, until they both knew that they’d said all there was to be said. Hall had spoken to Mann, and he’d agreed to drop in again at Hayton’s haulage on Monday morning.

‘Shall I take the lad?’ he’d asked.

‘No’ said Hall. ‘So long as you’re sure that she’s not actually in on anything with her old man.’

‘She sure as hell isn’t, Andy.’

‘She works for him though, mate. And she must know that those trucks were bought on the back of violence, misery and drugs.’

‘I hear you, the Archbishop of bloody Canterbury.’

‘But I’m an atheist, Ian.’

‘I expect he is too, like.’

Hall laughed.

‘Just watch yourself, mate. George Hayton is a nasty, dangerous man. Unpredictable too.’

‘And I’m not? Don’t you worry, mate. I’ll be all right.’

‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.’

Jane made fresh coffee and brought it out, with a couple of the raspberry turnovers that he liked.

‘You’re spoiling me. So what do you want?’

‘Nothing.’ She paused. ‘You know what I want.’

‘And we’re agreed, aren’t we?’

‘You’re still sure?’

‘Yes. I’m not going to change my mind. Christ, Jane, I’ve brought up two kids already. I know what it takes, and I know how bloody brilliant it feels, being a parent. I want you to experience it too, and I want it again for myself. Because you’re the one who’ll be keeping us all in cakes and coffee, when I’m in my dotage.’

‘So you keep telling me. We’ll be fine.’

‘You’re right. Of course we will. If I could change one thing about my life it’d be to get back all the time I’ve spent worrying about the stuff that doesn’t matter. That and trying to guess what’s coming down the line. That’s a fool’s game, honestly. Because it’s always an oncoming train. The only question is when it’s coming, really.’

‘Thank you, Mr. Happy. So you’re absolutely certain about the baby?’

‘Honestly, you really don’t need to keep asking. I promise I’m not going to say something different all of a sudden. Tell you what, finish your coffee and we could make a start.’

‘What, here?’

Hall laughed.

‘No, definitely not here. My idea of risky sex is leaving the light on on the landing, as you very well know.’

Jane laughed.

‘Drink up then, Andy.’

Keith Iredale felt guilty, but he couldn’t see any other way. His dad was worried, there was no doubt about that, but he didn’t seem quite worried enough somehow. Or it was the wrong kind of worry, maybe. He just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. And how come no-one had been allowed to visit his mum yet? His dad had already said that she wasn’t in any danger now, and it wasn’t as if she had something infectious. It really didn’t make sense. And that was why Keith was parked up, in the pool car that he’d signed out for the week, watching his parent’s place.

He knew his dad was at home, and that hospital visiting time started in an hour. And to get there in good time, while obeying all the posted limits, he’d need to be on his way in the next ten minutes or so. And, sure enough, five minutes later his father walked out of the house, looked up and down the street, then got into his car. Keith was pleased that he’d parked so far away. When he’d been in the job his dad had always been careful, and never mentioned to new acquaintances that he was a copper, so Keith didn’t draw any particular conclusions from his dad’s caution. Maybe it was what he always did. But he did make a point of keeping his distance as he followed his father’s car out of Maryport.

He expected his dad to head for Carlisle and the Infirmary, but instead he turned north, towards Workington. There were, Keith told himself, any number of perfectly reasonable explanations for this decision, although he couldn’t think of any offhand. And then his father turned right down a minor road, towards the coast. ‘Shit’ said Keith, because the lane would be deserted and he knew that his father was a religious user of his rear-view mirror, whether he needed to or not. But there was nothing for it, so Keith slowed, indicated, and followed his father’s car.

He drove up a hill, and when he crested it he could see right down to the beach, and the small car park which his father had already reached. Keith managed to stop in a field entrance, and when he got out of the car he saw that his father had neatly reversed parked, even though there was only one other car there. He couldn’t make out what it was, because the sun was shining off its roof. But his dad was meeting someone, he was sure of it.

Iredale cursed again, this time for forgetting his binoculars, and started to work his way closer to the car park. His dad was talking to a man, a big man, and even from that distance Keith half recognised him. He moved forward, along the hedge line. And then he was sure. It was Ian Mann. What the hell was he doing talking to his dad in a bloody car park?

Only a few seconds later his dad turned away, and returned to his car. Keith just had time to get back in his own, and duck down in the driver’s seat before his father’s car drove past. He stayed down, waiting for Mann to follow, but he didn’t. After a couple of minutes Iredale was starting to feel uncomfortable, and a little foolish. It took him a moment to recognise the tap on the window for what it was.

‘Out you get, Keith’ said Mann, opening the door.

They walked down to the beach, and sat on the shingle shore.

‘We’ll make a detective of you yet, son’ said Mann. ‘You weren’t buying what your dad was selling, then?’

‘So there’s nothing wrong with my mum?’

‘Not a thing.’

‘Thank God for that. So what’s all this about? What’s the old man up to?’

‘He’s helping us out, informally. Top secret, like.’

‘But what can my old man do? He can tell you who in his street has an expired tax disc I expect, or who’s out cleaning windows while they’re on the sick, but that’s about it.’

‘It’s a bit more serious than that.’

‘Does it connect to the Chris Brown enquiry?’

‘Aye.’

‘And to Hayton?’

‘Aye, that to. Look, Keith, like I said this is confidential. Your dad is helping us to put a bit of extra pressure on George Hayton. The boss thinks he’s impulsive. Rash, like.’

‘But my dad hardly knows Hayton.’

‘They go back though, son. I expect your old man has never spoken about it, and that would be to protect you.’

‘Go back how, exactly?’

Mann hesitated.

‘Look, you know how it is. Your dad was a working copper, Hayton was a working criminal, going up in the world. Of course they had run-ins and that, over the years. So in a way Hayton trusts your old man. You know as well as anyone how straight he is.’

‘Aye, I do.’

‘Well then.’

They sat in silence for a minute.

‘And there’s nothing you’re not telling me, Ian?’

‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know. It just doesn’t add up, somehow.’

‘What does, mate? Look, let’s head off to work, and say no more about this. Don’t mention it to your old man, for Christ’s sake, and don’t worry about your mum. Like I say, Keith, you’ve got the makings of a really good detective. Take that as a compliment from an old one. Because like Andy Hall always says, you can train a good copper, but good detectives are born, not made.’

‘Cheers, marrer. But I’m off today, so I think I’ll get out on the bike for a few hours. Do me good to clear my head.’

‘And you won’t worry about your mum?’

‘No.’

Mann got up slowly, his feet sending a little avalanche of pebbles down the beach.

‘Just one other question, Ian’ said Iredale. ‘How come you spotted me? I could barely make out it was you, from that distance.’

Mann laughed.

‘Training, son. It’s what made me a decent soldier, long before I was a copper. And what it’s kept me alive all these years, and all.’

The two men walked back to Mann’s car.

‘Drop you at your car?’

‘Aye, thanks.’

But when they reached Iredale’s car he didn’t get out.

‘Can I ask you something, Ian. Off the record, like?’

‘Aye, of course you can.’

‘It’s about Mike.’

‘Aye. I thought it might be. You know he never showed up with that paperwork?’

‘We both know that was never going to happen.’

‘I’ve just let it slide, what with your mum and everything.’ Mann paused. ‘Oh, I see. You’re worried that I’ll nick him, now that you know your mum’s all right. Is that it?’

‘Sort of, aye. He told me he’s been fly-tipping. He wanted me to nick him for it, there and then. But I told him I’d talk to you, what with all the stuff with my mum.’

‘Talk to me about what? Delaying his arrest?’

‘Aye. The thing is, Ian, if he gets a big fine for this he’ll go bust, and my sister will lose the house and everything.’

‘I see. That’s tough. Well, going guilty would help.’

‘Aye, I suppose so.’

‘Look, Keith, what are you asking me here? Do you want the charges to go away? Is that it? Because they can. Like I said before, we don’t have to charge him. He’s not even been arrested, has he?’

‘No’ Iredale said firmly, and without hesitation. ‘That’s not what I want, and it’s not what he deserves. He’s a twat, and he needs to get nicked for it, just like anyone else. It’s the selfishness I can’t stand, Ian. Just looking out for number one the whole time, and to hell with anyone else. It’s what all cons have in common, isn’t it?’

‘True enough. But don’t you want to think about it? I could talk to Andy Hall again, see what he has to say.’

‘Christ, no, don’t do that. There’s nothing to discuss, is there?’

Mann nodded.

‘All right. Tell you what. Get him sorted with a solicitor, you’ll know who’s good, and get them to come in together with a list of all the places he’s fly-tipped. Plus a nice statement covering the financial pressures, and the fact that he’s a hard-working family man. He is, I take it? Hard working, I mean?’

‘Aye, funny enough he is a proper grafter. And he has settled down a fair bit since he got married.’

‘Well then. So I’ll arrest him, and then we’ll send the file to the CPS. With a bit of luck he’ll get a manageable fine.’

‘I hope so. I’ve already told Tina I’ll pay it.’

Mann laughed. ’You’re a good lad, Keith. He may be a twat, but he’s family.’

‘That’s about it, aye. Is there any way that we can keep this away from my dad, do you reckon?’

‘If the court reporter from the local rag doesn’t pick it up when it goes to court then aye, of course. Your dad’s not back on the job, like. He doesn’t have access to the system or anything like that.’

‘All right, thanks. I don’t want him trying to pay the fine.’

‘Understood. But it’s no good when families have secrets from each other, lad. Not in the long run, like.’

‘Someone should thane told my old man that.’

Mann smiled.

‘On your way, son. Those fell roads won’t climb themselves, will they? And it’s a bloody grand day for a bike ride, that’s for certain.’

Bank Holiday Monday, May 5th

Ian Mann phoned Debbie Hayton and checked if she’d be at work that morning. She said that it wasn’t a haulier’s holiday, even if the banks were closed.

‘I’m off duty today’ he said. ‘And I’m coming over your way, like.’

‘I thought you’d be back at home.’

‘No, there’s only my old dad, and he’s well able to take care of himself. Or so he never tires of telling me.’

‘I’ll bet. You’re a chip off the old block, I expect?’

‘I hope so. Best man I’ve ever known.’

‘I wish I could say the same.’

Mann was sure that he heard nothing but sincerity in her voice.

‘Aye, well. We don’t choose our parents, do we?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘You would have done great, whoever your mum and dad were. From what I gather your haulage business is going great guns.’

‘It is, but it’s not all my own work. Not when you think about.’

‘That’s as mebbe, like.’ Mann hoped she’d change the subject, but she didn’t.

‘A few months back I had to let a driver go. He’d been with us for years. But he’d been… Anyway, he’d been doing something he shouldn’t. Let’s just say that. But he started making a nuisance of himself round the yard, and one night he was waiting at my house, after work.’

‘Say no more’ said Mann, guessing where the conversation was going. But Debbie Hayton wasn’t going to stop.