Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7) (10 page)

‘It’s something, anyway.’

‘I suppose so. Not the collar we were after, but right now I’d do you for bad parking, if I could. We’ll interview the lass in the morning and see where that takes us. But I’ll tell you one thing about Frankie Foster for nothing. He was not very good at his job. Absolutely shit at it, in fact.’

‘How do you mean? I thought he was on the sick, like.’

‘Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but the whole idea behind thieving is that you take stuff that belongs to someone else, thus making you richer and them poorer.’

‘Aye, that’s about the size of it.’

‘Well, it hasn’t worked too well for Frankie Foster. The house is a bloody pigsty, for a start.’

‘I bet Sandy Smith loved that.’

‘She swore so hard I thought she’d pass out. And the bloke had no money, absolutely nowt. So far all we’ve found in assets, in total, is five hundred quid. He was a fifty year old bloke, mind.’

‘It won’t pay for his funeral, will that. And it’s not family who killed him, I suppose? A house-proud relation, perhaps?’

Jane laughed. ‘They’d hardly blow bits of the bloke all over the floor and walls if they were, would they? No, that’s a non-runner. The son has a rock-solid alibi, and the ex-wife lives down south. We’re looking at the extended family, but there’s nothing of interest that we can see so far. Still,
nil desperandum
, as they say.’

‘If you say so. There’s only one bit of Latin that I know.
Illegitimi non carborundum
. It means don’t let the bastards grind you down. One of the lads here told me that, years ago, and it’s always stuck. I can’t bloody imagine why. Not working in a paradise like this.’

Jane laughed again, and looked at her watch. Nigel Turner got the message.

‘I better let you get off. Don’t want to be late getting Andy’s tea on the table, do you?’

Jane couldn’t be certain that she was being wound-up, but assumed that she was. She’d pretty much heard them all, over the years.

‘Andy’s the chef in our house. He’s getting pretty handy with a spatula, in his old age.’

‘If you say so, love’ said Turner, grinning as he turned to go. ‘What folk do in the privacy of their own homes is their business. I’ve been a copper long enough to know that. Otherwise we’d be arresting half this bloody town, and that’s the God’s honest truth.’

Superintendent Hall had cut the grass when he’d got home from work, and sprayed the paths with weed-killer for the final flush of the summer, but he’d still had plenty of time to prepare the meal. He’d put the pasta on when Jane arrived, or when he was too hungry to wait, whichever came first. It was pretty much what his wife used to do too, he thought. He hadn’t texted Jane asking how things were going, or when she’d be home, because he knew there was no point. She’d be immersed in the work, utterly consumed by it, and he envied that. Of course he did. But he didn’t envy the tightening fist of worry that went along with it.

He put the pasta on as soon as he heard Jane’s car pull into the drive. He shouted a ‘hello’ and told her that the food would be ready in ten minutes. He was serving by the time she came to the table, and she put her work phone down on her side plate. She’d be checking it almost between mouthfuls, but he couldn’t really complain or comment. In any case, he knew it would be futile. At moments like this nothing was more important than the case. Not him, not even the baby.

‘How are you feeling? Have you been eating properly today?’

‘Yes, mum. Don’t worry. I’m surprised no-one at work has guessed. And they call themselves bloody detectives.’

‘Be fair, Jane. You’re not really showing yet, are you?’

‘It depends how close they’re looking.’

Hall smiled, and passed Jane the salad bowl.

‘All right, no need to hint. I’ve been reading the online guides to diet in pregnancy, you know.’

‘It was books, in my day.’

‘This is your day, Andy. Now. You’re going to be a new dad again.’

‘People will think I’m the grand-dad’, he said, gloomily.

‘Well you should have thought about that before you got involved with a woman half your age.’

Hall laughed. ‘Hardly. So how’s work been? Any movement?’

‘You haven’t been looking at the file? I thought you were authorised for any active enquiry.’

‘I am, but I do have other work to do, Jane.’

‘So you haven’t looked? Really?’

‘Yes, really.’

‘Would you have looked if it was another DI who was SIO?’

‘Not at this stage. Not unless I’d been asked, anyway. And you’re not asking, are you?’

‘That’s right, I’m not. We’ve got plenty of active lines of enquiry. Too many, almost. Frankie Foster was a right little rascal, and he was active, too. No doubt about it.’

‘He was hardly a heavyweight though, was he?’

‘So what? Maybe he was trying to move up in the world, maybe he got on the wrong side of someone who mattered. I don’t know, perhaps he was trying his hand at blackmail. Stranger things have happened. Maybe someone thought he was grassing again. It could be anything. You know what they’re like, Andy. Your average con doesn’t exactly do a SWOT analysis before he acts, does he?’

‘I wish we didn’t either. If I never see another interactive sodding whiteboard again it’ll be too soon. We had some prat from the Home Office in the other day giving a presentation on unusual predictors of offending behaviour in teenagers, including their names. I said that looking at the parents’ record was the best predictor I knew of, followed by whether or not the kids already had tattoos on their faces. He didn’t seem best pleased by that. And that was before we even started talking about all these predictive algorithms, and their place in policing.’

‘Can you say that again, Andy, but in English this time?’

‘I know what you mean. The boffins are working on models that use existing crime data, plus a whole load of other stuff around the demographics of the population, and then comes up with something that tells you where to send patrol cars. You know, so they’ll be there before the crime actually happens.’

Jane laughed. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘Not entirely, but they’re dead keen, the Whitehall warriors are. Very big in America, apparently.’

‘And you’re not convinced?’

‘It probably has its place, I don’t deny it. In large urban areas especially, even if it is just another attempt by the bosses to cover up the fact that all forces are just so chronically under-resourced. It’ll all come out in the end though, of course. That’s the real issue, isn’t it? We all know how fudged the crime data is already, even if the boffins don’t, plus the fact that all the computers in the world can’t help with lots of serious crime. Look at this case you’re on now as an example. The causes probably go back years, don’t they?’

‘So you’re thinking that Winder and Tyson were involved?’

‘I think it’s likely, yes.’

‘We’ve got absolutely sod all on either of them so far, Andy. But I bet you know that, even if you haven’t had a peek at the file.’

‘I do know, yes. But what if one of them did it anyway? Or maybe they planned it together, and hired someone else to actually do the job. I’ve been thinking about it, and I have to say the fact that neither of them has an alibi is actually rather clever, isn’t it? If they were working together, I mean.’

Jane thought about it as she ate, then took a sip from the miserly quarter glass of wine that Hall had poured for her. He wasn’t stinting himself though, she noticed.

‘Maybe you’re right, but what can I do about it? You know how this works, Andy. All right, they do have a motive, I’ll grant you, but where’s the evidence to link them to the shooting? No forensics, no witnesses, nothing. And answer me this. If it is one of Winder and Tyson, or both like you say, then why have they waited this long? It just doesn’t make any sense. It’s putting me right off them, to tell the truth.’

‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ said Hall, cautiously.

‘I thought you might have been.’

‘What if something has changed? Something that made one or both of them decide that now was the time. That they simple couldn’t wait any longer to act.’

‘Yes, that makes sense, I suppose. What kind of change though?’

‘No idea. But it might be worth looking out for anything that comes back in either of their background reports. Maybe personal, financial, I don’t know. Just out of interest, is either of them criminally active?’

‘Not as far as we know. Not since they were released from prison, anyway.’

‘And who says prison doesn’t work?’

‘We all say that, Andy. But for whatever reason it looks like Winder and Tyson have both stayed straight since. And it’s a funny thing, but one of them has made a pile of money, and the other one is as skint as he was before they tried to rob that bank.’

‘Winder’s made the money, has he?’

Jane laughed and put her glass down, empty. ‘Come on, Andy, don’t tell me that you haven’t at least had a quick look online at both of them.’

Hall smiled. ‘Guilty as charged. Yes, I saw that Winder had made a lot of money. Seems to be giving a fair bit of it away, too. He supports some really interesting causes as well, especially locally.’

‘That doesn’t mean he isn’t a murderer though, does it?’

Hall nodded, and took a fork-full of pasta. It could have done with another two minutes in the pan. ‘Agreed’ he said.

‘So you think that Tyson is still more likely to be our man? Of the two, I mean.’

‘I didn’t say that. If one of them has gone through a significant life event, a birth, death, marriage or whatever, then that could be your best indication. All I’m saying is that I do fancy them for it, Jane. I really do.’

‘Can you remember much about them?’

‘Honestly? Not really. I did have a quick glance through the file on the bank job today, but it didn’t remind me of much.’

‘I thought you said you were busy.’

‘I lied. The ACC really is a total shit. I just don’t understand how he’s managed to get to where he has. He’s not the brightest, and Christ, is he nasty. And he had the cheek to tell me that I was the one who didn’t have any friends on the job. No power base, I think that’s what he said.’

Jane smiled. ‘He’s politician, Andy, and you’re not. You’re simple-minded enough to believe that being an effective copper is just about protecting life and property, and nicking the people who are a threat to one or both. For you it’s a vocation, and for the likes of that utter dick Thompson it’s a career. That’s the difference.’

‘Maybe. But the bastard’s got no business bullying junior members of staff.’

‘Like who?’

‘This time? A young analyst lad called Will Armstrong. He’s about as useful as a chocolate fireguard. Hard working enough, but he makes so many mistakes that he’s too dangerous to use for anything important. I worked that out ages ago.’

‘So maybe he got what was coming.’

‘You don’t mean that. The lad needs help, a bit of training, and if that doesn’t work he needs to go. That’s fair enough, so long as it’s done properly. But a senior officer can’t start balling at a civilian, just because his work is crap. It’s an abuse of power, pure and simple, and it really gets up my nose, Jane.’

‘I know, love. So you spoke to the ACC about it, then? Daft question, of course you did.’

‘I did, and a fat lot of good it did me. He told me to my face that I didn’t matter, and that I was just occupying an otherwise empty office until I retire.’

‘That’s not true. And anyway they’re mad if they don’t make good use of everything that you’ve got to offer. But I’d let it go now, love. You’ve done all you can.’

‘Have I? Would you be saying that if Will was a woman?’

‘Yes, I would. But that’s not the question, is it? Because it’s what you would have done that matters.’

‘And what’s that?’ said Hall, smiling and taking a sip of his wine.

‘If it was a woman you would have put that twat firmly in his place, and you would have been straight in to see the Chief too, I dare say. And if it had been Ian Mann he would have cut out the middle-man and put the bloke straight down on his arse. You’re an old-fashioned bloke, Andy, just like Ian. Physical force isn’t your thing, obviously, but when it comes to it there’s some shit that you just won’t see dished out. It’s one of the things I love about you.’

‘Just one?’

‘Give me some more wine and I’ll tell you another.’

‘Not a bloody chance. If I had my way you’d never get more than the sniff of the barmaid’s apron, from now until the drop date.’

‘I’m not a bloody postie.’

‘All right, the due date then. I forget the right terms. It’s been a long time for me, Jane.’

‘And don’t I bloody know it.’

Thursday, 24th July

Keith Iredale collected Ian Mann at just before half six.

‘I do like a bit of door-busting first thing in the morning’ said Mann, cheerfully.

‘Well I expect you’ll be disappointed. Tiffany Moore lives with her mum, and she’s on invalidity benefit. Completely housebound, apparently.’

‘That means nowt, lad. Not these days. She’s probably more than capable of laying out a couple of our lads, then making a right good run for it.’

‘Let’s see, shall we. We just need to take Tiffany in for questioning, and leave the search team to execute the Warrant. There won’t be any rough stuff.’

‘You never know. Did I tell you about that old chap I had to nick once, over Windermere way? Seventy if he day, he was. That didn’t stop him having a go at me with a bloody Samurai sword.’

‘Don’t tell me. You overpowered him, using your own Ninja skills.’

‘Like hell I did. I called in armed response, and that soon sorted him out. When we finally nicked him he said he thought I was the gas man.’

‘And he thought it was OK to attack the gasman with a sword?’

‘Apparently. Mind you, with what they charge for the stuff these days you can understand it, can’t you? It is criminal. Bloody criminal.’

But Iredale was proved right, and Mrs. Moore was no trouble. She was a deathly pale, slow-moving woman, and Iredale expected her daughter to be much the same. But he couldn’t have been more wrong. She was the picture of health, and she only seemed concerned about leaving her mum. The fact that there were half a dozen coppers at the door didn’t seem much of a concern at all, nor did the fact that she was required to attend at the Police station for an interview under caution. She asked if they could hang on, just until a neighbour came round, and Iredale agreed. He caught sight of Mann rolling his eyes as he did so, but knew that it was purely for effect. He’d have done exactly the same thing.

An hour later they were sitting in the interview room, with a Duty solicitor who Mann knew slightly. She looked exhausted, and before they’d gone in said she’d been up all night with her eighteen month old son.

‘You should have watched more telly’ said Mann, grinning. ‘You’ll be wanting a coffee then.’

‘Yes, unless you could see your way to giving me something stronger from the evidence room.’

‘You don’t want that shit, love. It’s mainly drain cleaner and dust anyway. Mind you, my coffee’s not much better, now I come to think about it, like.’

Tiffany still seemed calm to Iredale, but not sullen or cocky. Just wary, and he sensed an intelligence about her. Something that he liked, anyway.

‘So, Tiffany, did you know Frankie Foster?’

‘Aye, I did.’

‘How?’

‘He was an old family friend. I was sorry to hear that he’d died, like.’

‘He was murdered, Tiffany. He didn’t die of old age.’

‘Murdered, then. But it had nothing to do with me. Why would I want to kill Frankie?’

‘That’s good to hear. So where were you on Tuesday of this week, from ten in the morning until mid-afternoon?’

‘Let’s see. I was at college in the morning, you can check. I’m doing an accountancy course, part-time. Then I went home and made mum her lunch. I went shopping in the afternoon.’

‘All right, thanks. When we take your statement I’m going to need all the details, OK?’

‘Fine.’

‘We recovered some stolen property from Frankie Foster’s house. Here are some photographs. Have you seen these items before?’

‘Oh, aye. He showed them to me. Some gold coins, a cup, and an old watch. He said a mate had left them with him.’

She kept eye contact with Iredale the whole time, and he reciprocated. It would have been rude not to. But he’d been right, he was certain of it now. She was a right clever lass, this one. He smiled at her. ‘Why did he show them to you, Tiffany?’

‘Dunno. He probably thought I’d be interested.’

‘And were you?’

‘No, not really. But I had a look, just to be polite, like. But I didn’t know that they were stolen, honest.’

‘So you’re saying that you didn’t steal them, are you?’

‘That’s right, it wasn’t me. Frankie was always getting hold of stuff, I don’t know how.’

‘So you didn’t have business dealings with him? He wasn’t your fence?’

‘No. Like I said, just an old family friend. What, aren’t we even allowed to have those now?’

Iredale smiled again, and sat back. It wasn’t a bad effort. She’d done well to come up with that story, under the circumstances. And the only person who could confirm or deny its veracity was very much dead.

‘Let me read something to you, Tiffany. It’s the description that the old lady who owned the items in those photographs gave of the person who stole them from her. She was young, dark hair, small, pretty, and with a local accent. Does that sound familiar?’

Tiffany shrugged.

‘Could that be you?’

‘It sounds like a lot of people I know.’ She smiled. It was a very nice smile.

‘This is no laughing matter, Tiffany. This is serious. Do you know what happened to that old lady?’

‘No. Of course I don’t.’

‘She died.’

‘How long after?’ Mann thought that she’d asked a bit too quickly, too urgently, and Iredale picked it up as well.

‘About eight weeks.’

‘And was she attacked, was she? During this robbery, like?’

‘Not physically, no. But it upset her very much, frightened her too.’

‘Fright can’t kill you.’

‘Are you sure of that?’ Iredale looked straight at the young woman, and she broke his gaze before he continued. ‘But back to that description. It’s not you then, is it?’

‘No.’

‘So you’re saying that you didn’t rob Mrs. Matthews?’

‘I didn’t rob anyone.’

‘Well, that’s not quite true, is it? You’ve got,’ Iredale paused while he added them up, ‘a total of eight convictions for theft, either shoplifting or obtaining goods by deception.’

‘It’s not the same though, is it?’

‘It’s just as illegal.’

‘But not as wrong. I used to nick off big companies. They could afford it. Anyway, it wasn’t me who robbed your old lady.’

‘So you’re more like Robin Hood are you? Stealing from the rich, giving to the poor, and all that old cobblers?’

For the first time Tiffany reacted genuinely, and he was sure that he could see the anger in her eyes. ‘What do you know about being poor?’

‘You’re right, I don’t. But the thing is this, Tiffany. There have been three other robberies, just like this one, and in each case an attractive young woman, very much like yourself, was identified as the offender. A bit of a co-incidence, don’t you think?’

‘You think I’m attractive?’

Ian Mann smiled, but Iredale did not. He looked angry as well now.

‘That’s what you heard in that question, is it? Vulnerable old people have been robbed in their own homes, frightened half to death by a particularly nasty and callous offender, and you’re looking for compliments? That’s disappointing, to tell you the truth.’

‘I’ve always been a disappointment, me. But I didn’t do it. I told you that.’

‘How about the description though?’

The duty solicitor moved in her chair, yawned, glanced up at Iredale and finally spoke.

‘Many people could answer that description, Detective Constable. It isn’t my client’s responsibility to prove that it isn’t her. It’s yours to prove that she is. Can you manage that? If not, I suggest that we conclude this interview at this point. My client has a sick and vulnerable mother to care for.’

‘Not quite yet, I’m afraid. I’m going to need to know where your client was on a number of occasions over the last six months, when these additional offences took place.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’

‘And would you be willing to participate in an identity parade? Later on today, it would be.’

Tiffany answered before the Duty Solicitor could.

‘Aye. All right. So long as I’m home in time to sort out mum’s tea.’

‘OK, good. And just one last thing. Do you know someone called Lightfoot, Mike Lightfoot?’

Tiffany hesitated, just for a moment, but both officers noticed.

‘Aye, Mike. Lad from the Social. Been round to mum a couple of times. Nice enough lad, for a busy-body.’

‘So you don’t like him?’

Tiffany shrugged. ‘I didn’t say that. I hardly know the lad. He used to be a junkie they say, but he’s a bit older than me so I don’t know anything about that.’

‘But it’s a good thing, isn’t it? When people get their lives sorted out? When they make a change for the better?’

Tiffany looked Iredale straight in the eye.

‘You are a twat, mate.’

Mann laughed out loud. He just couldn’t help himself.

When Tiffany and the Duty Solicitor had gone Mann made Iredale a brew. It was the least he could do.

‘Sorry, lad. Unprofessional, that’s what I was in there. I’ve never cracked up in an interview before. But you were asking for it, like.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘All that turning your life around crap. I’d have thought you’d know better by now. They never change, most of them, and at least she didn’t bother giving you any of that old cobblers.’

‘But she’s going to college, isn’t she?’

‘Probably just to get better at the obtaining by deception job, mate. And I know why you’re getting all gooey. It’s those big brown eyes, isn’t it? If she was some old bloke with bad breath you’d be singing a very different tune.’

Iredale grinned.

‘You have to admit that she’s a looker though, don’t you?’

Mann didn’t reply.

‘You are such a grumpy old bastard, Ian.’

Jane read the email again, carefully, and then phoned Inspector Turner.

‘Nigel, it’s Jane. Where has this new report come from? I thought the door-to-door was finished?’

‘Husband of one of Foster’s neighbours. Two doors along. He was away on business when it happened, and he only got back last night. Anyway, he phoned in and I spoke to him.

‘So he’s saying he saw this car, a blue Nissan Murano, is it?’

‘That’s it. I had to look it up. A kind of 4x4 type thing, it is.’

‘And he was sure?’

‘Yes, he used to own one so he noticed it. In lovely nick, he said it was.’

‘And he saw it twice, on consecutive days, about three weeks ago? He was sure of that as well?’

‘Aye, absolutely. Sounded like a switched on kind of bloke.’

‘And this is a rare car, is it?’

‘Aye, I just had a quick look on the system and there are just a couple of thousand registered in the UK. So pretty unusual, aye.’

‘All right, thanks. And did he see the driver? And was he sure that he or she was in the house with Frankie?’

‘No, not for certain, like. He didn’t see the driver at all. But he did say that there was plenty of space, and that the car was parked right outside Frankie’s front door. So he just assumed, like.’

‘OK, good. With a bit of luck we’ll be able to find out who the car belongs to, so long as it drove along one of the trunk roads in the area.’

‘ANPR?”

‘Yes. It may take a bit of time, because we don’t have a specific date, but since it’s a rare car we should be able to narrow it down. By the way, what time of day are we talking about?’

‘Early evening, both times. The witness usually gets home around six, and he says it was soon after.’

‘Great, that helps narrow it down a bit more. Thanks, Nigel, that’s a big help.’

‘Do you want the bloke bringing in? Talk to him yourself?’

‘No need, mate. You asked everything that I would have.’

As soon as Jane put the phone down she realised that there was a quicker way of identifying the car. She walked to her office door, and saw that Ian Mann and Keith Iredale had just walked in, laughing and joking as usual. Something about that irritated her.

‘Keith’ she called out, ‘can I grab you for a minute?’ He hurried over, and she liked that more. ‘I need you to find a car for me. Look at this interview note from Nigel Turner. The bloke just got back to the Lakes, that’s why we didn’t already know about it.’

Jane swung her computer screen round, and Iredale read. ‘A Nissan Murano? I’ve never even heard of it. You want to know if any blue ones are registered locally, boss?’

‘I do. There are just a couple of thousand in the country, so you shouldn’t find too many round here. Let me know if you come across any, and then we can get the database checked. It’ll save someone, and that means you, from going through masses of ANPR records.’

When he got one solitary hit, a blue Murano registered to someone with an address in Kendal, Iredale almost called out to Ian Mann immediately, but he didn’t. And nor did he head straight for Jane’s office. Instead he anticipated their next question, so he ran the name of the registered owner, Jeremy Taylor, through the PNC. ‘Bingo’ he said out loud, and pressed print. He grabbed the page a fraction of a second after the rollers let it go.

But DI Francis seemed a little less excited than he’d expected her to be.

‘Get on to tech support, Keith. Give them this registration and ask for a report showing if it’s been along the A591, between Kendal and Ambleside. I’m especially interested in late afternoons and early evenings, weekdays only. Just go back six weeks, OK? And we’ll need it soonest. Get that underway, and then come back in with Ian, would you? I’d like to know a bit more about this Taylor character too. I think I’ve had the dubious pleasure of meeting him once, but I’m not certain.’

‘Will do, boss.’

She smiled, because he was up and on his way so quickly.

‘Well done, Keith. Keep at it.’

Quarter of an hour later the three officers were in her office, Jane sitting where Hall used to sit and Ireale where she used to be. Only Mann was in the same position, in the left hand chair, looking steadily across the meeting table at her.

‘Oh, aye, I know Jez Taylor. His convictions don’t do him justice, really.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He’s nasty, proper nasty. You know the type. He’s the sort of bloke that you think about, worry about, when he only draws yet another fine or a suspended sentence. You just think about what he’ll do next, when it’s too late, like. I don’t mind a decent, working con, they’re good steady business for us, but he’s not that sort.’