Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7) (3 page)

‘But I’m not the one who fucked it all up, am I? It wasn’t me who made us late, it wasn’t me who shot the bloody place up. It wasn’t me…..’

John took his left hand off the underside of the stock, and held the palm up, like a bobby stopping the traffic, but with menaces.

‘You’re wasting your final breaths, Frankie. You’ll not talk your way out of this one. But tell me this. Did you ever think about Matt? While you were outside, here in the valley, and he was in that stinking place with me? Dying inside, he was.’

‘Of course I did. All the time. Every day. If I could go back and change things I would, you know that. And what’s the point in killing me now, mate? They’d know it was you, right off like. Only person it could be, like.’

‘No, Frankie, not quite the only one. And this time you won’t be around to grass me up, now will you?’

Frankie’s mouth was open when John pulled the trigger the first time, and he Frankie seemed to look down for a moment, even as he was being propelled backwards into the far wall. And after the second shot he didn’t have very much face at all. John dropped the gun and looked straight down at what he’d done, at what used to be Frankie Foster. It was just as he’d planned to do it, and it was over, so he turned and walked out. His ears were ringing, and his mouth was dry. He couldn’t have said any last words to Frankie Foster, even if he’d wanted to.

As he drove away John tried to identify what he was feeling. Was there anything behind the numbness? Well it wasn’t remorse, and it wasn’t satisfaction, elation or any of the thousand other things that he’d expected to feel, whenever he’d played this moment through in his mind. He really didn’t feel a thing. Just a cold, black nothing as empty as a night sky up there above High Street. His hand was steady on the wheel, and he kept his eyes on the road. What was it they said? That justice delayed is justice denied? ‘Just shows how little they bloody know about justice’ he said to himself, out loud. Ten minutes more, and he’d be home. Then he’d wait for the heavy, demanding knock at the door. It would come, but he wouldn’t fear it. Why should he?

DI Jane Francis was going to ask Keith to slow down, as he hustled her new Audi through the blind bends on the back road from Kendal to Troutbeck, but for some reason she didn’t. It was daft really, because from what the old Sergeant who’d attended the scene had already told her on the radio they wouldn’t need a doctor to tell them that life was extinct, so there was no huge hurry really. An ambulance had attended, followed quickly by another, but the first was to take away the victim’s son, who was speechless with shock, while the second removed a young PC who’d passed out when he saw the scene, and who had hit his head on the way down.

Jane kept hold of the Jesus handle with her left hand, and held the mobile phone in her right. She was speaking to the duty Firearms Inspector, a man who she’d never taken to at all. He liked the guns too much, she thought, and he took too much care over his uniform.

‘So it’s not a suicide then?’

‘Not unless he shot himself twice, and had ten foot long arms.’

‘Six bore?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Messy then.’

‘You could say that.’

‘And no sign of the shooter, or any other weapons or victims?’

‘No, nothing. Two of my lads are at the scene now, so they’ll confirm that the weapon in the room is safe. I’ll tell the rest of the steam to stand to, just in case.’

‘We’ve no reason to suspect that it’s the start of anything, Sandy.’

‘We’ll be taking no chances. Orders. I’m deploying armed teams around the Division now, so we’ll have a five minute response time for the rest of the day. If matey is going on a spree, we’ll be ready. We’ll not get caught out again. Not in this bloody county.’

Jane rang off, and thought about calling Andy. But she stopped mid-dial. It was just force of habit, she knew that. He couldn’t do anything anyway, because the nearest he got to active policing these days was climbing the stairs to his office two at a time. And she didn’t need him anyway. She was SIO, and so she had all the resources of Cumbria Constabulary to call upon. Whatever she needed, so long as it was within budget. But still, as Keith braked hard as he approached the cordon outside the row of four cottages standing alone in the sunlit lane, she couldn’t help but wonder if it would all be enough. She took a deep breath, waited for her stomach to settle, and then reached for the door handle. She turned, as the door was opening, and looked across at Keith. He seemed a little confused by the delay, concerned even, and she wondered how long they’d actually been sitting there for.

‘We take our time. And we rely on the method, Keith’ she said, as firmly as she could, ‘we rely on the method always. So let’s find the doc, shall we, and get this show on the road?’

They found Doctor Beech at the back of his car, slowly taking off the white rubber boots. The blood dripping from the grooved soles made Jane want to retch. She was certain that she could smell it, even from six feet away.

‘The worst I’ve ever seen’ he said slowly, ‘and I’ve seen some shockers. They’ll need a hose and a bucket, not just a stretcher.’

Jane nodded. ‘But you’ll be able to identify him?’

‘I took prints. Sandy has them. There’s nothing more for me here, and I doubt I’ll be able to tell you much more when I get him on the slab. Or slabs, I should say.’

Beech smiled weakly at his own joke.

‘Time of death?’ asked Jane.

‘Middle of the day. What time did the victim usually get home for lunch?’

‘Half twelve, maybe a few minutes after’ said Keith, checking in his notebook.

‘Then I’d say between half twelve and one. Not much later. I’m no psychiatrist, DI Francis, because in my job the patients remain quiet and let me do the talking, but I’ll tell you one thing about this one. There was some hate there, by Christ there was. The first shot damn near cut the victim in the half, so the second must have had another purpose.’

‘Hiding his identity?’

‘Certainly not. His prints will do the job. As I say, just find the person who hated this man the most, and you’ll have found your killer. Now, if you’ll excuse me I’m off to the Mortal Man for a pie and a pint. Because whoever said that man doesn’t live by bread alone most certainly didn’t go to medical school.’

Ian Mann was talking to a uniformed Sergeant a few yards away. He finished, and walked over.

‘All right, both? I’ve got the house to house started, and pretty much finished too. Three other houses, and no-one in any of them.’

‘Shit’ said Jane.

‘Aye, exactly. Mind you, the gun might not be smoking, but at least it’s still on the scene.’

‘It’s the murder weapon?’

‘Aye. Has to be, I’d say. It’s the worst I’ve ever seen is this, Jane, to tell the truth.’

‘You’re the second person to say that to me, Ian.’

‘Just wanted you to be aware. That’s all. Sandy says it’s all right to go in there if you want.’

‘Right. I’ll suit up.’

‘Are you sure that’s necessary?’ said Mann, quickly. ‘Andy wouldn’t go in there, I can tell you that. He’d be turning the colour right down on his monitor, if he was just looking at the pictures.’

‘Well I’m not Andy, am I? Of course I’m going to look at my bloody crime scene.’ Jane regretted speaking so sharply as soon as she’d closed her mouth, but Ian Mann didn’t look remotely concerned. But then he never did.

‘Bloody is right’ he said, mildly.

‘Can I come in too, boss?’ said Keith. ‘I saw some bad RTAs, when I was in uniform, like. There was this one, I might have told you about it, where we found….’

‘Yes, all right, Keith. I’ve heard them all, over the years. It’s quite a game for the old male coppers, telling the young females the most grisly stories that they can come up with. The odd one might even be true.’

‘I didn’t mean…’

‘Stay close to me, and don’t touch anything unless you check with Sandy first. Forget that bit of advice and you’ll be wishing you were in the same condition as the victim. Sandy’s crime scene, Sandy’s rules, OK?’

‘Yes, boss.’

By co-incidence Sandy Smith came to the door just as Jane reached it.

‘I needed a bit of air.’ It wasn’t like Sandy to admit that she needed anything beyond coffee and cake.

‘Any signs of forced entry?’ asked Jane, looking down at the elderly front-door lock. It seemed about as secure as Sellotape.

‘On first inspection, no, but I’ll let you know for definite tomorrow. But if you need a working assumption, just for now mind, then you’re fairly safe to assume that our victim knew his attacker.’

‘Anything else, before we go in?’

‘No signs of forced entry elsewhere in the building, but again that’s just a preliminary finding. A weapon, and again it’s safe to assume that it was the murder weapon, is
in situ.
As soon as you’ve seen it we’ll dust it for prints, then uplift for DNA. But firearms confirm that it’s been fired recently.’ Sandy paused, and glanced away. ‘Both barrels.’

Sandy turned, and moved slowly back into the house, calling out before she entered the living room. Jane followed her in, and stopped behind her. The room was quiet, hot, and the bright lights didn’t help. Jane could taste the blood in the air. Sandy beckoned her forward, and she moved slowly, followed by Keith. She looked down, and knew immediately that she’d made a bad decision. She turned fast, not wanting to contaminate the crime scene, and almost ran into Keith’s back. Because he was already turning too.

A minute later Ian was telling them both to keep their heads between their knees, and shouting to one of the cops for some water.

‘Stop laughing, you insensitive bastards’ he shouted over his shoulder, and everyone did, even the uniformed Inspector who’d just rocked up to take charge of the logistics and top-up on his overtime before he went on holiday. This couldn’t have come at a better time, he thought cheerfully, and wondered where he’d park the truck when it arrived.

‘I’m all right’ said Jane finally, feeling the weight of Mann’s hand on her back. ‘I’ve just got a bit hot, that’s all.’ She stood up slowly, but Keith remained bent over, hands on knees.

‘Me too’ he said, weakly.

Jane gestured to Mann to move away, and she bent down again, alongside Keith, and talked to him for a minute or two. Then they walked back to Mann, and they all sat in Keith’s car. Jane took a long drink of water, and passed the bottle to Iredale. She could see the sweat beading on his brow.

‘Impressions?’she asked.

‘Amateur job’ said Mann, ‘but a good one. Uncomplicated, like. Turn up when there’s no-one about, knocks at the door. Chummy lets him in, bang, bang, the killer drops the gun, walks out and leaves the scene. Simple as.’

‘Leaves the scene how?’

‘Vehicle is favourite. I spoke to Tonto a minute ago. He says there’s no sign that our killer had any kind of OP in any of the likely spots, suggesting that he already knew our vic was a creature of habit. Tonto says he’ll know more by the end of the day.’

‘So the killer knew that the victim would be at home? This lunchtime, I mean.’

‘Aye. I’ve talked to a couple of the neighbours on the phone. Liked his routine did our man, apparently. Home for lunch every day except Friday, when he went to the pub. Every week. So plenty of people knew that Francis William Foster, late of this parish, would almost certainly have been at home at lunchtime.’

‘The ID’s been confirmed, has it?’

‘Aye, two minutes since. His prints are on the database, and they’re a match. So there’s no doubt, it’s Frankie who’s in there all right.’

Something in Mann’s tone struck Jane as odd. Then she realised. ‘You knew him?’

‘Aye, I nicked him once or twice. Receiving, it was. Harmless little villain, was Frankie. Not the best, or the brightest, but he didn’t deserve that. A shotgun, from that range, and then a second shot to the head, just for the sake of it, like. There was just no need for it. Absolutely no need at all.’

Sandy Smith walked out of the house, and Mann pointed towards her.

‘Brace yourselves’ he said, opening his door and moving quickly towards Sandy. ‘They got a bit of a shock, that’s all’ he said, as he reached her.

‘Aye’ said Sandy, ‘are you all right, Jane?’

‘I’m OK, thanks.’

‘Good. It’s not nice in there. Bloody hot, too.’ Then Sandy turned to Keith. ‘But you need to toughen up, you big soft jessie. Haven’t you ever seen a bit of blood before? When they’re dead, they’re dead. It makes no difference to them what state they’re in then. And he didn’t suffer or anything, if that makes any difference to you.’

‘Aye, well’ said Keith, ‘when you say a bit of blood…’

But Sandy wasn’t listening. She’d already turned back to face Jane.

‘I’m off to the office to write this little lot up. Initial report in the morning. But a couple of points that might get you moving in the right direction. First, there aren’t any defence wounds. Your victim didn’t even raise his hands before the shots.’

‘So they weren’t already raised?’ said Jane.

‘Exactly. They weren’t, I’m sure of it. And I can see why they made you the new DI.’

‘Yes, why weren’t his hands up? Surely he felt threatened with someone waving a shotgun about?The weapon couldn’t have been concealed, could it?’

‘I’ll leave that to you to work out, but it seems unlikely to me. But I try to avoid even trying to speculate about anything when I’m at the scene, because it might influence my analysis later.’

‘That’s a polite way of saying that we should do our own detective work, is it, Sandy?’

‘When have I ever been polite? Against my fucking religion, that is.’

Jane smiled. ‘Anything else?’

‘Aye, one other starter for ten. I’m pretty confident that where the weapon was dropped was the firing position, and that the victim was about two metres away. I’ll be able to tell you more exactly in a day or so, but that’ll be near enough. And to answer your next question, yes, it’s possible that there’ll be traces of spatter on the shooter’s clothing.’