Murder by Magic (26 page)

Skelgill’s
features carry a knowing expression.

‘That’s
what they’d do, isn’t it?  Make them pretend they’re Polish –
removes any suspicion in public – but once they’ve got a Ukrainian girl
here she’s completely at their mercy – tell her if she runs away the
police will lock her up as an
illegal
.’

DS
Leyton absently taps the edge of his handset upon the surface of the table.

‘So
where do you reckon they were holding Pavlenko’s girl?’

He
looks to DS Jones to supply the answer, but it is Skelgill that interjects.

‘In the
castle, Leyton.  Like Rapunzel in the tower.’

As
Skelgill adds this cryptic rider his eyes glaze over and he appears to be launched
into an involuntary daydream.  Whether he relives his surreal nocturnal experience,
or the unsatisfactory relating of a doctored version of it to the Chief (in what
proved a vain attempt to raise a search warrant), it would be impossible to
know – but the trance ends with a sudden jolt that could be an imagined
response to being shot at by Jed Tarr or equally to his very real dismissal by
the Chief with a flea in his ear.

In any
event, DS Jones has an immediate query.

‘I
thought the towers were blanks, Guv – follies?’

Skelgill
recovers his wits – and, indeed, frowns in an avuncular though censorious
manner: that DS Jones had accepted Dr Wolfstein’s statement about the
construction at face value.

‘Wait
till we find the way in.’

DS
Leyton has not been apprised of such matters.

‘What
is this, Guv?  It’s all news to me.’

Skelgill
glances at each of his colleagues in turn.

‘Think
about it – they’ve been using the abandoned mines for some of their ceremonies
– they’ve got a private gate that virtually leads to the lower entrance
– Tarr was a miner, Rick is a builder – I tell you there’s a tunnel
in the castle grounds that leads into one of the towers.  That’s where they
kept Irina Yanukovych.  Our boys will find it in the morning – mark
my words.’

DS
Leyton seems content with this explanation, but it highlights for him an
associated conundrum.

‘I get
the castle bit, Guv – and being next to the mines and all that – but
I can’t believe it’s not Wolfstein who’s the brains behind the business –
I mean, that woman – I know she was a bit of a stickler round her little
B&B – but the head honcho of a witches’ coven?’

Skelgill
glances casually at DS Jones.

‘I did
some research, Leyton – evidently the leader is normally female.’

DS
Jones nods obediently, and DS Leyton shrugs in acquiescence – but he is
still troubled by some of the loose ends.

‘Fair
enough, Guv – but then why did she draw our attention in the first place
– by reporting Pavlenko missing?  That seems bonkers to me.’

Skelgill
turns to his sergeant; he seems to be trying to decide what kind of expression
he should use – patronising, reprimanding, exasperated – but in the
end he settles for a smile.

‘Because
he never went missing, Leyton – not from Keswick, anyway.’

‘Come
again, Guv?’

‘He came
straight to Blackbeck – and never got away.’

DS
Leyton remains nonplussed.

‘What
are you saying, Guv?’

‘That
the girl got a message to him – so he turned up at the castle – perhaps
he called at the front gates – maybe they caught him later – in the
forest – or trespassing in the grounds.’

‘But
Keswick, Guv – what was that all about?’

Skelgill
takes a drink of his beer and relaxes into the soft cushions of the sofa. 
His characteristic brusqueness appears to have deserted him, and patiently he
begins to enlighten his sergeant.

‘Think
about it, Leyton.  We’ll know soon enough how he died – the same trick
they used on Ticker and thought they were pulling on me – maybe something
more direct?  But assume he was killed on the Thursday, shortly after the
last signal from his mobile.  Now I don’t know if he managed to dump the handset
– like he might have done with the charm that Ticker found –
perhaps hoping it would leave a clue to his whereabouts – or if they got
it and destroyed it – but either way they’d be worried that he could be
traced to Blackbeck Castle, or nearby.  So they hatch a plan.  Three
days later he checks into a B&B in Keswick, twenty-odd miles away, no
apparent connection.  That completely lifts any suspicion from Blackbeck
– we’ve no reason to doubt the landlady’s word – and his bag’s
there to prove it.  She even gets the name wrong – perhaps to
suggest his behaviour was shifty – which fits with him disappearing without
being seen by her or the other guests.  She also told us he’d got a
Bartholomew
map of Derwentwater – to put us off the scent – but, you know
Leyton, no such map exists.’

DS
Leyton is alternately nodding and shaking his head, a look of some awe in his eyes.

‘Cor
blimey, Guv – it’s the perfect alibi – if a dead man can have an
alibi.’  (His colleagues chuckle.)  ‘But you know what I mean,
Guv?  We’d never in a million years suspect the landlady of making the
whole thing up – she was so efficient you’d have her down as your ideal
witness.’

Skelgill
scowls.

‘Except
she wasn’t efficient enough for you, Leyton – they might have known about
the passport, but that hidden photograph blew the whole thing apart – if
we didn’t twig at the time.  And you discovered the phone call between the
guest house and here at the pub.’

DS
Leyton is unaccustomed to such unstinting praise, especially from Skelgill, and
in the presence of another officer.  Rather self-consciously he picks up
his first unfinished beer and gazes down into the glass.

‘Just
me and my big nose, Guv – sometimes I’ve got no idea where it’s going but
I follow it all the same.’

Skelgill
grins.

‘Steady
on Leyton, that’s my speciality.’

‘Maybe
I’m learning from you at last, Guv?’

‘You
just stick to violent thugs, Leyton.’

DS
Leyton shrugs.  They have not spoken too much about this incident –
though it will no doubt make its way into police folklore in the days to come,
and DS Leyton will surely be recognised for his bravery.

‘It
was you that got him with the axe, Guv.’

‘I was
aiming at you, Leyton – for being so stupid.’

Now
they all share in a round of relieved laughter.  Skelgill silently raises
a glass to his colleague, but DS Leyton continues to look uncomfortable beneath
the burden of credit.

‘It
was you that cracked it, Guv – you sussed out what was going on tonight
– beats me how you did that.’

Skelgill
grins.

‘That’s
partly down to you, too, Leyton – insisting I should go fishing.’ 
Skelgill swallows some more beer.  ‘The clue was right under my nose
– or in front of my eyes, at least.’

‘What
– the public schoolboys, rowing?’

Skelgill
shakes his head.

‘Know
what day it is today, Leyton?’

DS Leyton
looks at his watch.

‘Thursday,
Guv – oh, you mean the date – it’s May Day.’

‘And
last night was May Eve.’  Skelgill waves a hand about the pub.  ‘This
crowd call it Beltane.’

‘I’ve
heard of that, Guv.’

‘It’s
a big night if your business happens to be black magic – especially when
there’s a full moon.’

DS
Leyton nods, and now he becomes rather pensive and glances anxiously at DS
Jones; she is clearly flagging, and has settled back into the comfort of the
sofa, her eyelids beginning to droop.

‘What
do you reckon they were up to, Guv?’

Skelgill,
too, glances at DS Jones.  Mildly, she returns his gaze – though his
concern suggests an aversion to visiting this subject in her presence.  He
turns back to DS Leyton.

‘We’ll
find out soon enough, Leyton – once we start throwing a few charges at
them – I’d say we’re working on the spectrum between kidnap and murder,
with plenty in between.’

Indeed,
DS Jones seems to flinch at this analysis, and DS Leyton is quick to offer a
distraction of sorts.

‘Not
to mention killing all those sheep, Guv.’

Skelgill
raises an eyebrow – but DS Leyton’s response is an ironic chuckle.

‘Just
as well our boys turned up when they did, Guv.  Your farmer pal and his
mates were getting right stuck in.’

Skelgill
pulls a regretful face, though on which side the regret lies it is hard to
tell.

‘Leyton
– how come our mob managed to put in such a big appearance – I
thought they were all supposed to be drafted onto Smart’s heist up at Carlisle?’

Now DS
Leyton raises a finger as if he has been meaning to mention this matter.

‘Turns
out DI Smart was working on duff gen, Guv – the snout’s taken the money
and done a runner – so it was all called off about ten p.m.’  He
grins conspiratorially.  ‘The laugh is, Guv – a report came in from
a member of the public of some geezers rustling a vanload of sheep up near
Wigton – the Chief sent DI Smart as he was nearest – now the joke
going round among the lads is he’s the man if there’s a ram raid.’

Skelgill
chuckles – and DS Jones, too, is roused to join in.  This is not an
entirely new pun in Cumbrian police circles – but nonetheless it has ample
life in its old legs as far as the unpopular DI Smart is concerned.

DS
Leyton is still holding his phone, though he has not yet contrived to send the
text to his better half – but now it rings.  He accepts the call and
listens to a lengthy explanation, his own contributions being largely along the
lines of “Cor blimey” and “Struth”.  His colleagues wait with growing
interest for the conversation of sorts to end.

‘I
better get back to HQ, Guv.’

‘Why
– what’s up?’

‘We’ve
found
six
more girls, Guv.  All locked in.  Rick’s place, in
an outbuilding – that estate agent geezer, his gaff – those two
sales reps – and even at both of the elderly ladies’ cottages.

Skelgill
is nodding.  A look of some triumph is spreading across his
countenance.  He stands up.

‘You’re
right, Leyton – we need to get onto this.’

‘Nah,
Guv.’  DS Leyton springs to his feet and places a hand on his superior’s
upper arm.  Then he indicates with a concerned bow of the head towards DS
Jones, partly shielded behind Skelgill.  ‘I can deal with this –
they’re only looking for one extra bod to lend a hand – one of us that’s
been directly on the case – you pick it up in the morning.’

‘It
is
the morning, Leyton.’

‘Guv
– I’ve not even finished one pint – I’ll be fine to drive up.’

Skelgill
bites the side of a cheek.  He ponders for a moment or two.

‘What
about the pies?’

‘I’ll
take a couple with me, Guv – whack ’em in the microwave when I get there.’

‘Tell
you what, Leyton – take the lot.  I owe you.’

*

‘Guv,
what made you risk coming into the cave?’

Skelgill
stirs from his present reverie.  They have each relaxed into facing ends of
the accommodating country style sofa.  The blaze in the hearth, too, has
settled, there is the calming hiss of unseasoned timber and the occasional shift
of a log with its attendant flurry of sparks.  The lights are turned down
low, and the warm glow of the fire cocoons them from the shadowy darkness of
the old timbered room.  A glinting brown bottle and a pair of half-filled
liqueur glasses rest upon the table.  He lifts his gaze from the grate to
meet that of his colleague.

‘What
else could I have done?’

‘Called
for help.’

Skelgill
shakes his head decisively.

‘There
was no time – thanks to Smart and his latest useless supergrass we had no
boots on the ground – and the Chief already thought I was crackers
– she wasn’t interested.’

‘But even
if you’d shouted down that you were the police.’

Skelgill
looks perplexed, as if this idea never crossed his mind.

‘Aye, and
then what?  They’d have just cleared off in their cars – taken you
God knows where.’

‘But
once they knew you were onto them, Guv?  Surely they’d have just abandoned
us in the cave – I’m certain nobody recognised me – I only actually
met Rick and Mrs Robinson – after that it was all in near darkness.’

Skelgill
looks doubtful.

‘Jones,
I don’t get the feeling they would have taken to kindly to leaving witnesses of
any sort.’  He leans back against the cushions and sends a sigh towards
the ceiling, as a smoker would exhale a column of smoke.  ‘I couldn’t even
be sure I’d get away.  There was no means of knowing whether Tarr was the only
security they’d got.  Or how prepared they’d have been to come after me.’