Death on High (The Lakeland Murders)

Death on High

The Lakeland Murder
s
, number two.

By J J Salkeld

HERRINGBONE Press

© copyright J J Salkeld, 2013

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Detective Inspector Andy Hall pressed the clicker for the final time, brought up his final slide, then thanked his audience briefly and sat down. He thought it had gone well, but when your audience are the county’s twenty most senior Police officers it could be hard to tell. They certainly didn’t give much away.

It all depended on the new Chief’s response of course, and the rest waited for him to speak. He was actually one of the youngest men in the room, despite being the only one with the crown on his epaulettes. In fact the Chief was just fifty, barely older than Hall himself, although vanishingly further up the ladder.

He took his time before speaking. Hall couldn’t tell whether he was considering his response, or just seeking to give that impression.

‘That was excellent Andy. Thanks very much for that, really useful insights. We’re very fortunate indeed to have a trained economist among our senior ranks.’

‘I can’t take all the credit sir. This was very much a team effort.’ Hall thought that some of his superiors looked surprised at that.

‘I’d like to drill down on a few points, then open it up’ said the Chief, waving away Hall’s modesty. ‘I think we’d all accept that the wider economic situation has an affect on not only the overall level of reported crime, but also the types of crime that occur at a national level. I think that’s what you call the macro picture, isn’t it Andy?’

Hall smiled assent. The Chief was just getting started.

‘But for us in Cumbria we have to try to decide how we think these economic factors will be reflected locally, especially in terms of the specific mix of offending behaviours. And then, of course, we have to decide how to prepare the organisation to deal with the changing patterns of crime that we expect to see develop. That’s why the theme of this senior officer’s conference is ‘Policing tomorrow’s Cumbria’. As I say I want to open this up, but first I’d like to offer my own analysis of what Andy has told us.’

No-one looked to have even the slightest intention of interrupting.

‘First, at the macro level’, the Chief smiled faintly, ‘Andy has given us a clear picture of the County’s economy, and shown us that we do face significant problems, and these are likely to be exacerbated by the constraints on our own resources. To put it bluntly, we expect crime to increase, but our own resources to be reduced over the next couple of years and beyond. Tourism remains a bright spot for the county’s economy fortunately, as does the nuclear sector in the west of the county. What’s the phrase you used to explain the latter Andy?’

‘The half-life of any recession will always be less than that of Uranium, Chief.’

‘Indeed, but elsewhere we can see real signs of strain, and Andy’s analysis of our own crime statistics over the years shows us the likely patterns. Andy, could you bring that slide back up please?’

Hall had hoped the Chief wouldn’t ask, but after an agonising twenty seconds of fiddling about he managed to get the right slide up on the screen.

‘So what the numbers are telling us’ continued the Chief, ‘is that we’re likely to see increasing levels of thefts from farms, both of stock and machinery, increasing domestic burglaries, especially in our most deprived wards, plus increasing thefts of metals, as well as fraud, both on and offline. In other words offences where there’s a pecuniary motive are likely to increase more quickly than crimes against the person, as a direct result of the wider economic slump. Is that fair, Andy?’

‘Yes, Chief.’

‘So the question for us, as senior managers, is how do we respond. Any thoughts? Yes, Eric.’

If Hall’s boss, Superintendent Robinson, had looked any keener it would probably have had long-term health implications.

‘I’d like to suggest that we overlay issues of public perception onto the numbers, Chief.’ Robinson paused, and receiving an encouraging nod he pressed on. ‘And the one that really jumps out at me is the organised element of rural crime, whether that’s theft of livestock, machinery or metals. This kind of crime causes many residents living in isolated locations to feel especially vulnerable. And,’ Robinson continued before anyone else could cut in, ‘we need to overlay our existing capabilities. Because while we do have a specialist team dealing with organised crime it tends to concentrate mainly on drugs, and be focused on our urban centres, especially Carlisle.’

‘Do you have a proposal to put forward Eric?’ asked the Chief. Hall tried to read the look on Robinson’s face. Was it pride, or fear?

‘Yes, of course Chief. No problems, only solutions. What I was going to propose is that we establish a specialist unit, based in Kendal and utilising Andy and his team, to target the organised elements of rural crime specifically.’

The Chief looked round the room, as if inviting applause.

‘Excellent. Sheila, would you minute Eric’s proposal please?’ The middle aged woman, sitting back from the table with a laptop on her lap, nodded briefly and continued typing.

‘So’ said the Chief, ‘thoughts on Eric’s proposals. Would any of the other Superintendents like to house a new rural organised crime unit in their region? West, North, East?’ The new Chief smiled. ‘I’m always open to suggestions.’

Andy Hall looked out of the long window on the far side of the meeting table at the scene outside. The meeting was being held in the first floor conference room at one of Highways Agencies depots, just off the M6 at Penrith. It was mid-January, mid-afternoon and freezing cold. Hall watched the gritting lorries starting to leave for their night’s work. He hoped he’d make it home before the snow set in, and wondered if the guys in the depot would give him a bag of salt to put down on his drive. I’d have to declare it if they did, he thought gloomily, and wondered how much longer the session would go on for.

An hour later it was dark and he was still wondering, as each of the divisional Supers made their case as the ideal home for a new specialist unit. If it meant keeping a few more jobs they’d have been willing to open a creche in the cells if the Chief had suggested it.

‘Thanks very much everyone’ said the Chief eventually, ‘what a lively discussion we’ve had this afternoon, and thanks again to Andy Hall for providing such valuable data and insights. I suggest that we proceed as follows. Could I ask each divisional Superintendent to discuss this proposal with their own CID teams, and then make a formal, costed proposal to me within the next fortnight. And may the best team win, eh?’

Hall drove home with his windscreen washers freezing up and his old BMW making some new and disturbing noises, and knowing precisely what he’d be doing for the next fortnight.

Sunday 3rd February

Adrian Butterworth was feeling pretty good about himself. It wasn’t much of a morning, but after a week of sales meetings and many miles in the Mondeo he’d promised himself a day out on the fells, and despite the weather he’d gone through with it.
The way the seatbelt was digging into to his gut as he drove had been motivation enough. And now, at the end of the long slog up to Fairfield he was starting to feel a warm glow of satisfaction.

Visibility was terrible, he’d been in cloud for most of the last half hour, and the air temperature was falling pretty fast. But he was well equipped, well fed - perhaps a little too well fed - and he knew this walk intimately. He’d moved to Kendal from Leeds in his twenties, and in the last decade he must have done this walk thirty times or more.

As usual he’d parked the car in Ambleside, and had walked along the road until he reached the path to Rydal Hall. From then until now the walk had been pretty much all uphill, a sharp little ascent to get him into the swing of things, then on past Heron Pike, Rydal Fell and Great Rigg, where he’d stopped for a bit to eat. Normally he would have sat and savoured the views too, but with nothing to see and the cold starting to bite he’d quickly repacked his day-sack and got moving again.

Before he set off he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t think about work, but when he thought about it afterwards he realised that he must have broken his promise, because he was thinking about his drive to Birmingham the next day when the clouds parted. He had just passed the wall-end at Fairfield, and because of the low cloud and the poor weather he’d felt like he had the whole of the Fairfield Horseshoe to himself, for once.

But then he saw two figures, just rounding Rydal Head, and right out on the edge of the crag. They were too far away to see clearly, but the taller one was in front, and Butterworth knew that it was a man and a woman. Then the clouds rolled back in, and the figures were gone. He walked on for another minute or two. Butterworth was thinking about whether to splash out on the toll-road to get past Birmingham in the morning, the tight-wads in accounts always complained when he claimed for it, when the cloud parted once again, just for a couple of seconds.

Instinctively he looked for the two walkers on the crag, but now he could only see one, the smaller of the two, standing stock still, as if lost in thought. There wasn’t much wind, and after a few seconds he was almost certain that he could hear someone shouting for help. Then the figure was gone, consumed by cloud, and Butterworth picked up his pace. He’d be there in ten minutes if he hurried.

Monday 11th February

‘Robinson’s like a dog with two dicks this morning’ said Detective Sergeant Ian Mann, walking into Hall’s office at the start of the shift, carrying two mugs of tea. ‘I met him in the car park earlier.’

‘Thanks for the heads up. Perhaps we’ve won the Britain’s tidiest cells competition or something. But I expect I’ll hear soon enough either way. Did you have a good weekend?’

‘Yes, thanks, went for a long bike ride with Julie.’

Hall and Mann were friends, but Hall wasn’t the type to make a joke about Mann being back in the saddle. It was just too easy. So he tried to think of a gag involving derailleurs, but the moment passed. He’d just been too ambitious, he thought.

They chatted for a few minutes, and then Hall’s Blackberry buzzed.

‘Here we are. Just in from the Dear Leader. Apparently South Division has been chosen as the home of the new Rural Organised Crime Unit, and yours truly is going to be in operational command.’

‘More money Andy?’

‘Only if I steal it. But the Super says that our other ideas have also been accepted, so we’d better get Jane and Ray in here for a meeting as soon as they arrive.’

‘Jane was already here when I got in. I sometimes wonder if she’s moved in here completely now. She must have wandered off somewhere. I’ll see if I can track her down, shall I?’

Half an hour later Hall, Mann and DCs Ray Dixon and Jane Francis were gathered round Hall’s meeting table. They were all reading the proposal that Hall had put forward, which Robinson had blessed, and which the Chief had now accepted.

‘Is there any more money in it?’ asked Ray Dixon. He knew, to the penny, what his annual increments did to his pension entitlement, so he was always hopeful. His pension was one of the few things he was still remotely hopeful about.

‘Funny you should ask that Ray, but no, not a penny. Essentially all we get to do is to take Ian away from his normal duties for an initial three month period, to allow him to infiltrate one or more gangs operating in rural areas anywhere in the county. We’ve got a budget to rent a house, plus the other stuff that Ian will need, and we provide support. So we’ll actually be one man down, and not a penny up.’

‘So the Sarge gets to live free for three months at our expense’ said Dixon. ‘Can I volunteer?’

‘You don’t mean that Ray’ said Hall. ‘You’d have to be away from home, from your wife, everything.’

‘That’s even better.’ They all waited for Dixon’s inevitable pay-off. ‘I think it was just a holiday romance.’

‘Very good Ray. But you’ve been married for twenty plus years. Seriously though’ said Hall, ‘we need to plan this carefully. Remember that we’re not after the opportunist who nicks a tractor from a field or a load of copper pipe from a builder’s van. We’re after proper working villains, and we all know how they can react when they’re provoked and they’ve got their living to lose. And believe me there’s money in this sort of crime, proper money. So let’s focus. Now, Jane has collated all the relevant unsolveds from the last 12 months where the total insurance value was over ten grand, and you can see we’ve got a pattern emerging. Jane, do you want to take us through it?’