Hail and Farewell (The Lakeland Murders) (12 page)

‘So did either of you see one or both of them in or around the game last Friday evening? DI Smith?’

‘No, I did not.’

‘And how about you, DS Hodgson?’

‘No, I can’t say I did.’

Jane stood up, and Mann did the same.

‘Thanks for your time. As you say, DI Smith, there’s no need to alter your statements, so we’ll just note the fact that we’ve had this conversation, and ask you to sign our notebooks to indicate a fair record.’

‘Let me ask you something, DS Francis’ said Smith. ‘And I’d appreciate a straight, simple answer.’

‘Certainly, sir.’

‘Are we suspects? Is that why you’re spending God knows how many thousands investigating a bloody accident in a game that everyone already knows is dangerous? Is that what all this is about?’

‘Absolutely not, sir. What makes you ask that?’

Smith didn’t answer for a moment.

‘Just make sure that you get my question, and your reply, in your notes, OK?’

Matt Hayton was dozing, or pretending to, when Jane and Mann walked into the interview room. Mann introduced them, and got the tape running.

‘You have already been charged with resisting arrest and common assault, but this is in connection with another matter.’

‘Oh, aye?’

‘But, just out of interest, why did you run earlier on?’

‘I didn’t know who it was. You didn’t identify yourselves as coppers, like.’

Hayton grinned across the table at Mann, and he smiled back. He already knew that this would be Hayton’s defence to the resisting and assault charges, and he knew that the CPS would drop the charges as soon as they saw his and Iredale’s statement. Because he’d already told the lad to be absolutely clear about exactly what he’d said to Hayton. He wasn’t worth lying for.

‘So you didn’t recognise DC Iredale, even though he’s arrested you seven times in total.’

Hayton shrugged. ‘I get arrested a lot. It’s you lot, always fitting me up. Like this time. You and that Iredale lad will say that you badged me, and said you were coppers when you first saw me. But that’s bollocks, and you all know it.’

Mann smiled again. ‘You’re right, we didn’t get that right. And it’s what our statements will confirm, I dare say.’

‘There we are, see. What did I bloody tell you. So can I go now?’

‘No’ said Jane, ‘as DS Mann explained we’re here to talk about another matter. The death of Chris Brown during the Uppies and Downies match on Good Friday evening.’

‘That won’t take long. It was an accident, was that. Ask anyone.’

‘I’m asking you. Were you at the game on Friday night?’

‘Aye, I was, funny enough. I joined in for ten minutes, like. Just before the lad died, as it happens.’

‘So why haven’t you come forward previously?’

‘Why? Have you been looking for people who played on Friday night?’

‘Yes. In the papers, on TV and local radio. On the internet, even.’

‘Oh aye? Sorry, I must have missed them, like. Still, there’s no law against it, is there?’ Hayton was grinning widely. He pushed his chair back and looked across the two officers.

‘Do you want to know the really funny thing?’ said Jane.

‘I love a laugh, me.’

‘The funny thing is that no-one else mentioned that you were in the game.’

‘So what?’’

Jane leaned forward across the table. She opened her folder and flicked through three pages of A4.

‘Would you call yourself a violent man, Mr. Hayton?’

‘I can look after myself, like. But I don’t go looking for trouble.’

‘This is your record. Do you no how many cautions and convictions you have for offences against the person?’

‘Three or four. Something around that. I don’t keep score.’

‘Fourteen. You’ve spent five years in jail since you were eighteen. And how old are you now?’

‘Twenty eight.’

‘So that’s half the time, isn’t it?’

‘If you say so.’

‘So is it possible that your reputation for violence dissuaded people from mentioning your name in their statements?’

‘Aye, maybe. People do know that I’m handy, it’s true. But there was no need. Like I said, I did nowt.’

‘Did you kill Chris Brown?’

‘No, don’t be daft, love. I didn’t touch him. Didn’t even see him.’

‘You’re sure about that?’

‘Oh, aye. Quite sure.’

‘One more thing, Mr. Hayton. The clothes you were wearing on Friday night. We’d like to take them for forensic examination.’

‘Can’t help you there, love.’

‘Are you refusing?’

‘No, it’s not that. I ended up in the water, and my jeans and my coat and shoes were all covered in crap, like. So I binned the lot.’

‘You threw them into your domestic rubbish bin?’

‘That’s right. The recycling one, like. I’m all about saving the planet, like.’

‘And has that bin been collected?’

Hayton was grinning widely now. ‘Aye, yesterday it was. I’m really sorry about that, like, but you could always go and have a poke about down the tip. You might get lucky, I suppose, if you search around long enough.’

Thursday, 24th April

Sandy Smith was already in the CID office when Jane and Ian Mann arrived. She was standing in the middle of the office, a short, wide, angry woman with a cup of tea in her hand. There were several officers and civilian staff at their desks, and they were making sure that they didn’t catch Sandy’s eye. Jane liked the SOCO supervisor, she knew that she was always angry because she always cared, but she didn’t blame the youngsters for keeping their heads down. Because if Sandy’s language could always peel paint the look on her face that morning would have knocked down doors.

‘Morning, Sandy’ Jane said hopefully, and was relieved when Sandy simply marched in to the office that Jane and Mann were sharing. Jane was pretty sure that she and Mann wouldn’t want everyone to hear what Sandy was about to say.

‘Are you trying to reduce the SOCO headcount?’ said Sandy, a millisecond after the door was closed.

‘How do you mean?’

‘Are you trying to give us all hepatitis?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Well, you’re going the right way about it. Not content with having us poking about in that fucking awful hotel room I’ve had half the team down at that dump for hours.’

‘Any luck?’

‘Of course not, Jane. For fuck’s sake, I thought you’d know better than that. The second Hayton’s clothing hit the inside of the dustbin lorry its evidential value was over, unless it was soaked in the victim’s blood, and we know that’s not the case. There’s no realistic chance of us ever finding the stuff anyway. I just sent the team down to check. But why did you bother asking, Jane? Are you desperate, or what?’

‘It’s because this is a murder enquiry now, Sandy, and Matt Hayton is our prime suspect. Andy had a word with the ACC Crime last night, and she’s agreed that we can formally upgrade the investigation to a category three.’

‘All right, I’ll let you off. Only this time, mind. But Hayton was clever, I’ll give him that.’

‘How do you mean?’ said Mann.

‘I know this is hard for you, Ian, but think about it for a second. How else could your man have disposed of the clothes? Assuming he wanted to destroy evidence, I mean.’

‘Burned them?’

‘Exactly. You wouldn’t believe the number of impromptu fucking bonfires I’ve had to rake through in my time. I don’t know why they do it, maybe it’s something they’ve seen on TV, but your typical perp always torches incriminating evidence. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Even if we don’t find owt, it’s still incriminating. So this was much cleverer, because it’s not unreasonable for someone who’s ruined their clothes to chuck them in the bin, is it?’

‘I wouldn’t have Matt Hayton down as criminal genius material’ said Jane.

‘He shouldn’t be too hard for you lot to catch then.’

Jane smiled.

‘So can we assume from your especially sunny disposition this morning that you got nothing from the hotel room either?’

‘Sorry, love. It’s being around coppers that makes me angry. I’m always calm in the lab.’

‘I know exactly what you mean.’

‘I bet you do. But you’re right, we got fuck all from the room.’

‘How about the CCTV? Why didn’t it work?’

‘Our bloke found a lead disconnected.’

‘Suspicious?’

‘Maybe, maybe not. The manager said that the cleaners might have knocked it off. He says it has happened before, once or twice.’

‘You look sceptical.’

‘Judging by the state of Baker’s room the cleaners should be bloody shot, they’re so crap at the job. In fact, the rooms are so fucking dirty no-one would notice the blood on the walls afterwards.’

Mann laughed, briefly.

‘You won’t be smiling when you read the report from the techs on the rest of the CCTV from around the hotel. It’s in your inbox.’

‘Why? Nothing of any use?

‘Not much. The car they used has been spotted , but it was nicked, and the men in it can’t be identified.’

‘Any sign of the car?’

‘No. It’s dropped out of sight. Not a bad job for a bunch of amateurs, eh?’

Jane grimaced. ‘I only said that Matt Hayton isn’t a criminal genius. His bosses are the ones who don’t go to jail. They’re the clever ones.’

‘So are we going to see Andy up here, sometime soon?’ Sandy was grinning. ‘Even the odds a bit.’ Mann and Jane both laughed.

‘You are a cow’ said Jane.

‘I’ve been called worse.’

‘Now that really does surprise me’ said Jane, dryly. ‘But to answer your question the great man is indeed going to grace us with his presence. I’m driving down to get him tonight. He wanted to attend Chris Brown’s funeral tomorrow.’

‘And keep an eye on you two, I expect.’

‘That too. Now, do you want to stick around for the team meeting?’

‘No, I’d better get back to the lab. We’ve got an especially sticky sexual assault on the go, and I do use the word sticky advisedly.’

Jane grimaced. ‘OK, that’s fine. We’ll be shifting our attention to Matt Hayton now, and the rest of his crew. As far as I know we’ve got nothing new for your team at present, have we, Ian?’

‘Nope. But there’s a big old bin downstairs that wants emptying.’

‘Fuck off, you big ape’ said Sandy cheerfully.

When she’d gone Mann offered to make a brew, and Jane looked at him suspiciously when he came back with two mugs.

‘There was something I wanted to mention, Jane.’

‘Mention, or confess?’

He smiled. ‘No wonder you’re the bloody SIO. I’m not sure, to tell you the truth. It might mean something, but it might not.’

‘Let me guess. It’s got to do with Smith and Hodgson.’

‘Bloody hell, are you channelling the DCI now? Aye, it has, as a matter of fact. When I was out with them on Tuesday night the subject of Alex Baker’s video came up, and they asked me about it. I told them there was nowt of interest on it.’

‘That’s fine, then.’

‘Except I might have also suggested that Baker could have been holding something back, some video footage, like. Or at least not denied it. I can’t remember exactly what I said.’

‘Shit, Ian, you didn’t?’

‘I did. Do you think that could be what got Baker jumped and his room turned over?’

‘Only if one or both of Smith and Hodgson are dirty.’

‘Exactly, aye. What should we do? If I document this I’m for the high jump, which I can live with because I’ve been a prat, but there’ll be an internal investigation of Smith and Hodgson. Right now, I mean. And I’m not sure that’s what we’d want, is it?’

Jane took a sip of her tea.

‘You’re thinking that we’d be better off them not knowing that we’re looking at them for an involvement in this?’

‘Aye, exactly. Might be worth discussing with Andy, anyway?’

‘Thanks for the tea, Ian. And yes, we should chat to Andy about it, together I mean. Meantime let’s keep this to ourselves, OK?’

‘Fine. But if it comes out later, for whatever reason, we never had this conversation. I’m not getting you involved in my bloody cock-ups. I should know better than to open my big mouth.’

‘Don’t be daft, Ian. And it doesn’t really change anything, does it? Those two aren’t the only ones who knew about that tape. Everyone working on the investigation did, for a start. But let’s be especially careful, from now on. Especially when it comes to the dynamic duo.’

‘So you think I should keep my distance, like?’

‘No, just the opposite. Pal up as much as you can. Talk about stuff you all like; rugby league, beer, why the north is better than anywhere else in the world. Whatever rubbish it is that blokes talk about.’

‘That shouldn’t be too hard. And if they ask about the case?’

‘Tell them stuff they’ll already know anyway. Realistically, you’re going to have to wing it a bit, but I expect Andy will have his own ideas about how to play them.’

‘Aye. He usually does, Jane.’

DC Iredale looked at his watch, and then back at the pile of waste on the foreshore. He calculated how long it would take him to cycle from Allonby to the station. At best he had ten minutes before he’d have to leave. He took his phone out of his pocket and started taking pictures of the stuff, although he already knew that this wasn’t down to his brother-in-law. Because not only was there far too much material to have come from a van, but it was mixed waste too. Whoever had done the fly-tipping seemed to have been bright enough to remove anything that could be easily identified, but there was all sorts of material. Builder’s rubble, household and garden waste, old furniture, carpets and ceramic tiles. It was a mess.

Iredale photographed the lorry tracks too. He doubted that SOCO would send someone out to take casts, but as far as he could tell from the tracks in the sand on the edge of the car park it was a large tipper truck that had been used. The car park was just outside the village to the south, with the dunes all around and only the wind turbines as witnesses, so he didn’t even think about knocking on doors. Reluctantly he decided to leave, but he felt guilty about it all the way to work. He’d phone the council as soon as he got in, and make sure that the material was collected quickly.