Hail and Farewell (The Lakeland Murders) (17 page)

Monday, 28th April

DC Iredale was only a few minutes from home, just settling into his pedalling and feeling his legs warming up, when he saw it. Another huge pile of rubbish, tipped right on the edge of the cycle path. It was like somebody had done it specifically to annoy him.

‘For fuck’s sake’ he said, as he got off his bike. Iredale had a reputation among his colleagues for calmness and good humour, and he’d never once lost his temper while dealing with the drunks and domestics that had got out of hand. Even when he’d turned his back on that woman with the illegal dog, and she’d slipped its chain, just for the craic, like. He still had the scars on his arm where the thing had bitten him.

But this time he was properly angry, and frustrated too. He started to pick through the rubbish, although that just made him feel even more annoyed. They were just so careful. He couldn’t see a single thing that he could use to connect all this crap with anyone or anywhere. He kicked out at a pile of dusty old plasterboard in frustration, and it flew up into the air. A passing cyclist looked round sharply, and Iredale held up his hand in apology. And then he saw it, a mobile phone, dusty, but intact and apparently undamaged.

Iredale moved forward and was about to reach down and pick up the phone when he stopped, and instead took off his cycling back-pack. He got out his phone, and took a few pictures showing the whole pile of rubbish, and then he took some close ups of the phone
in situ
. Then he pulled out his sandwich box, and took the sandwiches out of the plastic bag. He turned the bag inside out, shook away the crumbs, and carefully slipped the phone inside without touching it. Finally, he used his own phone to leave a message on the voice mail of his contact at the local council, giving the location and the approximate quantity and type of waste that he’d found.

When he got in to work he opened and wrote up a case file, attached his pictures, and put the phone he’d found into an evidence bag. He tagged it, and left it on his desk. He’d drop it in to tech support later for fingerprinting and SIM analysis, if there was one still in it. Then he looked at his incoming email.

‘Fuck me’ he said, just as Ian Mann was passing.

‘No, thanks. But the offer is appreciated, like. If I decide on a major lifestyle change you’ll be the first to know.’

Iredale laughed. ‘You know I told you about my fly-tippers, Ian?’

‘Aye, you might have mentioned something. But I probably wasn’t listening.’

‘Well, you’ll listen now. Because guess who owns the haulage business that I reckon might be behind this?’

‘Not George Hayton?’

‘Aye. Look, he’s a director, anyway. And I’ve just found this phone, in amongst today’s bloody deposit.’

‘Would you forward everything you’ve got to me, Keith? Jane and the boss should be here in ten minutes. I’ll have a word with them, and get back to you. Andy might not be interested of course, but the way things are going I reckon he’d be interested in anything that connects to George Hayton.’

‘I was thinking about popping out to their depot to take a look around. Maybe have a word, like?’

‘Have you got enough for a warrant?’

‘No, sorry. My wit didn’t see one of their trucks fly-tipping, nothing like that. It’s just a possibility, that’s all.’

‘OK, fair enough. Leave it with me, Keith.’

Half an hour later the two men were driving to Cockermouth.

‘The DCI says we’re to take it slow, and not to over-play the Hayton connection. This is strictly about the fly-tipping, for now at least’ said Mann.

‘So what’s the point, in terms of the Chris Brown investigation?’

Mann shrugged. ‘None, probably. But we’re really struggling. I’ll tell you that for free. The boss reckons that the ACC Crime could pull the plug at any moment. So I might as well do a bit of sight-seeing while I can, like.’

Iredale smiled. ‘Well, we’re almost in the National Park now, or we will be soon, but I’m taking you straight to a haulage yard. Like you say, coppers don’t get to see the best bits of anywhere, do they?’

‘Don’t you worry, Keith. I didn’t join the job for the travel opportunities. I had all that with the Marines.’

‘I expect you got around a bit, didn’t you?’

‘Aye’ said Mann, ‘I did. I went to some right shit-holes, and some lovely places too, of course. But nowhere in the world was better than round here. The Lakes, like. Have you travelled much, Keith?’

‘No. But I’d like to, I suppose.’

‘You don’t sound very sure.’

‘It’s finding the time, and the money. What with the job and my running, cycling and stuff. Plus there’s my mates, and my family. You know how it is.’

‘Close are you? The family, like?’

‘We have our up and downs, but aye, we are. My parents live just round the corner from me in Maryport, and my sister and her family are in Workington. I’ve lost count of my cousins and that. There must be dozens of them. You’re from Kendal, aren’t you?’

‘Aye, born and bred. It’s funny though, because I couldn’t wait to get away. I was sixteen when I joined up for the army job, and I was in Northern Ireland before I was seventeen.’

‘Shit. What was that like?’

‘Scary. But I’ve been home a good few years now, like.’

‘You don’t fancy going somewhere else? The Met, maybe?’

‘Christ, no. Not unless they get some decent ale, a few mountains and lakes, and everyone I like comes down there with me.’

Iredale laughed. ‘I’ll take that as a no, then.’

Iredale pulled into the haulier’s yard, and drove towards the office building in one corner. He parked next to a couple of other cars. There were several lorries in the yard, including a couple of large tipper lorries. Mann got out of the car and walked over to the one nearest them. He climbed up on the back wheel and looked into the load area.

‘Empty’ he called out to Iredale. ‘What about the other one?’

But Iredale didn’t get the chance to look into the back of the other lorry because two men were running out of the office towards them.

‘Get away from that fucking truck’ one of them shouted to Mann, who was reaching for his warrant card.

‘Police’ he said, but the two men just kept on coming.

Iredale wanted to run, but he didn’t. Ian Mann hadn’t moved either. He looked vaguely amused. The two men stopped feet from Mann. Neither one looked at his ID.

‘Where’s the fucking search warrant?’

‘I don’t need a warrant. We’ve come for chat, that’s all.’

‘Then why were you looking in that fucking lorry?’

‘Just interested, that’s all. Now, is there someone we can talk to? A grown-up, like.’

‘No. Fuck off, and don’t come back without a warrant.’

‘But you don’t even know why we’re here. It’s just a routine enquiry, is this. Of course, if you want us to go that’s your right, but that will only make us all the more interested in you, what you do here, who owns this company. All that sort of thing.’

Mann sensed that he’d hit a nerve.

‘All right. Follow us. One of the bosses is in today, as it happens. You can talk to her.’

Debbie Hayton was waiting in her office. She was well dressed, and her hair was long and glossy. Mann thought she looked out of place, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. She introduced herself and shook hands with both men.

‘Sorry if the lads weren’t very friendly. We’ve had a couple of loads nicked recently, one from inside the yard. So they’re a bit jumpy.’

‘Don’t worry about it. I’ve heard worse’, said Mann.

‘I’ll bet you have.’ She was looking straight at Mann. ‘So what can I do for you, officers?’

She was still looking at Mann, but it was Iredale who answered.

‘We’re making enquiries about several incidents of fly-tipping. You have some lorries of the right type and size. Like the two outside, for example.’

‘They’re a very common type. I could name half a dozen local firms, plus any number of national ones, who have vehicles like that in their fleets.’

‘One of your lorries was seen near one of the dump sites.’

‘And it was in Cumbria?’

‘Yes. Incidents have occurred at various coastal locations recently.’

‘Well, since we operate up and down the west coast it’s hardly a surprise that our lorries are spotted around there, is it?’

‘Do you uplift building and other waste for clients?’

‘Not regularly, no. Our tipper lorries usually operate in support of our ground works division. So they move topsoil, that sort of thing.’

‘Could we see the logs for all of the trucks of that type?’

‘Of course. I’ll email them to you if you like. Do you have a card?’

Mann reached into his pocket and found a card. It was creased and dog-eared, and he found himself trying to smooth it out. Debbie Hayton was smiling at him. She looked at the card when he finally handed it over.

‘You’re from Kendal. This is out of your normal area, isn’t it?’

‘I’m based in Workington temporarily, with DC Iredale here.’

‘I see.’

Iredale was smiling, and Mann tried not to notice.

‘Aye, well, thanks for that Ms. Hayton.’

‘Debbie, please. And just so you know we would never get involved in any fly-tipping. Absolutely no way. My father would never approve of anything like that, any more than I would. It’s disgusting, dangerous and it gets all of us in the industry a bad name. We’re a west Cumbrian family, and my father loves the area. In fact I’m sure that he’ll be keen to help you find out whoever did this, so if we hear anything then I’ll be sure to let you know. I can reach you on this mobile number?’

‘Aye, that’s right. Anytime, like.’

‘Good. And I’ll include my personal mobile number when I email you the vehicle logs, shall I?’

‘Aye, that would be grand. Well, thanks for your time, Ms. Hayton. I mean Debbie. Aye, Debbie.’

‘Could I just ask one quick thing, before we go?’ said Iredale.

‘Of course. What is it?’

‘You log the mileage on your tipper trucks?’

‘Of course. Every time the truck is used the mileage is logged, at the start and finish of each shift. It’s all on the tachograph records.’

‘Great. And could I just confirm the mileages as they stand. Right now, I mean?’

Debbie Hayton smiled.

‘So young, yet so suspicious.’

Iredale doubted that he was younger than Debbie Hayton, but he didn’t say so.

‘Of course you can check’ she said. ‘Just help yourself, on the way out.’

‘And those two are your only tipper trucks?’

‘That’s right. You can check with the DVLA if you like.’

‘Thanks again’ said Mann. ‘You’ve been most helpful.’

‘I hope so’ said Debbie Hayton. ‘And please don’t hesitate to contact me again.’

They were half way back to Workington before Iredale stopped laughing. And that was only because Mann’s phone rang. ‘It’s the boss’ he said. Mann listened, and didn’t say much. And when he rang off he didn’t say anything at all.

‘What was that all about?’

‘Boss wants to see me when we get back.’

‘Oh, aye? What about?’

But Mann didn’t answer, and when Iredale glanced across at him he knew that it was best to let it go. So they drove most of the way back to the station in silence.

Jane Francis was already in Hall’s office when Mann walked in.

‘How did you get on at the Hayton’s haulage place?’ asked Hall, and Mann wasn’t absolutely sure that he hadn’t already heard about Debbie. He’d worked with Hall for years, but he still couldn’t read his expression.

‘Fine, aye. They’re sending over their logs. Some of their lads were pretty jumpy though.’

‘Really?’

‘Apparently they’ve had stuff nicked from the yard, like.’

‘I see. OK then, shall I play the recording?’

‘If you must’ said Mann, sitting down heavily. The office chair bowed slightly beneath him.

The three officers sat and listened to the station receptionist putting the call from Jack Moffett through to Hall.

‘Good morning’ said Hall, ‘and where are you calling from on this lovely spring day in west Cumbria?’

‘Is it? Never you mind where I am. I’ve been thinking about that question you asked. About bent coppers, like.’

There was a faint hiss of static on the line. Hall didn’t reply, and eventually Moffett spoke again.

‘I don’t know about now, but I can tell you about years ago, maybe. Would that be any use to you, like?’

‘It would. And you’d be willing to make a formal statement, would you?’

‘Don’t be daft. Of course I wouldn’t. But I expect you’re recording this call, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘All right then. Well this is all you’re getting. Bill Iredale, he used to do a bit for George Hayton.’

‘Do a bit? What do you mean by that exactly? Pass on privileged information?’

‘Oh, aye. He must have, like. It was common knowledge.’

‘Can you give me any specific examples?’

‘No. You’ll have to ask George, or Bill.’

‘And how long ago did this happen?’

‘For years, like. Up until Bill retired.’

‘And was Bill Iredale being paid? Do you know?’

‘No. But I expect so, like. I have to go now. Cocktails don’t drink themselves, do they?’

‘One more quick question. Does George Hayton have someone fulfilling the same kind of role that you claim Bill Iredale did? Now I mean. Does he have someone in place here now?’

Moffett laughed.

‘What do you think, lad?’ Then the line went dead.

‘Shit’ said Mann. ‘You’e not thinking that it’s some kind of family tradition are you, Andy?’

‘No. Of course not. That would be entirely unfair. Unless there’s any reason I should.’

‘Absolutely not. The lad is as straight as a die. And he’s only been in CID for five minutes.’

‘OK. Like I say, I’m not drawing any conclusions.’

But Mann wasn’t finished. ‘Plus he’s got a fixation with this bloody fly-tipping, hasn’t he? And he wasn’t shy about putting one of Hayton’s businesses in the frame, even though it’ll go nowhere, I expect.’