As The Crow Flies (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series) (11 page)

‘Bloody hell.’

‘The obvious conclusion is that Tina Williams killed Jake and possibly also Dan Hunter to shut him up,’ said Dixon. ‘But it’s just too obvious.’

‘Or Hunter killed Jake at Tina’s bidding?’

‘Both are possible, Sir, but I still think we’re barking up the wrong tree.’

‘What are you doing about it?’

‘I’ve got Jake’s girlfriend, Sarah, in the cells. Gorman has picked up Tina Williams and should be here in about twenty minutes, I’m told.’

‘Good. Let me know how you get on.’

The interview with Tina Williams began just after 4.00pm. She had been cautioned on arrival at Bridgwater Police Station and had exercised her right to legal representation. This had resulted in a delay of nearly an hour while they waited for a police station accredited solicitor. Dixon used the opportunity to take Monty for a walk. He had always regarded the accreditation process for solicitors to be something of nonsense because most of them were clerks without a qualification to their name. Having said that, he hoped that the possibility of a murder charge might bring out someone who knew what they were doing.

Tina Williams was in her mid fifties with short dark hair and greying roots. She was wearing jeans and a knitted pullover. After the usual introductions for the tape and a reminder that she was still under caution, Dixon began.

‘We are investigating the murder of Jake Fayter, Tina. Sarah’s boyfriend.’

‘I know.’

‘How well did you know Jake?’

‘Not that well. He’d only been going out with Sarah for about a year.’

‘How often did you see him?’

‘Not that often. He was always away climbing or, at least, that was what Sarah told me.’

‘Did you like him?’

‘He was nice enough but I didn’t like what he was doing.’

‘Dealing drugs?’

‘Yes.’

‘You knew he was dealing drugs?’

‘Yes. Sarah told me.’

‘Why would she tell you that? It’s hardly the sort of thing that you’d admit to your mother, that your boyfriend is a drug dealer, is it?’

‘I couldn’t understand where he got his money from but I eventually got it out of her. I begged her to leave him but she wouldn’t.’

‘When did you find out that it was Jake who’d supplied the drugs to Jenna?’

Tina looked across at her solicitor who smiled reassuringly and nodded. She began to cry.

‘I really don’t want to upset you unnecessarily, Tina, but it’s important that we understand when you found out that Jake may have supplied the drugs to your daughter. We’re investigating a murder and I’m sure you would agree that it gives you a powerful motive for wanting Jake dead.’

‘I didn’t kill him.’

‘When did you find out about Jake?’

‘About a week after Jenna died. It was before her funeral. He came to it, the little shit, crying buckets. How I didn’t kill him then I’ll never know.’

Dixon glanced across at Jane Winter, who raised her eyebrows. They could see Tina’s solicitor writing furiously in his notebook.

‘Who told you?’

‘A policeman. The one investigating the case.’

‘What was his name?’

‘I can’t remember. It was the same policeman who brought me here.’

‘What did he tell you?’

‘He told me that they had a suspect and were trying to get more evidence against him. He said he was a rock climber. I mean, who else could it have been?’

‘He didn’t mention Jake Fayter by name?’

‘No.’

‘Tell me about Dan Hunter.’

‘What do you want to know? He works with me at the sorting office and has done for about seventeen years.’

‘He was Jake’s climbing partner?’

‘Yes. Dan was interested in climbing so I put them in touch. That was before I knew what Jake was up to.’

‘Did they go climbing often?’

‘From what I can gather but I didn’t know Dan that well to be honest. He’s a postman and I’m the depot manager.’

‘Were you aware that Dan didn’t turn up for work today?’

‘No, I’ve had the day off. Linda, my assistant, would’ve sorted that out.’

Dixon paused.

‘Are you glad that Jake is dead?’

Tina’s solicitor looked up.

‘My client doesn’t have to answer that question.’

‘It’s alright,’ said Tina. ‘No, I am not glad he is dead. It doesn’t bring my daughter back does it? I’m glad that he’s out of Sarah’s life but not that he’s dead.’

Dixon brought the interview to a close. It had been short but it had confirmed what he already knew. Neither Tina Williams nor Sarah Heath had killed Jake. He turned to Jane Winter.

‘Release them, Jane. Ask the desk sergeant to lay on a car to take them home.’

‘Lewis will go mad!’

‘This isn’t about the drugs, and you and I both know it. This is about the birds eggs. I’ll stake my job on it.’

‘I think you just did, Sir.’

Dixon was sitting in his office ten minutes later when the door flew open and Steve Gorman barged in.

‘You let them go. What the hell did you do that for?’

‘Shut the door.’ Dixon spoke calmly and quietly. Gorman shut the door. Dixon gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

‘Sit down.’

Gorman sat down. Dixon waited until he did so and then stood up.

‘First things first, Steve. If you barge into my office and speak to me like that again you and I are going to fall out big time.’

Gorman opened his mouth to reply but Dixon dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

‘Secondly, it is my investigation and if I choose to release a suspect or suspects then that is my decision and mine alone. Clear?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘You should also be aware that Tina Williams has confirmed in interview that you gave her sufficient information to identify Jake as the suspect in the death of her daughter.’

‘I didn’t tell her anything.’

‘You told her that the suspect was a rock climber and that was enough, apparently.’

‘Oh shit.’

‘Thanks to you, she knew before Jenna’s funeral that Jake was the prime suspect.’

‘But she didn’t kill him.’

‘No, I don’t think she did. Anyway, this is going to be out of my hands now, I’m afraid.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Now, let’s try and get this investigation back on track. Get onto DVLA and get a detailed description of Hunter’s car. I also need the statements that you took this morning.’

‘Yes, Sir.’ Gorman got up to leave Dixon’s office.

‘Make sure everyone is available for a short meeting at 6 o’clock, will you?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Not a good day, all in all,’ said Dixon. Mercifully, DCI Lewis was not listening in.

‘What progress on Hunter’s car, Steve?’

‘It’s a green VW Passat estate, Sir. 2005, so it’s the old shape. Registration number FYY 922,’ said Gorman.

‘Must be a personalised number plate or something, I suppose?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘We need to find Hunter tomorrow.’ Dixon addressed Steve Gorman and DC Mark Pearce. ‘I want you two sat outside his house first thing in the morning and, if he hasn’t turned up by lunchtime, we’ll get a warrant and go in.’

‘Is stealing birds eggs an arrestable offence, Sir?’ asked Mark Pearce.

‘Yes it is. We also need to be looking for Hunter’s car. We know he hasn’t been seen since he went fishing, assuming, of course, that he actually went fishing. We know from the statement from Tim Keenan that Hunter used to go pike fishing this time of year so we need to get all of the car parks along the King’s Sedgemoor Drain and also Gold Corner Pumping Station checked for starters. Mark, can you get the local boys onto that in the morning?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Any news on the bank statements?’

‘I’ve got Fayter’s and there’s a transfer in from a Swiss account and then the payment out to the Subaru garage. Not much else. I’m still waiting for Dan Hunter’s to arrive,’ replied Mark Pearce.

‘Jane, can you chase up the High Tech Unit, please? We still haven’t had their report on Jake’s laptop and iPhone.’

‘I’ll get onto that first thing in the morning, Sir.’

‘Ok, well that’s enough for today. I can feel a beer coming on, I think.’

Nine

Dixon spent the morning reviewing the enhanced photographs and video footage of Jake taken by the tourists in the gorge. He could see Jake fighting the shakes until he could hang on no longer. He felt mixed emotions now, his sadness tempered by the knowledge that Jake had been dealing drugs and stealing birds eggs, but he remained grateful that the cameraman had turned away at the finish. He learnt nothing new from the footage, nor did he from Jake’s bank statements. Apart from the money arriving from Switzerland and the payment to the Subaru garage, there was very little activity, confirming, perhaps, that Jake lived hand to mouth on cash.

Dixon knew that he needed to track down the dealer with the contacts in Dubai, and the seventy thousand pounds from the sale of the second batch of eggs. It was looking increasingly unlikely that Dan Hunter would be able to shed any light on this. Lunchtime had come and gone with still no sign of him and a search warrant was now being executed at 12 Wells Close, Burnham-on-Sea. Hopefully, that would turn up something useful.

Just after 3.00pm there was a knock on his office door. It was Jane Winter.

‘Jane, any news on Hunter’s bank statements?’

‘Not yet, Sir, but we have found his car.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Gold Corner Pumping Station.’

‘I told them to look there this morning, for heaven’s sake.’

‘And there’s some abandoned fishing tackle out on the…er…South Drain, is it?’

‘Yes it is. Ring Steve Gorman and let him know. Then get your wellies.’

Dixon turned right into the narrow country lane on the sharp bend before he reached East Huntspill. He followed the single-track lane carefully. He knew from experience that there were deep drainage ditches either side and the low evening sun was directly in his eyes as he headed towards Gold Corner Pumping Station. Some relief from the glare was offered by the occasional bush or tree but the Somerset Levels were a bleak and open place at the best of times, offering little in the way of shade or shelter.

He arrived at Gold Corner Pumping Station and pulled into the car park to be met by PC Stevens, who had made the call. Dixon was assured that Scenes of Crime Officers were on their way and that a flatbed lorry had also been summoned to recover Hunter’s car.

‘What about divers?’

‘Coming from Bristol, Sir. It’s likely to be dark before they get here.’

‘Better tell ‘em to bring their torches then.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Any CCTV on the pumping station?’ Dixon pointed to the large brick and glass building at the junction of the South Drain and the River Huntspill.

‘I’ll check, Sir.’

Dixon went to the back of his Land Rover and put on his wellington boots. Jane did the same.

‘Which side of the Drain is it, constable?’

‘That side, Sir,’ said Stevens, gesturing to the north. ‘Do you know the way?’

‘I do, yes, thank you.’

Dixon crossed the road and went through the wooden five bar gate. Jane followed. They took the muddy farm track around to the right, over the River Cripps and went into the field adjacent to the South Drain. They walked along the north bank of the South Drain in the short section that ran behind the farm and the pumping station. Dixon could see fishing tackle hanging in the trees. They followed the bank around to the left and out onto the main section of the drain.

The South Drain was part of the original drainage system that created the Somerset Levels. It was thirty yards wide and twelve to fifteen feet deep. The Environment Agency had announced sometime ago their intention to dredge it along its full length to create a deeper channel and so the North Somerset Angling Association had given up their licence to fish it. There had been no maintenance of the banks in recent years as a result and they had become overgrown. Nevertheless, it still held a good head of fish and was a popular venue, particularly now that no angling club licence was required.

In the distance, Dixon could see several figures standing on the north bank. He guessed that this was where Dan Hunter had been fishing and set off along the bank to get there as quickly as possible. Jane followed, struggling in the mud.

Dixon arrived at the fishing umbrella to see three uniformed police officers and the farmer, Michael Wilkins. Dan Hunter had chosen his spot carefully. His seat was sheltered by the bank rising up on either side, with the umbrella acting as a roof of sorts. There were also small bushes on either side offering more cover.

‘No sign of Hunter, I suppose?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘Have you looked?’

‘We’ve checked in the immediate vicinity.’

‘What about footprints?’

One of the police constables gestured towards the cows.

‘They’ve been all over the place, Sir.’

‘They’re a bit inquisitive, I’m afraid,’ said Mr Wilkins.

‘You’ll be the farmer?’ asked Dixon.

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know how long this stuff has been here?’

‘Not really. It wasn’t here when I came out on Saturday but I’ve not been out here since then. Not till today.’

‘What about the car in the car park?’

‘I don’t take much notice of them. They come and go and there’s a big hedge between my house and the car park anyways.’

It was a typical fishing scene, although the fisherman himself was missing. There was a reclining chair under a large green umbrella with a box of fishing tackle next to it and a landing net lying in the grass. Dixon noticed an area of what looked like blood spattered on the underside of the umbrella.

He noticed that there were two sets of rod rests but only one fishing rod. He produced a pair of disposable rubber gloves from his pocket and put them on. He reached down, picked up the fishing rod and reeled it in. There was nothing on the line and the bait had gone. He placed the hook in the first eye on the rod nearest the reel, wound the line tight and replaced the rod on the rests. Then he picked up a set of forceps and the landing net and set off along the bank towards the footbridge. Jane followed.

‘What are we looking for, Sir?’

‘The other fishing rod.’

‘Why?’

‘You’ll see.’

Fifty yards further along the bank, they could see the fishing rod floating on the edge of a patch of lily pads. Dixon was able to reach it with the landing net and draw it in close to the bank. He reached down, picked it up and wound the line in. Almost immediately the rod arched over. There was a fish on the end. Dixon had the fish in the landing net within a couple of minutes.

‘You’ve done this before, Sir,’ said Jane.

‘Many years ago.’

‘Is there no end to your talents?’

‘No, there isn’t,’ Dixon smiled.

He flipped the pike onto its back in the long grass, placed his fingers under the gill rake at the front of the jaw and then opened the fish’s mouth. He reached in with the forceps, unhooked it and then held it gently in the water until it swam away. It took no more than sixty seconds.

‘Well done, Sir.’

‘She’ll live to fight another day.’

‘She?’ asked Jane.

‘You can tell by the size. Males don’t get that big.’

‘There’s a joke in there somewhere.’

They walked back to the umbrella to find Scenes of Crime Officers arriving with PC Stevens.

‘The divers will be here in about twenty minutes, Sir,’ said Stevens. ‘And there’s no CCTV on the pumping station, unfortunately.’

‘Thank you, constable.’

Dixon turned to the Scenes of Crime Officers.

‘There’s blood spatter on the inside of the umbrella that you’ll need to take a close look at. You may get something from the footprints hereabouts although I’m told that the cows have been wandering about everywhere. I’m guessing our man is in the water.’

The senior Scenes of Crime Officer was a tall balding man with a moustache who Dixon had encountered before. His name was Watson and whilst Dixon did not find him an altogether personable man, he was at least efficient.

‘How long has is it been, do we know?’ asked Watson.

‘Not with any degree of certainty,’ replied Dixon. ‘The farmer says that there was nobody here on Saturday and we know from his neighbour that Dan Hunter came fishing on Sunday. I’d be surprised if he was night fishing on a Sunday, so he should have gone home that evening ready for work the next morning. Any longer than that and I’d expect to see his body floating on the surface anyway.’

‘How do you work that out?’ asked Jane.

‘It’s all about gas. The water is still warm so it’ll slow the decaying process but not stop it. It should take three or four days for putrefaction to produce enough gas to make a body float this time of year.’

Jane look surprised.

‘We had a body in the Thames at Putney when I was in London.’

The Scenes of Crime Officers, under Watson’s guidance, began setting up arc lamps and a large tent around the fishing umbrella. Dixon could see the flashes of cameras all around. There was a need to work relatively quickly because rain was forecast. Jane Winter went back with Mr Wilkins to the farmhouse to take a statement from him while Dixon remained at the scene.

The divers arrived on schedule. There was still some light and a search of the immediate vicinity would be possible. At Dixon’s request, PC Stevens had checked with the Environment Agency who had confirmed that the pumping station had been in operation on Monday and Tuesday morning. It was possible, therefore, that the body could have moved some way along the South Drain in the current. A more thorough search would be possible in the morning.

Within a few seconds of entering the water the divers reappeared giving the thumbs up signal. Dixon turned to PC Stevens.

‘Better get the pathologist out here pronto.’

Dan Hunter’s body was laid out on a tarpaulin on a level section of bank behind where he had been fishing. The Scenes of Crime Officers immediately set up another tent covering his body.

‘The pathologist will be here in half an hour, Sir,’ said Stevens.

‘Thank you, constable.’

Dixon knelt over Dan Hunter’s body. He guessed that Hunter had been lying face down in the water. His head was a livid black and blue and yet his hands were still the normal skin tone. There was otherwise very little evidence of putrefaction. The water had done its job. Dixon estimated that Hunter had been in the water for no more than two days, which gave a time of death of the previous Sunday afternoon but the pathologist would no doubt be more precise.

There were no obvious signs of a struggle apart from a small bullet hole, or at least what looked like a small bullet hole, in the corner of Hunter’s right eye. Dixon thought that it was possibly a .22 calibre pistol. He suspected that there would be an exit wound in the back of Hunter’s head but he would need to wait for the pathologist to arrive to move the body further. This would certainly explain the blood spatter on the inside of the umbrella. He wondered whether a .22 calibre bullet would have killed Hunter on its own but no doubt the pathologist would be able to confirm that too. At the very least, it would have incapacitated Hunter and he then either fell or was pushed into the South Drain. It was academic, of course, but Dixon guessed that Hunter had still been alive when he entered the water.

Jane Winter reappeared behind Dixon.

‘Hunter?’

‘Yes. Looks like a small bullet hole in his right eye. See it?’

‘It’s tiny.’

‘Probably a .22 at close range.’

‘Is there an exit wound?’

‘I’ll leave it to the pathologist to examine him. Must be though. How else do you explain the blood on his brolly?’

‘One thing’s for sure.’

‘What?’

‘If there was any doubt about Jake’s death, this one’s definitely murder.’

‘Is there any doubt about Jake’s death?’

‘Well, it’s not as clear cut is it?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘It tells me you’re right about the drugs though. Hunter wasn’t involved in Jake’s drug dealing was he, so why kill him? It must be related to the birds eggs.’

‘Talking of birds, Jane, look at that.’

Dixon stood up and pointed across the fields on the far side of the Drain. A huge cloud of starlings was swirling in the dusk sky, illuminated only by the sun that was by now below the horizon. Tens of thousands of birds swooping and diving in concert, creating waves and shapes silhouetted against the red sky. They watched in silence for several minutes until the cloud dived towards the ground and disappeared.

‘I’d heard about that but never seen it,’ said Jane. ‘The Somerset Levels are well known for it, apparently.’

‘Certainly helps to pass the time while we wait for the pathologist,’ replied Dixon.

‘We’re no nearer finding him though, are we, Sir?’

‘Or her.’

Jane rolled her eyes.

‘No, you’re right, we’re not,’ said Dixon. ‘We need to focus on what we know, I think.’