As The Crow Flies (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series) (2 page)

John Fayter went out into the hall to fetch a pen and paper from the sideboard. Dixon could see that Maureen was struggling to keep her composure.

‘I have to know what happened to him...’ Her voice tailed off as she began to sob.

John came back into the room and sat next to Maureen. He put his arm around her.

Dixon wrote his mobile phone number on the bottom of the piece of paper handed to him by John Fayter. He tore it off and then handed it back.

‘That’s my mobile phone number. If anything comes up you think I need to know, please, just give me a ring.’

‘So, what happens now?’ asked John.

‘PC Cole will take statements from all of the witnesses and I would expect him to get hold of any photographs taken by the tourists at the time as well.’

‘Will we get to see them?’

‘Not initially, Maureen. But you will at the inquest.’

‘I feel much better knowing that you will be involved.’

‘It’ll have to be unofficially, and remember that I am relatively new around here too, which doesn’t help.’

‘I understand that but remember, Nick, no stone unturned. Promise me.’

Dixon drove along the Berrow Road and turned right into Allandale Road. He drove to the end and parked overlooking the sea. It was a familiar view across to Hinkley Point but he was staring into space.

Maureen Fayter had been quite right, of course. Dixon did owe Jake. He had saved him on more than one occasion but then Dixon had done the same for Jake. Such was the nature of a climbing partnership.

Dixon had to admit that the incident Maureen had been referring to was out of the ordinary. Jake had gone above and beyond the call of duty. It had been soon after Dixon had been diagnosed with diabetes and he had not got the hang of controlling his blood sugar levels. They had been on a trip to Pembroke and were in Huntsman’s Leap. A favourite spot. Dixon had been leading Quiet Waters E3 6a when he had a hypo above the crux. His blood sugar levels dropped, his strength went and he fell off. Left helpless, he needed sugar immediately.

Without hesitation, Jake had tied him off at the bottom of the cliff and then climbed up alongside him, unroped, with a Mars bar in his chalk bag. They had laughed about it later in the pub at St Govan’s. They marked it down as a solo ascent of Quiet Waters by Jake, against the clock too, but the consequences of failure would have meant death for both of them.

On another occasion, Dixon had been leading Poetry Pink E5 6a in the slate quarries at Llanberis. With the last bolt at twenty-five feet and the crux at fifty feet, a fall from the crux meant that he would have landed on the terrace where Jake was standing. Dixon had frozen and Jake had seen that his legs had started to shake. Jake had also noticed that the rope was looped around Dixon’s right leg and realised that he would be flipped upside down when he fell, hitting the terrace headfirst.

When Dixon fell, Jake stepped back and jumped off the terrace to take up the slack rope. No hesitation. No shout. He just jumped. Dixon stopped, hanging upside down two feet above the terrace.

Dixon took a deep breath, put his seatbelt on and started the engine. He looked across at Monty sitting on the passenger seat with his tennis ball in his mouth. He switched off the engine, reached across and opened the passenger door. Monty didn’t need a second invitation and Dixon needed some fresh air.

Dixon had never been a huge fan of Monday mornings and today was no exception. It was to be his first appearance in court since joining the Avon and Somerset force and experience told him that he could look forward to several hours of waiting around followed by the entry of a late guilty plea and an early lunch. He had been the arresting officer on a routine case of grievous bodily harm resolved with the assistance of CCTV and a confession. The only argument left was whether the assault amounted to grievous bodily harm or the lesser offence of unlawful wounding.

Dixon found his suit still packed in the bottom of a suitcase and, whilst slightly crumpled, it would have to do. He decided to call in at Bridgwater police station on his way to Taunton Crown Court and quickly realised his mistake when DCI Lewis spotted him.

DCI Lewis was Dixon’s immediate superior and whilst they had not yet had occasion to fall out, it could not be said that they had exactly hit it off either. Lewis was a copper’s copper. At least that was the cliché Dixon heard used many times to describe men like Lewis. He was certainly one of the lads, with the leather jacket and beer belly to show for it.

Dixon had taken over Operation Magpie a week earlier and Lewis was keen to know what progress he had made in the investigation. Magpie was a countywide investigation into an organised gang burgling empty properties and taking only documents to be used for identity theft. The gang appeared to be targeting properties where the owner had recently died, at least that was Dixon’s theory. He had been cross-referencing the bereavement notices in the local papers with the burglaries and had come across a pattern of sorts. DCI Lewis appeared impressed.

‘What’s your next step?’

‘I’m going to place a fake death notice in the paper and lie in wait for the buggers, Sir. Or rather, the property will be placed under surveillance, budgetary constraints permitting.’

‘Sounds like a plan, let me know what you need. Incidentally, I can let you have DS Gorman now that he has put the Williams case to bed.’

‘Williams case?’

‘The girl who died from an ecstasy overdose in the loos at Rococo’s. Anyway, you had better be off to court.’

Gorman was certainly methodical and would be useful after the arrests were made but Dixon doubted that he would be much help if a surveillance operation turned nasty. Gorman made sure everyone knew that he had played prop forward for the Somerset Police 1st XV but Dixon reckoned that was a good few years ago. Time and too much beer had definitely not been kind to him since then. At least he didn’t wear a leather jacket.

CID occupied the top floor of the purpose built Bridgwater Police Station. One of the advantages of his rank was that it afforded Dixon his own office, although cubicle was a more accurate description and he had to share it with another DI, Janice Courtenay.

‘You’re supposed to be in court in twenty five minutes.’

‘Thank you for that, Jan. Could you do me a favour?’

‘What?’

‘Ring PC Cole at Wells and tell him I want to speak to him about Jake Fayter. Give him my mobile and ask him to ring me, will you?’

‘Ask him?’

‘No, you’re right, tell him to ring me. Thanks.’

Dixon was waiting in the CPS room at Taunton Crown Court when his mobile phone rang.

‘You’ll remember to switch that thing off when we go in, won’t you?’

Dixon didn’t recognise the number.

‘Nick Dixon.’

‘Nick, it’s John. John Fayter. I’ve just had PC Cole on the phone. They want to come today and get some DNA swabs from me and Maureen. What the hell do I tell her?’

‘Tell her the truth, John. Maureen’s no fool.’

Dixon’s prediction had not proved far off the mark and he was back in his office at Bridgwater police station by mid-afternoon. A guilty plea to the lesser offence of unlawful wounding had been entered just before lunch but this meant that the hearing had carried over into the afternoon. The offender had been remanded in custody pending sentence and Dixon was not unhappy with the outcome. He could look forward to at least two years with his list of previous convictions.

Operation Magpie was not due to recommence until the following morning, with a briefing scheduled for 9.00am sharp. Dixon thought that he would use the opportunity to look into Jake’s death. He remembered that he had not switched his mobile phone back on after the court hearing and did so only to find that he had missed a call from PC Cole.

He rang Cheddar Police Station.

‘This is DI Dixon from Bridgwater CID. Could you put me through to PC Cole, please?’

‘Can you hold for a moment, Sir?’

Cole came on the line. ‘You’re ringing about the climbing accident, Sir?’

‘It’s nice to know you have an open mind about the cause of death, constable.’

‘Well, it looks like an accident, Sir.’

‘Appearances can be deceptive.’

‘Sorry, Sir.’

‘Do you have any witnesses?’

‘We have five members of a coach party down from Birmingham. They’ve gone back now, so I’ll be asking the local force to take statements from them in due course. We have their cameras. They’re with the High Tech team now. There are a number of photos, apparently, and one of the witnesses believes that he may have shot a short length of video footage on his digital camera shortly before the fall.’

‘Good, can you email the photographs and video to me as soon as you get them?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Where’s his climbing equipment?’

‘We have that here.’

‘I’d like to have a look at it, so please ensure that it’s not disposed of or returned to the family until I get there. Let me have copies of the witness statements as soon as you get them too. Have instructions been given to the Birmingham lot yet?’

‘No, not yet. We only completed the identification today. May I ask whether you have any particular interest in the case, Sir?’

‘No, you may not. What about the post-mortem?’

‘Yesterday. Multiple injuries. There wasn’t a lot left of him, to be honest, after a fall from that height.’

‘So I gather. What time do you shut up shop over at Cheddar this afternoon?’

‘I’ll be here until 6.00pm tonight, Sir.’

‘In that case, I’ll be over before then to have a look at the climbing equipment, if you can have it ready, please.’

‘Will do, Sir.’

Dixon called in at his cottage in Brent Knoll for a change of clothes and to pick up Monty before heading over to Cheddar Police Station. PC Cole had Jake’s climbing equipment ready on the table in the back office. It consisted of a small rucksack, with two 9mm ropes attached to it. Both the rucksack and the ropes were spattered with blood. There were also two slings and a screw gate karabiner that had been found still looped around a tree at the top of High Rock.

Dixon looked at the ropes and could see that neither had been cut. He checked the free ends of each rope for damage and could see none. No scuff marks. Nothing.

At the other end, the ropes had been tied together and then attached to the rucksack with another karabiner and a figure of eight knot. The rucksack itself was a small day sack. It had in it a small bottle of diet coke that had burst in the fall, a pair of trainers, a pair of jeans with wallet, keys and cash in the pockets, and a lightweight fleece top.

‘No phone?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?’

‘Well, I hadn’t really…’

‘Have you checked his car?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘Asked his parents?’

‘No.’

‘Don’t you think that might be a good idea?’

‘Yes, Sir, I’ll get onto it.’

‘Where’s his harness and shunt?’

‘The harness is at the mortuary, Sir. What’s a shunt?’

‘It’s a device that moves up a rope but locks under downward pressure. It should have been attached to the harness. It might be an idea if you familiarised yourself with climbing equipment, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, Sir. It’ll be at the mortuary with his harness, I expect. It’ll be bagged up and brought over here in due course.’

‘Let me know when it is, please, I’d like to have a look at it. And let me know when you find his phone.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Dixon left Cheddar Police Station and drove up the gorge until the cliffs began to tower above him on either side. The early evening sun was striking the tops of the cliffs. He parked in the car park at the bottom of High Rock and could see an area at the base of the cliff still sectioned off with blue tape. There was a large patch of blood stained sand marking the spot where Jake had landed. He got out of his car, leaned back against the bonnet and looked up.

What the fuck happened, Jake?

Dixon called the meeting to order just after 9.00am. DS Gorman had read the file over the weekend and so was up to speed on the investigation. Also present was DC Dave Harding. Harding had been a detective constable for twenty years and Dixon reckoned that he would retire a detective constable. He also had the disconcerting habit of wearing a crumpled grey suit and brown suede shoes. Dixon remembered his father always telling him never to trust a man who wore a grey suit and brown suede shoes, although he had been referring to the Chancellor of the Exchequer at the time.

DC Jane Winter was young and keen. She was sitting her sergeant’s exams and clearly had her eye on promotion. Dixon was glad to have her on the team. Police Sergeant Wilkins from uniform was also there for liaison. Assistance from uniformed officers would no doubt be needed when the surveillance operation came to a head. Dixon was irritated to see DCI Lewis was also sat at the back of the incident room listening in.

‘There’s been another burglary over the weekend. This time in Torquay. I’ve spoken to the Devon and Cornwall lot this morning. An elderly lady by the name of Avril Wilkins died last Monday and the property was burgled either Saturday or Sunday. The MO is identical to our lot. Nothing of value taken at all and as far as anybody can tell only paperwork is missing.’

‘Has the death notice been placed in the paper yet?’

‘No, it hasn’t, but there lies the key to this whole operation, Steve. In every burglary bar one the break-in has taken place before the death notice has been placed in the newspaper, right?’

‘That’s right, which is why we thought that the two were unconnected.’

‘They are connected, Dave, and for this reason. Most of these local newspapers are now weekly papers. In fact, I think they’re all weekly papers these days. This means that a death notice placed on a Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday or Friday will not be published in the paper until the following week. But what was missed before is that the death notice will appear online straightaway.’

Dixon paused for effect.

‘So, if we look again at the eleven burglaries, all of them took place after the death notice was placed online, in fact within forty-eight hours of it going online, but only one took place after the death notice was published in the newspaper.’

Dixon could see light bulbs coming on around the room.

‘This means that the gang are using the online death notices and not those published in the newspaper,’ said Dave Harding.

‘That’s right, and this is why it was missed first time around. Does that makes sense to everyone?’

There was a general nodding of heads.

‘Jane, what I need you to do is look again at all the witness statements we’ve got in each burglary and check to see if reference is made to when the death notice was placed online. I’m afraid it may mean taking further witness statements from the funeral directors. Can you get onto that, please?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘So, what we do is place a fake death notice online and wait for them?’

‘That was my first thought but it’s not quite that simple, Steve.’

‘It never is.’

Dixon ignored him.

‘I think this gang is too intelligent to fall for that. I certainly wouldn’t. At the very least, I’d check with the Land Registry website to see that the deceased is the registered proprietor of the property.’

‘Registered proprietor?’

‘Owner, you twat, Dave.’

‘Thank you for that, Steve.’ Dixon continued. ‘This means that we’re going to need to use a genuine death notice where the deceased was the owner of the property. Steve, can you liaise with funeral directors in, say, Bridgwater and Wells?  We’re looking for a death where the property has been left unoccupied. Ideally, one where the executors are local solicitors and there’s no direct family involved. Ok? Ask that they notify us immediately.’

‘I’ll get onto that straightaway.’

‘Hopefully, we’ll have time to set up surveillance inside the property and around before the death notice is placed online. Assuming all goes to plan, we should have a visit from the gang within two days.’

‘Are you proposing to wait inside the property?’