As The Crow Flies (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series) (4 page)

‘None at all. I didn't even know it was there. I’ll ask Maureen if she knows anything about it when she gets back.’

‘Thanks,’ said Dixon. ‘Can I have a look in Jake's car while I'm here?’

‘Of course, follow me.’

John Fayter opened the garage door to reveal a silver 2009 Subaru Impreza WRX.

‘It was his pride and joy. Capable of 0-60 in under five seconds, or something like that.’

‘It’s a nice car. Did you ever ask him how he was able to afford it?’

‘No. If he was up to no good, Maureen and I didn’t want to know.’

John Fayter handed the keys to Dixon. He climbed into the driver’s seat, which was a tight squeeze in the small single garage. John Fayter squeezed in alongside the driver’s door, so Dixon put the key in the ignition and wound the window down.

‘Jake always used to go for estate cars, if I remember rightly? That way he could sleep in it at night, if he needed to,’ said Dixon.

‘He was getting on a bit these days, Nick, so he used to stay in bed-and-breakfasts.’

‘I never thought I’d see the day when Jake Fayter stayed in a B&B!’

John Fayter managed a small laugh.

‘Is the car on HP or anything like that do you know?’ asked Dixon.

‘I think he told Maureen he paid cash for it.’

Dixon looked in the door pockets and also the glove box but could see nothing unusual. He felt under the seats but apart from an empty CD box for U2’s Rattle and Hum, there was nothing. The car was clean and tidy and Dixon reckoned it must have cost Jake well over twenty thousand pounds. He would check later online.

Dixon scrambled out of the driver’s seat and went to the rear of the car, where he opened the boot. There were various bits of loose climbing equipment, a spare rope and a helmet. Dixon could never recall Jake ever having worn a climbing helmet in all years that he climbed with him. He looked quizzically at John.

‘It wouldn’t have done him much good from that height,’ said John.

‘Where did you find the phone?’

‘It was in the glove box.’

‘It’s a very nice car. What are you going to do with it?’

‘We’ll hang onto it for the time being and then sell it, perhaps, when we feel up to it. It’s all a bit raw at the moment.’

‘Well, there’s no rush,’ said Dixon, locking the car and handing back the keys. ‘I’m hoping to get the photographs and the witness statements from Birmingham shortly. I’ll let you know if there is anything interesting in them. Give my regards to Maureen. I’m afraid I must be on my way.’

Dixon phone rang in his jacket pocket just as he reached out to shake John Fayter’s hand.

‘Nick Dixon.’

‘Steve Gorman, Sir. We’ve had a call from the Co-op in Burnham. An elderly lady in Axbridge has died. A Mrs Waldron. The executor is Mr Edwards at Clark and Watts Solicitors and he’s happy to help in anyway he can.’

‘Ok, I’ll be back in about half an hour. Can you ring Mr Edwards and see if he can see me this afternoon? I’m assuming you asked the funeral director to hold the bereavement notices for the time being?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Good.’

Dixon rang off. ‘I’m afraid I must dash, John.’

They shook hands before Dixon ran over to his car.

Dixon couldn’t help but think that Peter Edwards was unduly cheerful for a solicitor specialising in probate work. Edwards had readily agreed to the surveillance operation on the understanding that Mrs Waldron’s insurance company was also content for it to proceed. He was awaiting confirmation. In the meantime, Dixon had looked at the property on Google Earth and it seemed ideal. Bridge House was a double fronted Georgian property on the outskirts of the village. There were houses opposite and the property could be reached across two fields at the rear.

Edwards had confirmed that the property was registered in the names of the deceased and her late husband. He had died in 2008 and the title had not been updated. Perfect.

Gorman was speaking to the neighbours to enquire whether any would be content for a surveillance point to be set up on their property. Otherwise, it was just a matter of waiting for the insurers to confirm they were happy.

Dixon was at the coffee machine when his telephone rang. DI Janice Courtenay picked up for him.

‘It’s Edwards at Clark and Watts.’

Dixon abandoned his coffee to take the call.

‘Insurers are quite happy for the operation the go ahead, Inspector, on the understanding that all damage will be paid for by the police. Is that Ok?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘In that case, can I leave it to you to liaise with the funeral director over the timing? The placement of the death notice that is. I’ve given him the wording to use and as far as I’m concerned it can go in when ever you’re ready. I’ve rung him to confirm.’

‘Thank you, Mr Edwards, this really is exceptionally helpful.’

‘My pleasure, Inspector. Good luck!’

‘Thank you.’

Dixon left his office and walked out into the CID Room.

‘Right then, everyone, we’re good to go. Bridge House, Axbridge. Jane can you liaise with the Surveillance Unit and Dave can you get onto Sergeant Wilkins? We’ll need some back up on this one. DCI Lewis promised us an armed response unit on standby. Steve can you get onto them and the helicopter too?’

‘A dog unit might be useful, Sir, if we have open fields at the back.’

‘Good thinking, Jane. Dave, can you ask Wilkins if he can lay that on for us, please?’

Four

The team was ready by 9.00am the following morning. Dixon, Jane Winter and two uniformed police constables were in an upstairs room of the property opposite overlooking the front of Bridge House. Steve Gorman and Dave Harding along with two more police constables had drawn the short straw, quite literally, and were in the stable block at the rear of the property next door. The dog team was in the field directly behind Bridge House.

The front, back and conservatory doors were wired and there were hidden cameras in every room on the ground floor. The surveillance van was parked in a barn on a farm about five hundred yards west of Bridge House.

Dixon confirmed to the funeral director that the bereavement notice could now be placed online and received a call back within twenty minutes with the news that Mrs Waldron’s death notice was now live. It was an interesting choice of words.

‘You ever tried fishing, Jane?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘It’s a bit like this, really. Set your bait and wait.’

Dixon’s phone rang just after 4.30pm. It was the IT manager at HM Land Registry, Plymouth, with unofficial confirmation that the server logs were showing a search against Bridge House, Axbridge, timed at 3.17pm that afternoon. He had been at pains to stress that the call had been off the record.

‘Game on,’ thought Dixon. He put the team on standby.

It had been dark for about two hours when Dixon noticed a dark blue VW Golf GTi mark II driving slowly past Bridge House. Dixon had no idea what mark the VW Golf had reached over the years but he was in no doubt that VW had never been able to improve on the old mark II.

Three minutes later the VW Golf appeared again driving in the opposite direction. It pulled up briefly across the driveway to Bridge House and Dixon could see the figure in the driver’s seat looking up at the property. It would not be long now.

Dixon was asleep in the back of his Land Rover with Monty when his radio crackled into life. He checked his watch. It was just after 8.00am.

He stuffed a handful of fruit pastilles into his mouth and was back upstairs in a matter of seconds to see a white van parked in the driveway of Bridge House. It was sign written RAD Heating & Engineering and Dixon had arrived in time to see three men in blue overalls climb out of it. He reached for his radio.

‘We have a white van out front. Three white males in blue overalls. Let’s wait for them to break in and give ‘em a few moments to get settled.’

Jane looked at him quizzically. ‘Sweets, Sir?’

‘Blood sugar.’ Dixon grinned.

He watched one of the men ring the front doorbell and wait. One of the other men then went round to the rear of the property and reappeared a few moments later giving a thumbs up signal. All three men then went round to the rear of the property, one of them carrying a bag that he had retrieved from the back of the van.

‘All three are going round the back. Get ready. Looks like it’ll be back door or conservatory door.’

Less than sixty seconds later the surveillance team came on the line. ‘Back door sensor engaged. Cameras showing three men entering the kitchen.’

‘Steve, what can you see?’

Gorman had moved from his position in the stables at the rear of the property next door to a point where he could see through the hedge.

‘The back door is open and all three are inside.’

‘Ok everyone, get ready to go in three minutes. Three minutes.’

Dixon turned to Jane Winter.

‘Armed response?’

‘At an incident in Bristol, Sir. Helicopter’s on its way down and will be here in about 10 minutes.’

‘Well, we’ll just have to take our chances.’

Dixon was on his feet moving towards the door.

‘Jane, you block the driveway with the panda car and follow us in.’

He turned to the two uniformed officers carrying the battering ram.

‘We need that door off its hinges pretty damn quick. If any of them are in the front rooms they’ll see us coming. Just get us in there as fast as you can.’

Dixon and the two uniformed officers ran across the road at the front of Bridge House and waited behind the garden wall. Dixon reached for his radio.

‘Steve, we’re going in. As soon as you hear the front door go, make your move. ‘Surveillance, where are they?’

‘Two in the study, can’t see the third. The tall one with the goatee is Ray Standish. A real nasty piece of work.’

‘Did you hear that, Steve?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

Jane Winter appeared driving the panda car that had been parked around the back of the house opposite. The two uniformed officers raced across the lawn with Dixon right behind them. They reached the front door, Dixon thought unseen. It was a large and heavy door with stained glass windows but the mortice lock had not been set. One solid blow just above the handle and the Yale lock disintegrated. The door flew open.

Dixon could hear shouting to the rear of the property and the two uniformed officers immediately ran along the hall to the back of the house. He could hear Steve Gorman’s voice shouting instructions and the police dog barking. He opened the door to his left and found himself in the dining room. It was empty. He moved back into the hall and opened the door opposite, which led into the living room.

The living room had been knocked through into the kitchen breakfast room creating a large living space that led through to the back of Bridge House. There was a table and chairs at the rear of the room and a sofa, two armchairs and a large glass topped coffee table at the front. Dixon looked to his left to see a large man in blue overalls running straight at him from the rear of the property. It was Standish. Dixon recognised the glint of a blade in his right hand. He moved between Standish and the door. Standish stopped in front of him brandishing the knife. Jane Winter appeared in the hallway to his left.

‘There’s a big difference between burglary and murder, Ray.’

Standish was six foot tall and well over sixteen stone.

‘The alternative is that you are killed resisting arrest and I get another medal.’

Standish stepped forward and made a lunge at Dixon across the large glass coffee table. Dixon shouted to Jane to stay back when suddenly Steve Gorman slammed into Standish from behind. Both men crashed through the glass coffee table.

There was a sharp crack and the glass shattered. Splinters flew in all directions. Dixon was able to snatch the knife from Standish’s hand and passed it to Jane Winter. He then helped Steve Gorman to his feet. Standish was going nowhere. He was alive but bleeding profusely from various cuts to his hands and face. Steve Gorman appeared to be remarkably unscathed.

‘That was quite some tackle, Steve. Thank you,’ said Dixon.

‘I’d have got sent off for that back in the old days.’

‘Better call an ambulance, Jane. Are you alright, Steve?’

Gorman was examining his elbow.

‘Fine, Sir. It’s just a scratch, I think.’

‘Where are the other two?’

‘Dave and the uniformed lads got one and the dog got the other.’

Dixon turned to Standish. He was sitting up.

‘Raymond Standish, I am arresting you on suspicion of burglary. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something that you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

‘Whatever.’

‘Now can someone get him a towel or something to wrap his hands in? We’re going to have to pay for this bloody carpet.’

It was early afternoon before Dixon and Gorman got away from Bridge House. Standish had been taken to Weston-super-Mare hospital with two uniformed officers for company. The other two burglars had been taken to Bridgwater Police Station and Scenes of Crime Officers had been and gone. The RAD Heating & Engineering van had been impounded and search warrants were being executed on three residential addresses in Bristol that afternoon. It had been a good result.

Dixon was giving Gorman a lift back to Bridgwater in his Land Rover. He felt that he might have misjudged Gorman.

‘Thanks again for dealing with Standish.’

‘It was a pleasure, Sir. He and I go way back.’

‘How so?’

‘When you check his record, you’ll see an assault on police a few years ago. The bastard got off with a suspended sentence.’

‘You?’

‘Yes.’

‘What goes around comes around.’

‘That it does, Sir.’

Dixon drove down through Axbridge to join the A371.

‘Mind if we swing by Cheddar Station on the way, while we’re here? They’ve got a phone there I need to have a look at.’

‘Not at all, Sir. Anything interesting?’

‘Not really.’

The station was closed so Dixon rang PC Cole on his mobile.

‘He’ll be back in twenty minutes. Mind if we wait?’

Dixon drove up the gorge and parked below High Rock. Two large birds of prey were flying overhead near the tops of the cliffs on the north side of the gorge.

‘Look at them. What are they, hawks of some sort?’

‘Peregrine falcons, Sir. There’s a pair nesting on Priest Rock.’

Gorman spotted the blood soaked sand at the foot of High Rock.

‘You’d have thought they’d have cleaned that up by now.’

‘Rotten isn’t it?’

‘Still, saved me a shitload of paperwork.’

‘Paperwork?’

‘Yes, he was a dealer.’

‘Who was?’

‘The guy who fell. Fayter. I was just about to nick him.’

‘Jake Fayter was dealing drugs?’

‘Yes, Sir. Not only that. He supplied the ecstasy that killed the Williams girl.’

Jake Fayter…dealing drugs…killed the Williams girl…fuck...

Dixon felt sick. His head was spinning. He got out of the Land Rover and walked across to the foot of High Rock. Gorman followed.

‘Did you know him, Sir?’

‘He was my climbing partner for six years before I joined the Met.’

Dixon dropped Gorman at Bridgwater Police Station and was home by 5.00pm. There was a mountain of paperwork to be done to wind up Operation Magpie but it could wait until tomorrow. He needed time to think.