As The Crow Flies (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series) (6 page)

Twenty minutes in the Red Cow turned into an hour and a half. Dixon managed to get in a couple of beers and a ham, egg and chips. He was back home by 8.00pm. He opened a can of beer and sat on the floor with the Williams file. He made a mental note to get himself an armchair as soon as possible.

The file itself was comparatively thin. There were statements from the parents of the dead girl, a post-mortem report and five from people in the nightclub at the time. Two girls had been with Jenna Williams on an evening out, Lisa Doe and Kelly Sanders. Dixon read their statements first. Both denied any knowledge of drug taking on Jenna’s part but otherwise gave a detailed description of the events leading up to her death. It was only afterwards, apparently, that Lisa and Kelly found out that Jenna had been taking drugs.

Of the other three witness statements, two were from staff at the nightclub who gave details of the drinks consumed by Jenna and her friends. Dixon did not think them excessive. He then turned to the post mortem report, which confirmed that Jenna had died from an overdose of PMA, a refined and infinitely more potent form of ecstasy. Dixon had come across it in London and knew it to be far more dangerous than standard ecstasy. The last statement came from a Conrad Benton who saw Jake supply the drugs to Jenna.

Benton’s statement represented the only evidence of any wrongdoing on Jake's part. He had been outside the nightclub at the time smoking a cigarette when he saw Jake hand to Jenna Williams a small clear plastic bag and receive what looked to be two ten pound notes in return. On the face of it, this was clear evidence of a drug deal taking place. The identification was sound too. Benton and Jake Fayter had been at school together. Both had attended King Alfred's Comprehensive School in Burnham-on-Sea in the early nineties and although they were not in the same year, they had been at the same school for three years. Benton was two years below Jake.

What troubled Dixon was that Benton’s statement was dated three weeks before Jake's death. An identification parade would not have been required and Dixon could not understand why Jake had not been arrested straightaway. Perhaps Gorman had been looking for some corroborating evidence for Benton's story but, at the very least, Dixon thought that Jake should have been interviewed under caution. He would need to check this with Gorman in due course. He would also need to check whether Benton had a police record before paying him a visit.

Dixon knocked on the door of the Fayter’s bungalow in Braithwaite Place just after 10.00am the following morning. He had taken the precaution of ringing ahead to ensure that Maureen Fayter would be out. He had also arranged for a police dog handler to meet him at the bungalow.

‘Still digging, Nick?’

‘I am. And I’m afraid you’re not going to like what I’m finding, John. What time will Maureen be back?’

‘Not until late afternoon. She’s gone shopping with a friend in Bath.’

‘Good. First things first. I left Jake’s computer on his bed last time I was here. Would you mind if I take it? I need to get the High Tech Unit to have a look at it.’

‘No, of course. You take it.’

‘Is Jake’s car still in the garage?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you mind if we reversed it out into the driveway? I didn’t mention when we spoke earlier but I’ve arranged for a police dog handler to come and he’ll need room to manoeuvre.’

‘Police dog handler? Is it a sniffer dog? Please tell me Jake wasn’t dealing drugs?’

‘It’s starting to look that way, John,’ replied Dixon.

‘Christ, no. What am I going to tell Maureen? We knew he was no saint but…’

John Fayter’s voice tailed off.

‘I’m afraid things are going to get worse before they get better.’

‘What was it? Please tell me it’s not heroin.’

‘At this stage, it looks like ecstasy. But I can’t really say more now.’

John Fayter looked as if he was about to throw up.

‘How about we get his car out? Where are the keys?’

John Fayter fetched the car keys and went round to the front of the garage. He opened the door, squeezed in along the side of the Subaru and climbed into the driver’s seat just as the police dog van arrived and parked across the driveway.

John Fayter reversed the Subaru into the driveway and switched off the engine. He looked at Dixon, clearly unsure what to do next.

‘Why don’t you go in, John? We’ll be a minute.’

John Fayter nodded. He handed the keys to Dixon and went inside the bungalow. The police dog handler went round the car opening all the doors and the boot. He went to the back of his van reappearing a few moments later with a liver and white springer spaniel. He let the dog off the lead and watched with Dixon while the dog covered the whole car inside and out. The dog appeared to pause on the backseat of the Subaru and then continued sniffing all over the passenger compartment. It spent several minutes in the boot of the car before returning to the backseat where it sat barking at the rear seat armrest.

‘Looks like we have a result, Sir.’

The dog handler put the springer spaniel back on the lead and went to put him back in the van.

‘We may need him again in a minute. I’d like him to have a look in one of the bedrooms.’

‘Ok, Sir.’

Dixon sat on the passenger seat and pulled down the armrest. It had been hollowed out. It appeared normal from the passenger compartment but when lowered it revealed a perspex box with two small holes in the top and side. The box had been set into the armrest. The inside of the box had been divided into four compartments, each divided horizontally. The compartments were lined with foam. There was also a switch wired up to a small light bulb. Both had been taped to the inside of the perspex box. Dixon realised he was looking at an incubator.

‘Any luck, Sir?’

Dixon had found four small plastic bags each containing two pink tablets on the bottom shelf of the rudimentary incubator. He passed them out to the dog handler.

‘Ecstasy, Sir?’

‘PMA.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Think ecstasy only stronger and far more dangerous.’

‘I’ve not come across it before,’ said the dog handler, as he placed each of the four plastic bags into a large evidence bag.

‘There’s a lot of it about in London.’

Dixon sat on the rear passenger seat for several minutes, his mind racing. An incubator could mean only one thing. Eggs. And the need to keep those eggs alive. Dixon jumped out of the car and ran into the bungalow.

‘John, do you mind if I have another look in Jake’s room?’

‘No, you go ahead.’

Dixon went into Jake’s bedroom and looked under the bed. The telescopic golf ball retriever was still there.

He poked his head around the sitting room door.

‘Mind if we get the dog to sniff around Jake’s room?’

‘You do what you have to do.’

Dixon went outside and placed Jake’s computer and the telescopic golf ball retriever on the front seat of his Land Rover. He then motioned to the dog handler to follow him into the bungalow. They repeated the same procedure with the springer spaniel in Jake’s bedroom. This time there was no result.

The dog handler left taking the eight tablets, which would need to be booked in back at Bridgwater. Dixon went into the sitting room.

‘I think we need to have a chat, John.’

John Fayter took the news that his son had been a small time drug dealer and illegal birds egg collector badly. He found the drug dealing more difficult to come to terms with than the egg collecting. Dixon did not mention that Jake was suspected of having supplied the fatal dose that killed a teenage girl at a nightclub in Bridgwater. He felt sure that John and Maureen Fayter would find this out for themselves in due course and they would have enough to deal with at this stage.

Dixon explained that the car would need to be impounded for forensic examination. John Fayter put it back in the garage, locked it and gave both sets of keys to Dixon.

‘What about his death, Nick?’

‘At this stage, I’m still looking for a motive. Although I’m thinking I may have found two possibilities.’

‘Drug dealing and egg collecting?’

‘Yes. I’ve had the photographs and video footage from the tourists and they prove that Jake’s weight was off the rope long enough for the knot to have been undone. That’s if it was undone. I still have no real evidence that it was anything other than an accident.’

‘I don’t know what the hell I’m going to tell Maureen.’

Flat 4, Burnham-on-Sea High Street turned out to be above Roly’s Fudge Shop and was accessed via a metal staircase at the rear. It was just after 11.00am when Dixon rang the doorbell. He could hear music playing and rang again when there was no answer. The door was eventually opened by a small man with short blonde hair and a spider tattoo on his neck. He wore crocs, tight jeans and a white collarless shirt.

‘Conrad Benton?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘Detective Inspector Dixon, Bridgwater CID.’

‘I'm, Benton. You’d better come in.’

The flat opened into a small hallway and then, from there, into a large open plan living area that extended the full length of the building. There was a kitchenette along the rear wall with a table and chairs against the wall to the left and then the sitting room area. Three steps led up into the bedroom at the front.

Benton turned the music down.

‘I wanted to talk to you about the death of Jenna Williams.’

‘I gave a statement about that.’

‘You did but I just want to go over it with you again.’

‘If you must. I thought Jake was dead though?’

‘Just tying up a few loose ends, Conrad, if that's ok with you?’

‘Fire away.’

‘When was the last time you saw Jake before that night at Rococo’s?’

‘I don't know exactly. I saw him from time to time. Burnham-on-Sea is a small place.’

‘How well did you know him?’

‘Just to say hello to, really. He wasn't a friend or anything like that.’

‘You were at school together. Is that right?’

‘Yes, we were both at King Alfred's. He was two years above me.’

‘Did you have much to do with him at school?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Where was Jake standing when he handed the envelope to Jenna Williams?’

‘They were in the alleyway at the side of Rococo’s.’

‘Had you seen Jake in the club earlier that evening?’

‘No, he hadn’t been in.’

‘What was he wearing?’

‘God, I can’t remember that. Jeans and a leather jacket, I think, I don’t know. What does it matter?’

‘How did you know it was Jake in the alleyway?’

‘As soon as he finished with the girl he walked out into the street. It's well lit at the front of Rococo’s and I could see him as plain as day.’

‘What about Jenna Williams?’

‘She followed a few seconds later.’

‘So, if it was dark in the alleyway, Conrad, how did you know a deal had just been done?’

‘Because Jake was stuffing the money in his pocket and the Williams girl still had the bag in her hand.’

‘Did you know Jenna Williams?’

‘No, I didn’t find out who she was until later.’

‘I'm assuming you identified her from a photograph then?’

‘Yes.’

‘One last thing. Did you tell Jake you’d sold him PMA?’

‘What the…?’

‘Don’t fuck with me, Conrad. You have a string of convictions for possession and supplying class A and B drugs. You were Jake’s wholesaler. Right?’

‘Wrong. I’ve been clean for fucking ages now piss off out of it.’

‘PMA is serious stuff, and if I find out you’ve been pushing it, I’ll be all over you like a rash.’

Dixon paused on the landing of the metal staircase outside Benton’s flat. Oddly enough, he believed Benton, at least insofar as Jake had supplied the fatal dose to Jenna Williams. He didn’t believe the line that Benton was clean and suspected that he had supplied Jake with the drugs shortly before Jake had passed them on to Jenna Williams but that didn’t alter his gut feeling that it was Jake who had supplied the fatal dose. He looked at his watch. Time for a walk on the beach.

Benton waited until he was sure that Dixon had gone before he reached for his phone. He was shaking.

‘I just had some copper called Dixon here asking questions.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘Nothing. I stuck to my statement.’

‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’

‘He knows I supplied the drugs to Fayter, that I was his fucking wholesaler.’

‘He’s not interested in that. He’s investigating Fayter’s death, which we know was an accident. So just forget it.’

Then the line went dead.

Six

Dixon was back in his office at Bridgwater Police Station by lunchtime. He locked Jake’s computer in the bottom drawer of his desk and put the golf ball retriever in the corner of his office behind his filing cabinet. He decided to spend the rest of the afternoon catching up with Operation Magpie. He was pleased to see that the investigation was coming together nicely. Raymond Standish and his two accomplices had been remanded in custody. The three computers and other documents recovered during the raids in Bristol had provided plenty of evidence of the burglaries themselves and subsequent identity thefts. Standish and the others would face multiple counts of burglary, theft and deception. It would make for a long indictment.

Dixon spent the rest of the afternoon on his own witness statement. This was going to be a long job and would not be completed in one sitting. He was not aware of the time until his phone rang just before 5.00pm.

‘There’s a Carl Harper on the line for you, Sir. Says he’s responding to a post you left on a web forum the other day.’

Dixon paused until he heard the usual click.

‘Detective Inspector Nick Dixon speaking. Can I help you?’

‘Yeah, my name is Carl Harper. You left a post on the UKClimbing forum asking about the accident in Cheddar Gorge a couple of weeks ago?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘I was there. I was climbing in the gorge that day with my girlfriend, Helen.’

‘Did you see the fall?’

‘No, I was climbing at the time. I heard the screams and turned round to see the guy land. Poor bastard.’

‘What about Helen?’

‘She saw much the same as me. She was holding my ropes and watching me at the time. Or at least she bloody well should’ve been!’

‘Do you live locally?’

‘No, we live in London. Well, Surbiton actually. We’re members of the Surbiton and Kingston Mountaineering Club. Helen’s parents live in Wells, so we come down and stay with them. We’re driving down tomorrow night as it happens. The weather forecast looks good for the weekend.’

‘I’d like to have a word with you both, Carl, if I may. You’ll be in the gorge Saturday?’

‘Yes, we will.’

‘Could you both spare me half an hour at, say, 9.00am. I don’t want to ruin your day but I really do need to get a clear understanding of what you saw.’

‘No problem at all.’

‘Thank you. Could we meet at the foot of High Rock, perhaps? In the car park.’

Carl Harper agreed to meet Dixon on Saturday morning at 9.00am. Dixon made a note of Carl’s full name, address and telephone numbers.

‘One final question.’

‘Yes?’

‘What route were you on?’

‘Dinner Date.’

‘I’ll see you Saturday, Carl.’

Dixon looked at his watch. It was just after 5.30pm. Just enough daylight left for a walk on the beach at Burnham and then a beer in the Clarence.

Dixon parked at the end of Allandale Road and walked towards the town. He would usually walk in the other direction, towards the Lighthouse, but tonight was different. Monty was tearing up and down in pursuit of his tennis ball. He still hadn’t got the hang of bringing it back but he made short work of catching it when Dixon kicked it along the beach.

Dixon walked until the new sea defences reared up like a huge wave above him. He still thought of them as new even though they had been built over 25 years ago. He remembered the storm that had destroyed the old Esplanade. He walked as far as the second set of steps, put Monty on his lead, and walked onto the top of the sea wall to find himself opposite the Royal Clarence Hotel. He had taken the precaution of checking that Sarah Heath would be behind the bar that evening.

Very little appeared to have changed in the ten years since Dixon was last in the Clarence. To his left was the lounge bar and to his right the public bar. Straight ahead he could see the manager’s office, currently occupied, with the passage leading through to the toilets at the rear of the building. To the left of the manager’s office was a doorway, which Dixon remembered lead up to the guest accommodation.

He walked into the public bar and could see that the whole far end had been opened out to create additional seating and a games area with two pool tables and a dartboard. Gone was the old skittle alley. Sarah was behind the bar to his left. She did not look pleased to see him.

‘Got time for a chat, Sarah?’

‘No. I’m on my own.’

‘I saw the manager sitting in his office when I came in.’

‘That’s the owner.’

‘He won’t mind covering the bar for ten or fifteen minutes.’

‘What do I tell him?’

‘You tell him that there’s a police officer here wanting a quick chat with you in relation to the death of your boyfriend. If it’s a problem, I could have a word with him?’

‘No, it’s no problem. Give me a minute.’

Sarah reappeared a few moments later.

‘That’s fine. I’ve got fifteen minutes.’

‘Would you like a drink?’

‘I’ll have a small lager if you don’t mind.’

‘Not at all.’

Sarah poured the drinks, a small lager for herself and a beer for Dixon, and then they both sat in the window where the jukebox had once been.

‘Did you know Jake was dealing drugs?’

Sarah hesitated. Dixon waited.

‘Yes, ecstasy.’

‘Where was he getting them from?’

‘Some bloke he had known since school.’

‘Name?’

‘He never told me his name.’

‘Where does he live?’

‘Above a shop in the High Street, I think.’

‘So, we’ve got possession with intent to supply a Class A drug.’

‘It was only a little bit here and there. Small time for pocket money, really.’

‘How much was he making?’

‘I told you, just a bit of extra cash. Nothing serious. He’d buy ten pills for fifty quid and sell them on for a hundred. It really wasn’t anything.’

‘I understand that, Sarah. My only interest in this is purely as a possible motive for his murder.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘Did you know he was supplying PMA too?’

‘No.’

‘You know what PMA is?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you ever meet his supplier?’

‘No.’

‘Could it have been the man Jake was arguing with outside the Vic the night before he died?’

‘I’d definitely not seen that man before. It could’ve been him, I suppose.’

‘So, he’s dealing a bit of ecstasy here and there for extra cash. He’s doing the odd bit of cash in hand work and getting, what, Jobseekers Allowance?’

‘Yes.’

‘So where did all his money come from?’

‘What money?’

‘The Subaru?’

‘Look, I’ve got no idea, ok?’

‘Tell me about the climbing trip to Jordan. When was it?’

‘April, I think. Over Easter.’

‘Who did he go with?’

‘Dan.’

‘How long was he away?’

‘It was a week. Just a week.’

‘When did he buy the Subaru?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I can check with the DVLA.’

‘May. He got it in May.’

‘Tell me about his climbing trips before he went to Jordan, then. Where did he go?’

‘He had a couple of weekends in Wales, I think, and went to the Lake District a couple of times as well. The weather wasn’t great then, of course.’

‘What about when he got back from Jordan?’

‘Not a lot after that until the season opened at Cheddar Gorge. Then he started working on As The Crow Flies again.’

‘Ok, so we’ve got a couple of trips to Wales, a couple of trips to the Lake District and then he goes to Jordan. Then, when he comes back, he buys the Subaru.’

‘What do you think he was up to then?’

‘I know full well what he was up to, Sarah. I’m just waiting for you to tell me.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Did he make any alterations to the car when he got it?’

‘What?’

‘Alterations to the car. Modifications. Did he make any?’

‘Yes, he was mucking about with wires and things in the back seat.’

‘Didn’t you ask him what he was doing?’

‘No, it was none of my business.’

‘Ok, I’ll tell you what I think Jake was up to and you tell me if you think any of this sounds familiar. The climbing trips to Wales and the Lake District weren’t climbing trips at all. He was collecting birds’ eggs. Let me re-phrase that. He was stealing birds’ eggs.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘I found a telescopic golf ball retriever in his bedroom at his parents’ house. It had a hole drilled in the handle so that it could be hung on his harness. I’m thinking that the eggs were stolen from Peregrine Falcon nests and if you can keep them alive, each egg is worth about seven thousand pounds in the Middle East. Now, how am I doing?’

Sarah stared at her drink. She didn’t respond.

‘That explains the trip to Jordan doesn’t it?’

Sarah nodded.

‘Did he really go to Jordan or was it somewhere else? Dubai perhaps?’

Sarah sighed.

‘I can find out, Sarah, so it will save us all a great deal of time.’

‘They went to Dubai.’

‘How many eggs were there?’

‘Ten.’

‘Seventy grand?’

‘He split it with Dan.’

‘Cash?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who organised it?’

‘What you mean?’

‘Jake could collect the eggs and keep them alive but he’s not going to know anybody in Dubai to sell them to, is he? Who was his contact? Who set it up?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘He never mentioned anyone?’

‘No.’

‘And you heard no phone calls or anything like that?’

‘No.’

‘How about the internet?’

‘Could be, I suppose.’

‘How did he keep the eggs alive?’

‘He had a small plastic box. It had a tiny light bulb in it that was wired up to a small battery pack.’

‘It’s called an incubator, Sarah.’

‘I know.’

‘There was one set into the rear seat armrest of the Subaru.’

‘He wired it up to the car battery. Even fitted an on off switch. He was pleased with himself for that.’

‘So, he was planning to do it again?’

‘Yes, when he got back. He said the birds should have lain again by then. He was going to try for twenty eggs but something went wrong. He didn’t go.’

‘To Dubai?’

‘Dan went on his own.’

‘They collected the eggs and then Dan took them to Dubai without Jake?’

‘Yes.’

‘£140,000. More than enough motive for murder wouldn’t you say?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘So, you have no idea who his contact was or how he got in touch with them?’

‘No.’

‘Did he ever tell you any of his passwords? Facebook perhaps?’

‘No, he kept that sort of information to himself. I never knew any of his passwords and he never knew any of mine.’

‘I’m sure our High Tech Unit will be able to sort it out. I’ve got his computer and iPhone.’

Tears had started to stream down Sarah’s face. Dixon noticed that she had not touched her drink.

‘Am I in trouble?’ she said.

‘No, Sarah. You’re not.’

Dixon walked along the sea front towards the amusement arcade. He bought some chips, gave them a liberal covering of salt and vinegar, and then walked down the ramp towards the beach. He sat on the concrete steps below the sea wall and watched the lights flickering on Hinkley Point across the estuary. He could see the marker flashing on the sandbank of Stert Island. The South Wales coast was visible in the distance and he could even pick out the street lighting on the M4. He looked up at the lights flashing in the arcade and his mind wandered back to many an hour spent playing the fruit machines.

‘Fruit machines? You might as well go and push your money through their bloody letterbox,’ his grandmother had said.

He remembered Jake’s ascent of the sea wall too. Using only the tiny crack between the huge sections of concrete wall for finger and footholds, Jake had got up and over the overhang. It was made all the more impressive by the quantity of beer Jake had drunk that evening too. Happy days.

A sense of frustration overtook him. Or was it sadness? He wasn’t sure. He was not convinced that he was making any progress at all with his investigation into Jake’s death. He was yet to find any evidence that it was anything other than a simple accident. He was finding plenty of evidence to blacken Jake’s character and despite their protestations to the contrary, he was under no illusion that John and Maureen Fayter would not thank him for that. But he was no nearer to finding out what had happened to Jake. Something was niggling him. It was irritating him like an itchy scab and he was determined to keep picking at it.