Hail and Farewell (The Lakeland Murders) (19 page)

The causes of his unease weren’t hard to identify, when he gave up on sleep and turned his attention to them. It wasn’t uncommon for an investigation into one serious offence to connect with other crimes, because career criminals invariably commit lots of offences, many of them only loosely connected. And when organised crime was involved then that likelihood just increased. But this case was turning into an evidential ring doughnut: with all of the material at the edges, and a big hole in the middle. Hall smiled, briefly, at the image and tried to remember it so he could tell Jane later. Because the fact remained that, despite all the team’s work, there was very little possibility of achieving a conviction for the Brown killing. As things stood Hall doubted that there’d ever be any certainty that foul play was even involved.

And then there was accountancy, the curse of double-entry bookkeeping. Because this investigation could also be seen as a ledger, and at the moment he knew that there was far too much red ink to be seen on the page. Under normal circumstances he’d expect to have been closed down already, and the case put on 28-day review, but the possibility of connecting a range of other offences to the Brown death was all that keeping Val Gorham onside. And it was that train of thought that brought Hall to the nub of the issue, the thing that was really keeping him awake. Because an old hand like Matt Hayton wouldn’t slip up when he was questioned about that phone, it just couldn’t happen, and then where would they be?

He got up, turned on his laptop, and checked his email. The initial analysis of Bill Iredale’s finances had been completed, and he read the one-page summary first. There was nothing to indicate that Iredale had any suspicious assets or sources of income, and none of the behavioural checks - like regularity of ATM usage - indicated anything remotely unusual. The raw data was attached, and Hall spent half an hour looking through it. Perhaps it was his own academic background, but he always enjoyed thinking about people as economic agents, and trying to deduce, or maybe intuit, aspects of character from their financial behaviour.

When Jane woke up he closed his laptop and boiled the kettle in the hotel room. It took an age.

‘I’ve had a look through the stuff on Bill Iredale.’

‘Isn’t that my job?’

‘I’d appreciate a second opinion later, but it’s all looking clean.’

‘Too clean?’

‘You know how it is, Jane, and why these exercises are rarely of any value, especially if you’re looking at an insider, someone who knows the system, like a copper. Because either he’s clean, or he’s bent and he’s clever. It’s absolutely impossible to tell which it might be. And the other thing to remember is that he’s been retired for years, so it’s hard to see why he’d still be on Hayton’s payroll now. So I had a look and can’t see anything that might relate to assets bought years ago. There’s no sign of a Spanish villa, nothing like that.’

‘But you still think we should talk to him?’

‘Absolutely. Like I say, this doesn’t prove anything, either way.’

‘You were just playing it by the book?’

‘Exactly. And with Val Gorham peering over my bloody shoulder that’s the way it has to be. It’s a box ticked, and that’s all. But I’ll be interested to see how he reacts when we do talk to him.’

‘You want me to set that up?’

‘Yes, please, for later on today. But not at the station, and not at his home.’

‘Where then?’

‘How about that nice little cafe in Allonby? We went there last summer with the girls, you remember?’

‘I do. That kite you’d bought blew away, didn’t it?’

‘There’s a reason that the whole bloody place is over-run with wind farms, Jane.’

‘All right. I’ll set it up. What do you want me to say to him?’

‘As little as possible. If he asks tell him its deep background on George Hayton.’

Keith Iredale was already at work when Ian Mann arrived. They’d got in the habit of having a brew together, early doors, and whoever arrived last did the honours. So Mann made straight for the kitchen.

‘What are you on with, lad?’ he said, putting a mug down on Iredale’s desk.

‘The logs from those tipper trucks. I don’t reckon they were used, Ian, or if they were they’ve hidden the traces well.’

‘That’s a shame. It would be bloody fantastic if we could tie that whole load back to Hayton, and not just the phone.’

‘There is another possibility. Sandy mentioned that old trucks don’t need tachographs, and she’s right, they don’t. So I had a look online and Hayton has a collection of old vehicles with local connections. And guess what? There’s a tipper truck from the ‘70s. As far as I can tell it’s on the road.’

‘Nice one, Keith. That’s good work. Don’t be surprised if you get another pat on the back from the boss. So where do they keep this old lorry then?’

‘At the place we were before. They’ve got a big shed for them, apparently.’ Iredale grinned. ‘So it looks like I’ll need to get out there again, Ian. Unless you want to come with me, like?’

Mann laughed. ‘Aye, I’ll come. You might need protecting.’

‘More likely it’s the other way round. When do you want to go?’

‘Wait until after Matt Hayton’s been brought in. I don’t expect we’ll get anything out of him, like, but you never know, do you?’

Matt Hayton was chatting to his lawyer when Hall and Jane walked into the interview room, and other than glancing up for a second he didn’t acknowledge them. It was, Hall thought, just another day at the office for all of them. He leant his crutch against the side of the table and sat down slowly. Jane wrote down the lawyer’s name on her pad, set the recorder running, and made all the usual introductions.

‘Let’s start with last Tuesday. What were you doing that day, and evening?’ asked Hall.

‘It’s a long time ago, is that. I don’t remember. Just another day in paradise, I expect.’

‘I need you try a bit harder. Do you have an electronic diary, anything like that?’

Hayton laughed. ‘What, so I don’t miss a board meeting? Or my flight to the Maldives, maybe? No, of course I don’t, marrer.’

‘It was the day of the second Uppies and Downies game of the year. Is that any help?’

‘Oh, aye. I do remember, as it happens. I went to the game.’

‘Were you there at the start?’

‘No. I probably turned up at about seven. They hadn’t got far, mind. The game was still on the Cloffocks, like it usually is.’

‘And did you stay until the end?’

‘Aye, I did. Nearly hailed the ball and all. I probably could have, if I’d wanted to.’

‘And then what?’

‘I went home.’

‘On foot? By car, taxi, what?’

‘I got a lift I think. Aye, that’s right, I did.’

‘From whom?’

‘Just one of the lads. I don’t remember which one, like.’

‘What about the car, or the other people who were with you?’

‘No, sorry. Can’t help you. I’d had a few, like. But there’s no law against it, is there?’

‘I thought you played the game for the whole evening?’

‘I did, but we all have the odd refreshment break, like. It’s all part of the craic. By the end of the night I was pretty far gone.’

Hall opened his folder and pulled out a see-through, tagged evidence bag containing the mobile phone that Iredale had found.

‘Do you recognise this?’

‘Aye. It’s a mobile phone. Next. I knew it straight away, like.’ Hayton looked round to his lawyer, grinning, but the man sat stony-faced. Hall had a feeling that he’d heard that one before.

‘Have you seen it before?’

‘Mebbe. Mebbe not. They all look the same really, don’t they?’

‘Have you got your own phone with you now?’

‘Aye. Here it is.’ Hayton put it on the table.

‘Did you have it with you on Tuesday evening?’

‘No, I didn’t. Left it at home, like. You know what the Great Game is like. It could have got damaged, like. You can check my phone records, if you like.’

‘We have’ said Hall. ‘Tell me, do you ever carry another phone?’

Hayton smiled. ‘No. I might play a game on a mate’s phone, or answer for him while we’re driving. But that’s it. Why would I need another phone? I’ve only got one mouth, like.’

Hayton looked at his lawyer again, who smiled thinly. It seemed like enough for Hayton, who laughed loudly. Hall didn’t smile.

‘This phone has your prints on it, Mr. Hayton. Can you explain that?’

‘Like I said, I might have touched it. That’s not a crime, is it? Touching a phone, like.’

‘Last Tuesday night and into Wednesday morning this phone was used to call another pay-as-you-go number, and it received calls from the same number. At the time both phones were in the central Workington area. Were you using this phone at the time?’

‘No, I wasn’t.’

‘I thought you said you’d had a few drinks?’

‘Not that many, like. I can hold my drink. Women always like to see that in a bloke, don’t they, love?’

Jane Francis didn’t reply, and Hall didn’t even seem to have noticed Hayton’s comment. He just asked his next question.

‘This phone was found in a pile of material that was fly-tipped in Maryport. Do you know how it got there?’

‘No, no idea.’

Hall sat back and looked straight at Hayton. ‘So what you’re saying is that you might have handled this phone, but that you didn’t use it on Tuesday evening of last week, and that you didn’t dispose of it either?’

‘Aye, that’s right.’

‘So how do you explain the fact that the only identifiable finger prints on this particular phone are yours?’

‘Sorry, marrer. Can’t help you there. It’s a mystery, like, is that.’

‘No, it’s not. Not if you were the last person to use the phone, and we know that it hasn’t been on the network again after Tuesday, until it came into our possession, that is.’

‘Aye, well. Like I say, I can’t help you.’

‘You haven’t asked why we’re interested in Tuesday night.’

‘I’m not bothered, to tell you the truth. I know what you lot are like, always trying to fit people up for something or other. But I didn’t do anything on Tuesday night, and you can’t prove that I did. So what if you’ve got some phone that I’ve handled? It means nowt, and we all bloody know it. You must be desperate, though, I will say that.’

‘Desperate? Not at all. This phone helps tie you more closely to the theft of materials relating to the Good Friday game, which in turn connects you to the death of Chris Brown. But it does more than that, Mr. Hayton. Because it helps us to link the death of that young man to your boss, George Hayton. And so you might want to mention that to him, when you next see him. Or perhaps your lawyer will do it for you? Maybe he’ll mention that we’re now taking just as great an interest in him as we are in you, Mr. Hayton.’

Ian Mann drove to Cockermouth, and as expected Keith Iredale took the piss most of the way. But Mann didn’t mind. If you dish it out, you have to be willing to take it. And he’d already had plenty of fun at Keith’s expense. So he smiled good-naturedly, and let Keith have his bit of payback. There were plenty of old-sweat DS’s like Mann who expected respect from any young DC, but as far as he was concerned respect was something that was hard-earned, and easily lost. And it certainly didn’t come with rank.

Debbie Hayton walked with the two detectives to the large storage unit where the historic vehicles were kept.

‘My granddad was a lorry driver, back before the motorway came along, and he used to tell my dad stories about his adventures when dad was a kid. When he saw him, that is. Grandad was only home one night a week, at best. So no wonder my dad went off the rails a bit. When he was younger, I mean.’

She unlocked the shed and slid the door open. Inside there were trucks of various ages and types, a bus, and a couple of tractors. ‘That’s the tipper truck, over there.’

They all walked over to the truck and Iredale walked round it. Like every other vehicle in the shed it was spotless, and painted in the colours of Hayton’s business, but with hand-painted sign writing and big drop shadows below each letter.

‘Is the log in the cab?’ asked Iredale.

‘Should be. Help yourself.’

Iredale climbed nimbly into the cab.

‘Let me show you round, Ian’ said Debbie, smiling at Mann. ‘Are you interested in old vehicles like these?’

‘Aye, I can see the attraction’ said Mann. ‘It’s nostalgia, isn’t it?’

‘It certainly is. They had it tough though, that generation of drivers. Digging themselves out of snowdrifts, kipping in the cab with no heater, all that. People seem to think my dad’s a hard case, but he’s got his sentimental side.’

‘If you say so.’

Debbie looked at him sharply, and Mann held up a hand in apology.

‘So does your old man drive them? Is that why he’s got so many?’

She laughed. ‘No, never. Not even round the yard. But he does come here and just sit in them, sometimes. He says the smell takes him right back, like.’

‘How about your cousin, Matt? Does he ever drive any of them?’

‘No. I don’t think he’s got any interest in old lorries.’

‘What is he interested in?’

‘You’d have to ask him that. I just run this business, Ian. What the rest of my family gets up to is their business.’

Mann had heard that before, many times, and he usually challenged the person who said it. They were always fooling themselves. And Debbie Hayton was anything but stupid, so she must have a very good idea about where the capital to establish this business had come from. But this time he let it go, and he told himself it was because he wanted to keep the tone of their conversation friendly. For strictly professional reasons, of course.

‘Does your cousin Matt ever come down here?’

‘No. Why should he? He’s nothing to do with this business. Absolutely nothing at all.’

Mann changed the subject.

‘You’ve got CCTV outside I see.’

‘That’s right. It covers the yard and the office.’

‘But not this building?’

‘No. It didn’t seem worth it. My dad’s spent a fortune restoring some of these, that’s true, but they’re not worth much really.’