Separated at Death (The Lakeland Murders) Read online

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Could be several hours I’m afraid. There’s a procedure that has to be followed, and fingertip searching is a painstaking business.’

  ‘What do you expect to find?’

  ‘I can’t talk about that I’m afraid.’

  ‘Can you talk about my daughter’s funeral then?’

  ‘Yes, of course. What was it exactly?’

  ‘We’re not sure which day it will be yet, but we do know that it will be at the Parish Church in Kendal. The school wants to let children attend if they want. I assume that’s OK with you?’

  ‘Certainly. We don’t have any formal involvement, although myself, my Superintendent and a couple of officers would like to pay our respects if that’s OK with you.’

  Hamilton nodded. ‘I’ve asked the school not to let any of the younger ones come though.’

  ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘When I was about ten or eleven one of the kids in my class lost his dad, very suddenly, and we all went to the funeral, in the Parish Church as it happens. I was quite near the front, at the end of a row as I remember. Even now I can still see that coffin, and I remember thinking that my friend’s dad was all cooped up inside it, and we were all outside, going to play footie afterwards I expect. I honestly think that was the most formative single moment of my childhood.’

  They sat silently on Hamilton’s sofa for a while, both thinking about the same thing. They thought about Amy being in that box, her arms pinned tight by satin folds, and then about all those things she’d never be able to see, experience and feel.

  Hall heard his name being called. It was coming from upstairs. He climbed the stairs, not expecting anything very much but glad that the team was following his instructions, and still thinking about Amy’s funeral. A uniformed PC was standing outside Amy’s room, holding a mobile phone in his gloved hand.

  ‘This is the same make of phone that the Sarge said was missing from the scene sir. And I found it in Amy’s room, hidden in a drawer.’

  ‘Bag it please’ said Hall. When he thought back on that moment later he’d wonder what he felt. Disappointment? Elation? Or maybe he’d only thought that Amy probably just had two phones.

  Hall went back downstairs slowly, and showed Hamilton the phone.

  ‘Do you recognise it?’

  ‘It looks like Amy’s phone. I don’t think it’s her sister’s, because I would have heard by now it she’d lost that. Amy must have left it behind when she went out last Wednesday.’

  ‘That’s not possible I’m afraid. We know that Amy’s phone was used last Wednesday evening, at or near Serpentine Woods, so if it does turn out to be hers then I wonder if you have any idea how it got here?’

  ‘No, of course not. She must have left it behind.’

  Hall didn’t bother explaining again. This was a conversation that they’d need to continue down at the station. For the first time since they’d met Hall looked at Hamilton, and he wasn’t absolutely sure about him. Physical evidence always had that effect on him.

  That evening Ryan played computer games with his little brother, and helped him with his homework. Ryan had to go online to find out how to do the maths, but together they got there in the end. His brother looked like he’d do well enough in his exams to get into the sixth form, and with the way the benefits worked their mum had actually encouraged it. That was a first, as far as he could remember she hadn’t given a monkey’s what Ryan did.

  Later he walked to the take-away and got them both a Chinese, then sat and channel zapped for an hour or two. At half eleven he got up, put on his coat, then went into the kitchen and took the paring knife from the cutlery draw. He slipped it into his pocket without looking at the blade.

  Wayne took ages to come to the door and didn’t seem pleased to see Ryan. But he beckoned him in, walked to the kitchen and came back with a couple of cheap German canned beers, all swirly writing and gas. Ryan was pretty sure that Wayne had been sampling his wares already that evening, but it was difficult to be sure. But he’d have to make his move now anyway.

  ‘I saw the cops this morning, on that business with the car.’

  ‘Yeh? What happened?’ Wayne looked as if he was struggling to concentrate, and Ryan hoped that he hadn’t left it too late.

  ‘Nothing. Bailed again for further enquiries, but they as good as said that it’s all over.’

  ‘Well done marrer’. Wayne leaned forward and clinked cans. ‘Isn’t that what Adam said would happen?’

  ‘Yeh. Couple of things were odd though. Thought I better tell you, and maybe you’d want to tell Adam.’

  ‘What’s that then?’

  ‘First thing you both might already know, but the gear in that car was shit. Nothing that you could sell. I thought you might want to know, in case someone has ripped you off.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  ‘But doesn’t that seem weird to you? Why would Adam bother to get a ride, pay me to go and get it, and all to bring down gear that we could never move. The car must have cost him a grand on its own, and I can’t see anyone claiming it back from the cops, can you?’

  ‘He had his reasons’ said Wayne, and Ryan wondered if that meant Wayne knew what Adam was up to, or just wanted Ryan to think that he did. It really didn’t matter.

  ‘I expect you’re right. And, like you say, there’s no harm done. The other thing he said probably doesn’t matter then.’

  Wayne took some time to take the bait, but eventually he did.

  ‘What other thing?’

  ‘You know that CID Sergeant, Mann his name is. Tough looking bastard, grew up round here.’

  ‘Yes, I know him. Right wind-up merchant he is.’

  ‘Maybe, but when he was interviewing me he said that they’d found something else in the car that their intelligence people were interested in.’

  Wayne suddenly looked more alert.

  ‘Now why would he say something like that to you?’

  Ryan had been expecting that, and it proved that Wayne wasn’t too far gone: because he knew that cops only ever told you things that they wanted you to know.

  ‘He was explaining to the solicitor that my bail would be even longer than usual. I think that’s when he told her, kind of as an explanation. It was just a few words really, but thought you’d want to know.’

  ‘We appreciate it.’ Wayne drained his can, crushed it and dropped it by the side of his chair. ‘You still enjoying your holiday? You ready to go back to work again soon?’

  ‘Yeh. I was just thinking about that. This business with Amy, and the car getting stopped, it really threw me you know. But at times like this it’s good to know who your friends are.’

  Wayne was going glassy-eyed, but pulled himself back to the here-and-now.

  ‘Tell you what Ryan. Come round again tomorrow night, and we’ll see what we can do.’

  ‘You’ll talk it through with Adam?’

  Wayne glanced up, and Ryan wondered if he’d pushed too far.

  ‘Mebbe I will. But that’s my business. So I’ll see you round here tomorrow night? Be good: and if you can’t be good, be careful.’

  Funny, thought Ryan as he walked home, but that’s exactly what my dad used to say to me when I was a kid. So he’d always reckoned it was shit advice.

  Tuesday, 14th January

  Jane Francis always knew that she would never have made a diplomat, but when she worked in research that was never a career-limiting problem. Her results were her results, she wrote them up and submitted them for peer revue. And if anyone had a problem with her conclusions then that was OK, even though she didn’t much like it. She’d never been senior enough to develop too much of an ego, and she certainly hadn’t left research because she’d fallen out with anyone.

  She’d left because she’d lived the same way since she’d started at UMIST at 18, and by her mid-thirties she’d just had enough of the late night buses to Fallowfield and the nights out on the curry mile. She’d enjoyed her work r
ight to the end, but she just didn’t love it any more. In her twenties she’d believed that she was making a difference: but as the years ticked by she still couldn’t quite see what it was.

  And she really didn’t know who was more surprised when she applied to the Greater Manchester Police, her or them. But when she’d managed to persuade them that she didn’t want to go into a scientific section, but to join as an ordinary PC, they eventually put her through the application process.

  Jane hadn’t regretted it for a minute since. She’d worried about how she’d cope on the streets, but she was always paired with one of the tougher lads on the relief. She’d been decked a couple of times when she forgot to duck, and had spent one night in hospital under observation, and she freely admitted that she’d been properly scared on quite a few occasions. But at least she was properly something.

  The other probationers were all much younger, and after the first couple of times she didn’t join them on their big nights out. They didn’t seem to mind. The cops that she met of her own age always seemed a bit wary of her, even though they were friendly enough.

  So Jane hadn’t made any close friends in the police, and found herself stuck between two worlds: with cops on shift, joking and piss-taking to keep the realities at bay, and spending time with old university friends in the evenings, feeling more removed from their world with every passing week.

  She knew that something had to change in her life, so when she finished her probation she started to look around for a DCs job in one of the rural counties north of Manchester. Her widowed mum still lived in Buxton, where Jane had grown up, and she didn’t want to move too far away from her. But other than that she no dependents, not even a cat: although that didn’t stop the lads at work inventing a flat full of the things for her, and then teasing her mercilessly about them. She was surprised that cops could be so imaginative, but she took it all well enough, and handed a bit back when she had the chance.

  So far she felt she’d made the right decision in coming to Cumbria. She’d rented a flat in the middle of town, and although she was still a bit lonely she was used to that. It felt like her default position now. The cops in Kendal were a bit less outgoing, and older, than most of her colleagues in Manchester, but she liked it that way.

  Yet despite Jane’s best efforts at diplomacy Beech had been pretty unpleasant when she’d relayed Hall’s request. ‘Young lady, all of our equipment is subject to annual inspection, under Home Office rules.’

  ‘And when was it last done?’

  ‘I’d have to check, but I can assure you that we will be within the appropriate guidelines.’

  ‘Could you do that now for me Doctor?’

  ‘I could not.’

  ‘You really want me to go back to DC Hall, who is leading a team that’s going the extra mile to get this case cracked, and tell him that you won’t tell us when your kit was last checked, let alone consent for it to be checked again?’

  ‘You just don’t understand. When did any of you people ever actually do this kind of work?’

  So Doctor Jane Francis told him, and suggested a few papers that Beech might like to read if he wanted to confirm her academic credentials. He very nearly apologised then, but not quite. But Beech did call his office, and asked when the equipment that he’d used both at the locus and in the lab was last tested. None was more than 3 months before.

  ‘Would you still like them checked?’ he asked, putting his hand over the mouthpiece. Jane nodded and, her mission accomplished, began to wonder how the searches had gone.

  Inspector Andy Hall had plenty of time to think through how he’d play the interview with John Hamilton. His solicitor was from Manchester, and would take two hours to be with them.

  But it wasn’t tactics that he was thinking about. It was own performance. Had he made any decisions that had compromised the investigation? Probably not, because even his own sternest critic - and that would usually be Hall himself - couldn’t really say that his own empathy with Hamilton had altered the shape of the investigation one bit. He’d executed the warrant promptly, and had never said anything prejudicial to Hamilton.

  Then he thought about the possible explanations for why the phone had been found in the house. Forensics had already confirmed that the SIM was Amy’s, and that the only prints were hers, plus a few handling smudges from a gloved hand. They weren’t sure why ‘pinging’ it hadn’t worked, but it was probably because signal strength was very weak in John Hamilton’s road.

  That gave Hall an idea. He phoned the uniformed Inspector who had led the search of Hamilton’s house. He was still there, finishing up. Nothing else of any interest had turned up. ‘Have you found any gloves during the search?’

  ‘None hidden, but we did find a pair of thick walking or skiing gloves in a rucksack with his walking kit.’

  ‘Can you bag them and bring them in?’

  Then Hall called the Doc’s office. He was quite glad to find that he’d just gone home with a migraine. His assistant was a woman called Donna, who Hall would have said was attractive if it wasn’t for what she did. ‘Could a pair of thick gloves have been used on Amy, or are we talking about something thinner? I seem to remember that’s what the doc said.’

  ‘I’d have to see them to be sure, but probably not very thick at all. The definition on the throat was very clear, so I’d say thin gloves every time. Leather maybe, or something of the same kind of thickness.’

  ‘I’ve got a pair of gloves coming to you now from the suspect’s house. Could you take a look and call me back. Presumably it won’t take long?’

  ‘I could give you an informal view today, but if you want something definitive I’ll need to call Doctor Beech back in. Do you want me to do that?’

  Hall said not to worry, and rang off. So if he assumed that Hamilton had killed his daughter, then why would he bring the phone back to the house, but dispose of the gloves he’d probably used? It didn’t make any sense.

  So what other explanations for Hamilton having the phone in his house were there? What if it contained incriminating evidence, pictures maybe? Hall thought about what he’d have done in the same situation, because he doubted that Hamilton was significantly more tech-savvy than him. Hall thought that what he’d have done was to reset the phone to default settings as best he could, then flush the SIM down the loo, and finally dismantle the phone as best he could, if necessary with a hammer, and then get rid of the bits. Easy done, and Hamilton had certainly had plenty of time to do it before now.

  So, if he was the killer, why hadn’t he got shot of the phone? Yes, Hamilton was still shocked and utterly grief-stricken, but Hall didn’t think that could explain such stupidity. Throughout his career Hall had often been astonished at how people were able to continue to function, even in the immediate aftermath of appalling events. It seemed to be some kind of deep-seated defence mechanism. And if Hamilton was guilty then surely he would have expected to come under suspicion at some point?

  So why else might the phone be in the house, when it was certain that the SIM inside it had been with Amy at the time of her death? Hall thought about the possibility that someone else had been involved, and that Hamilton was covering up for them. But who could that be, and the fundamental question remained: why hadn’t Hamilton got rid of the phone?

  Hall knew that there was another obvious explanation, but he wanted to be sure that he’d thought every other option through first. Because from now on he would treat Hamilton just like any other lying scum-bag. For the courts it was innocent until proven guilty, but for an investigating officer with a prime suspect in his sights it had to be the other way round.

  And Hamilton was a more than credible suspect. There was a hint of motive now, clear opportunity, no verifiable alibi and now the phone too. But what if it really had been planted on Hamilton by the killer? Hall made a note to ask Hamilton for a full list of key holders, as well as visitors since Wednesday night.

  Ian Mann stuck his head round the door.<
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  ‘You ready for this boss?’

  ‘As I ever will be.’

  ‘His solicitor has arrived. He’s said they’ll be ready in ten minutes.’

  Hall had already decided to lead the interview himself. He was certain that he would remain objective. But he still wasn’t looking forward to it one little bit.

  John Hamilton looked terrible, and his solicitor looked expensive, judging from the suit. His name was Palmer, first name mister. Hall and Mann sat down, and Hall got started straight away. Palmer probably charged by the minute.

  ‘You understand why you’re here, Mr Hamilton?’

  ‘Mr Hamilton understands that he has been arrested on suspicion of the murder of his daughter, Amy’ said Palmer. ‘He denies this charge, and has asked me to say that he had no involvement in, nor any knowledge of, this appalling crime.’

  Hall looked steadily at Hamilton as his solicitor spoke.

  ‘Thank you for that. But how do you explain the fact that your daughter’s phone, which we are quite certain was in her possession at the time of the attack, was found in your home today?’

  ‘I didn’t put it there, so if what you say is true then someone else must have’ said Hamilton. Palmer looked very slightly exasperated at his client’s answer.

  ‘My client has no knowledge as to how the phone came to be at his home, and I have advised him not to speculate as to how it occurred. It is your job to find that out.’

  ‘We intend to, but I’m interested in Mr Hamilton’s reply. What I’m hearing is that the only suggestion that he can put forward is that someone else must have planted the phone. So would I right in thinking that such a person must also be your daughter’s attacker?’