Separated at Death (The Lakeland Murders) Read online

  As he showered Hall decided that, as soon as Hamilton had been charged, he’d go back through all the files yet again, and see if there was anything he’d missed. He thought back over the investigation and only one thing really stood out as feeling remotely like a loose end: those calls to and from that pay-as-you-go SIM.

  When he’d dressed Hall turned on his laptop, logged onto the Police system and case files, and soon found what he was looking for. His memory of what Jane had said was correct: the two calls had been made from the M6 near junction 36, incoming to Amy’s phone, and the second, an outgoing call from Amy, was received on the A590 before Kendal. There was no possibility of tracing the car involved because the cameras only registered registration numbers in daylight, or on lit sections of road.

  Afterwards Hall would ask himself why he’d done it, and he told himself it was simply because it was still early, not much after six, and Hamilton’s solicitor wasn’t due until nine. Perhaps it was because he fancied a drive to clear his head, or perhaps he something half-remembered was troubling him. But more likely it was because he wanted to prove Hamilton innocent. His instincts had been proved wrong before, and like everyone in the job he knew how hard it was to spot a liar with any certainty, but he just couldn’t believe that John Hamilton could possibly have murdered his own daughter, any more than he could have done the same thing himself.

  Hall’s car was blocked in by his wife’s, so he got in to move it, and smelt her perfume as he started it up. He felt nothing, and that was good. Then he backed out his own car, put his wife’s back on the drive and set off.

  He’d already chosen a CD by the Cowboy Junkies, and he played it softly as he headed out to the motorway. It had been a mild night, and it was just starting to spit with rain. There were hardly any cars, and soon Hall was approaching the M6 junction, and he saw from a mile away that it was well covered by streetlights.

  Hall parked his car where the Police patrol cars usually sat, overlooking the motorway carriageways. He got out, and looked round. There was certainly light, but were there any cameras? Hall walked round the roundabout, past the westbound exit, and across to the southbound side. Then, as he was walking back to his car, he saw it, a Highways Agency camera, looking straight at the Kendal bound carriageway. That bloody traffic numpty should have checked before telling them that there were no cameras.

  Hall walked back to his car, swung round the roundabout and headed back along the by-pass towards Kendal. As he drove he found himself thinking about the day that they’d moved up to Kendal, and driving along this very stretch of road behind the removal lorry. If he remembered rightly it had been a bright autumn afternoon, there was one child asleep in a car seat in the back and another on the way in the front. But it all seemed a very long time ago.

  When he walked into the office Hall wasn’t surprised to see Jane Francis already there. She must have put in more hours than him, more than anyone, since the investigation began. Hall told Jane about the camera.

  ‘That’s great boss, brilliant.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘Of course. You don’t reckon John Hamilton for this at all, do you?’

  Hall wondered if it was that obvious to everyone. ‘Is that what people are saying? That I don’t believe that John Hamilton is guilty? Well I’m going to be charging him in an hour or two.’

  ‘No, it’s not something people have been saying. Just my observation.’

  ‘I see. Well, you’re right up to a point. Take that phone out of the picture and we’ve got nothing remotely strong enough to charge him, let alone make it stick in court. And I can’t see why he still had it in his house if he’s our man. It just doesn’t make the slightest sense to me.’

  He paused.

  ‘Anyway, will you get on to the Highways Agency and see if we can get whatever they have from last Wednesday, from a few minutes before the first call to the time of the second? We’ll need to see who all the vehicles that passed that camera are registered to.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll get on with it right now. By the way, you’ll have an email but we’ve had word back on those gloves of John Hamilton’s. No chance that they were used. Our esteemed Doctor Beech says the bruising on Amy’s throat would be much less distinct. So that’s good too.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me know. How are you getting on with Beech?’

  ‘Fine, I’m sure it’s the start of a beautiful friendship. Oh, and I forgot to mention: Superintendent Robinson was looking for you. He was here about ten minutes ago.’

  Hall dropped his laptop bag on his desk and threw his coat over a chair, and made for Robinson’s office. Might as well get it over with.

  ‘Big day today, Andy’.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘We all set?’

  ‘I think so. With a bit of luck he might have decided to make a clean breast of it, but the CPS think we’ve got enough anyway. And before you ask we’ll seek to refuse bail, in light of the seriousness of the offence.’

  Robinson shook his head sadly.

  ‘It’s a tragedy. Not just for Amy, but for the whole family. But at least we’ve got a result. I must admit that I was starting to worry. This case has had quite a bit of national attention, and if it had stayed on the books, well, I think you can guess the consequences.’

  ‘Not entirely sir.’

  Robinson didn’t look best pleased.

  ‘Maybe not. You’re probably not the type to listen to the bush telegraph, are you inspector?’

  ‘Not really sir. It tends to be operated by monkeys.’

  ‘Well, it’s simple enough. After that Bird business on the west coast we’ll be under the spotlight, and if we look under-resourced or short of specific expertise, like running a successful murder investigation, then the voices calling for merger would just get even louder. But you and your team have proved that we can cope, and we can get results. We don’t need to merge with anyone.’

  ‘I certainly haven’t had any issues in terms of support.’ Hall hesitated; should he tell Robinson about the potential CCTV lead. He decided that he would. By the time he finished he was far from sure that he’d made the right decision.

  ‘And why are you following this up? Surely it’s all academic now? As you say it was probably just a wrong number.’

  ‘Then why did Amy call it back sir?’

  Robinson waved Hall’s question aside.

  ‘You’re not going to tell me that you’re following a hunch are you? An old copper’s nose and all that crap. I thought you were a thoroughly modern policeman, Andy. And let me tell you this much Inspector, this is a modern policeman’s world. Don’t get me wrong, the old skills still matter, but nowadays you’ve got to be a great man manager, have superb budgetary control, and know when you’ve got a result that will help you make your way up the ladder. And you’ve got a great result in the making here, I promise you that.’

  ‘Yes sir.’

  ‘So you won’t waste resources chasing down loose ends, now will you? Police work is full of loose ends, as you very well know. Only the Lord knows everything.’

  Hall had heard that Robinson was a pillar of the local evangelical church, and had been known to plug some sort of course to any of the troops who he sensed might be suitable. Vulnerable more like, thought Hall, hoping that Robinson wasn’t going to try it on him. He believed in his children, in his own fallibility, and in the method developed over more than a century’s worth of criminal investigation in Britain. Everything else was open to question.

  ‘Is that all you wanted to see me about sir?’

  ‘There was one other thing. I just wanted to find out how Jane Francis is getting on.’

  Hall was relieved. ‘Fine sir, she’s done excellent work throughout this investigation so far. Extremely dedicated too.’

  ‘Not stand-offish? A good mixer you’d say?’

  ‘She’s very approachable. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Nothing really. Just water cooler gossip I expect, but I’d hear
d that some of the younger coppers find her a bit distant, stand-offish, you know.’

  They probably say much the same abount me, thought Hall.

  ‘It’s probably just the age difference I expect. Jane had a successful career before she joined, so she won’t have as much in common with most of our young PCs.’

  Robinson nodded.

  ‘Well, so long as you’re happy, I’m happy. I will call the press office and make sure that there’s a statement ready for when you’ve charged John Hamilton. There’ll be a press conference at 10am, and apparently there’s some national media interest. It will be nice to have a good news story for a change.’

  Ian Mann was waiting when Hall got back to his office.

  ‘What did the dear leader want?’

  Hall told him about almost all of the conversation, except the part about Jane.

  ‘He must be made up about getting Hamilton charged.’

  ‘He is. Sod off Ryan, all is forgiven. And I’ll give you one guess about who’s taking the press conference, Ian.’

  ‘I’d say he’d need to wear his best uniform, but then he always does.’

  ‘Cleanest copper on the force. You can’t take it away from the man.’

  Mann looked down at his notebook.

  ‘Come on Ian’ said Hall, ‘out with it. You didn’t come in here to find out what Robinson wanted.’

  ‘It’s the CCTV that you’ve got Jane chasing up. I hate to say this, but I actually agree with the super. For better or worse we’ve got our man. I just can’t see the point in chasing after some lead that could only confuse matters. I know it’s hard to believe Andy, but John Hamilton killed his daughter. And when we charge him what’s the betting that he confesses, and gets it off his chest? He looks like the type to me. And if he does, then we’ll know his motive too.’

  But Mann was wrong. John Hamilton did not confess to the murder of his daughter. He didn’t change his account in any single particular. He looked as if he’d been sedated, and afterwards Hall asked the custody sergeant if the doctor had been called. He hadn’t. Hall hadn’t seen the slightest indication of guilt or innocence in Hamilton’s face, but he hadn’t really seen a trace of anything, except when they’d almost finished.

  ‘Will I miss the funeral?’

  ‘That depends on whether or not you’re granted bail.’

  ‘I have to be there. Not to say goodbye, because I’ll never do that, but because I’m her dad. And it’s my job. Can you see that at least?’

  Hall walked back to his office, and he could tell by the way that Jane Francis got up as soon as he came in that she had news for him.

  ‘I’ve had an email from the Doc’s office. They had all of their kit re-checked and all the calibrations were fine, so definitely no change to the time of death. We can put that to bed once and for all.’

  ‘So that eliminates Ryan finally. Thanks for letting me know.’

  ‘No problem. And the Highways Agency have sent those files over. I’ll feed in the registration numbers, and see if we get any hits.’

  ‘How long will it take?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but it should be today. I hope something comes of it. If John Hamilton is innocent then I can’t imagine how he must be feeling.’

  Hall didn’t want to think about that, let alone talk about it.

  ‘We’ve charged him now Jane. It’ll be up to the courts from here.’

  It had taken Ryan less than half an hour to confirm Adam’s identity. He searched Adam’s address first, and got a name from a planning application made five years before: Simon Hamilton. Of course he might have moved since, so Ryan phoned the bike dealership in Lancaster that had supplied the motorbike. ‘I’ve been looking at a bike that a bloke in Windermere has for sale, name of Hamilton. I just wanted to check the service history. If I give you the registration number could you check it for me?’

  ‘Not a problem mate. What’s the reg?’

  Ryan gave it and waited.

  ‘Yes, last serviced last month. Mr Hamilton always looks after his bikes, money no object. It’s got all the extras that one, and that mileage is nothing. He’s a real Sunday biker. I’m surprised he’s selling to tell the truth, but you can buy with confidence if he is.’

  Ryan rang off. He was hungry, but didn’t even bother to check the fridge. As he walked to the shop he thought about his next move. There was something about the neatness of Adam’s clothes and the pristine condition of his bike, plus the way he rode it, that told Ryan something about him. Adam liked to be in control, in charge, and could afford to pay to stay that way: so how would he react if he wasn’t?

  On the way back Ryan did something that he hardly ever did, he thought about the future. One of the things that he’d really noticed about Amy was that she seemed to talk about very little else, what she’d do at university, where she’d live, what job she’d do. He hadn’t liked it much. For himself Ryan rarely thought much beyond the next day. It was a shame about Amy though, it really was.

  Ryan knew he wanted money, a place of his own, a car. He never even thought about a straight job any more, because kitchen portering in one of the hotels in the lakes had been horrible. He’d lasted less than a month when he’d tried that, and he left just before he gave into the urge to stab the owner of the place with a carving knife.

  There was no doubt that Simon already had money, and he obviously had the local drugs market pretty much sown up too. But did he have muscle? And more to the point did Adam, or Simon, have the balls to see it through if it came down to a scrap?

  Ryan sat in the living room, eating a family sized bag of crisps. He wondered if he could frighten Adam, and what the risks would be if he couldn’t. He thought about getting a group of his mates together, and going round to Simon’s place mob-handed. But Ryan was almost certain that this was something he could do alone, and he wanted to. Simon Hamilton, with his fancy house and lake views, had done his best to make sure that all Ryan was going to see for the next few years was the inside of a prison cell, and like that copper had said that just wasn’t right.

  But Ryan needed a bit of insurance, so he wrote down everything he knew about Simon Hamilton and hid the paper in his room. He reached under the bed, and pulled out the bag that he kept his father’s old baseball bat in. It was pretty much the only thing of his dad’s that he still had, other than the ginger hair.

  Ryan went downstairs, took the car keys and drove to the filling station. He put a tenner’s worth of fuel in the car, bought a sandwich and a can of drink and took the Crook Road to Simon’s house. He left the Fiesta in a lay-by a couple of minute’s walk away, slung the bag over his shoulder and walked down the drive.

  He’d already decided to watch for a while before he did anything, so he walked past Simon’s garage and on, into the stand of shrubby rhododendrons beyond. He’d have a good view of the front door from there. It was getting cold now, but dry, and Ryan would take that any time. He didn’t expect to be there for too long anyway. He just wanted to check if anyone else was at home.

  He didn’t have long to wait. Ryan knew that there was a Mrs Hamilton, because her name was on the planning application. After half an hour she walked out, looking as if she was going out for lunch, and backed the Porsche out of the garage. The rear tyres spat a bit of gravel as she drove away.

  Ryan ate his sandwich out of boredom, then sat on a fallen branch for another twenty minutes. There was no sign of movement from the house, or at any of the windows that he could see. He’d seen a burglar alarm on the side of the house, but it would do no harm to have a proper look at the place now.

  Ryan walked out into the open, and then round to the side of the house. He tried the kitchen door, then the patio doors. They were locked. All the downstairs windows that he could see were closed. Then he heard a car coming up the road, and turn onto the drive. Ryan just had time to see that it was Simon at the wheel as the car pulled up near the door. He put his bag down carefully, took out the bat and walked slowl
y to the corner of the house. The front door was no more than a few feet away now. He could hear his heart pounding, but he felt good, in control. The baseball bat was smooth and cool in his hands.

  He could hear music playing from the car, it was some gangsta rap that Ryan didn’t recognise, and after a few more seconds the engine was turned off, and the music with it. Someone walked towards the door, and as soon as Ryan heard it open he ran round, swung his bat hard and caught Simon a glancing blow in the middle of the back, but Ryan’s hands had jarred as the bat caught the edge of the door too.

  But the blow had done its job. Simon fell forwards into the hall, and Ryan followed him, kicking him once in the side as he lay on the floor. Ryan was surprised at the suddenness of his anger, and moved round so he was in front of Simon. He pushed the end of the bat into Simon’s cheek, hard.

  ‘Do you want any more?’

  ‘No. Take what you want.’

  ‘What have you got?’

  ‘Cash, my car, my watch. Name it.’

  ‘I expected a bit more fight from you Simon, or should I say Adam. But you’re just a big jessie. I’ve seen more fight in my little brother.’

  ‘Who are you? Ryan Wilson?’

  ‘Got it in one. Now, would you like to go somewhere more comfortable where we can talk properly?’

  Simon nodded as best he could, and Ryan pulled the baseball bat back.

  ‘If you get any ideas I’ll break both your arms and smash your face in, do you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’ Simon slowly got onto his hands and knees, reached out and grabbed the leg of a hall table, and slowly pulled himself up. He looked in a fair bit of pain. Ryan wondered if he should give him a couple more, now that he’d started. But he didn’t, because he wanted Simon to be able to talk properly.