Kill Call (19 page)

‘Not all murders are committed for financial gain, though,’ pointed out Cooper.

‘Well, it does account for quite a big chunk.’

‘But there’s jealousy, revenge … Probably a few others, more complicated.’

‘Yes. In a way, I was hoping to find that he wasn’t staying at Birch Hall on his own. If there had been a woman involved in his trip to Derbyshire, it would have made everything look a whole lot simpler.’

Fry looked around the team.

‘Any other progress? Gavin?’

‘We’ve still to analyse all his mobile phone records. There are an awful lot of calls over the last week, both in and out.’

‘His wife said he did all his business on his mobile.’

‘Yes, and his car seems to have been his office. We found a charger and a Bluetooth connection in the Mitsubishi. He was obviously the sort of man who liked to talk as he drove. Hands-free, though. He wouldn’t have wanted to risk getting banned for using a hand-held mobile while he was driving. Anyway, we’ve identified a few of the numbers, which look like business contacts. R & G Enterprises in Staffordshire. C.J. Hawley and Sons in South Yorkshire. And a more local one, Morris Brothers – that’s just a couple of miles away in Lowbridge. They describe themselves as general dealers.’

‘Keep on it.’

Fry walked to the door, off to brief the DI. She paused, and turned.

‘Are you with us again today, Ben?’

Cooper wasn’t sure from her expression what answer she wanted to hear. He hesitated for a moment.

‘Well, if you want me to be,’ he said.

When Fry had left the room, Murfin leaned across to Cooper.

‘At least that means no HOLMES,’ he said.

‘Not yet. Someone else will have to make that decision.’

Cooper knew that Fry would lose any influence in the investigation if HOLMES was activated. Once that happened, the Home Office protocols would dictate the direction of the enquiry. A collator would arrive from headquarters, and a specialist DS to task teams of detectives. But once you turned HOLMES loose, it could get out of control. It was liable to suck in anything that came within reach, like a basking shark feeding on plankton. Thousands of bits of information went into its jaws and were digested. Maybe they’d be spewed out later on, in some usable form. Cooper shrugged. That seemed to be the theory, anyway.

‘You were in Eyam yesterday, Ben, weren’t you?’ said Murfin, sneaking his mirror out of a desk drawer again.

‘That’s right. And I didn’t finish, so I’m back there again this morning. Do you know it, Gavin?’

Murfin nodded. ‘Oh, yeah. All those lists of dead people by the cottage gates. I never liked that place – it’s creepy.’

DI Hitchens had taken a call from the forensics lab as Fry entered his office. She listened carefully, trying to pick up a clue to the direction of the conversation.

‘News?’ she asked.

‘Yes. The lab have enlarged the images of the hoofprints at the scene. It seems there were some shoe impressions present, after all. Human ones, I mean. Their position suggests that someone stood over the body, but their prints were overlaid and obliterated by the horses. The rain didn’t help, either.’

‘It makes sense,’ said Fry. ‘They wouldn’t be able to take Patrick Rawson’s wallet and mobile phone while they were still on horseback, would they?’

Hitchens nodded. ‘At least we can be sure there was some element of intention. Even if Mr Rawson’s death was an accident, they deliberately decided to rob him, or conceal his identity.’

‘Yes, obviously.’

Fry was becoming exasperated at the DI’s reluctance to upgrade the enquiry. But she had to admit that she hadn’t yet found a single witness, or even any clue to explain Patrick Rawson’s presence on Longstone Moor that morning.

‘Could the lab get enough detail from the shoe impression for an identification?’ she asked.

‘Not a chance,’ said Hitchens. ‘They couldn’t even testify to a size.’

‘These would be riding boots anyway. Smooth soles, aren’t they?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

Hitchens spread his hands on the desk. They were strong, masculine hands, marked only by the small scar that crept across his fingers. Fry had never heard what caused that scar, and it probably wasn’t the right time to ask. She wondered how the DI managed to stay so calm, when she herself was starting to feel the ground shift under her feet. She almost preferred the old Paul Hitchens, the man she’d first met when she transferred to Derbyshire, a young DI with a streak of irreverence and no great respect for authority. What had changed him?

Then it occurred to Fry that Hitchens must already have been through his own series of interviews with Superintendent Branagh. What had been said to him?

‘Have your team come up with anything?’ asked Hitchens, breaking the silence.

‘Nothing substantial.’

Fry filled in the DI with what she had, and waited for him to ask for her assessment of the case. For her, it was simple. Nothing they had learned so far quite explained how Patrick Rawson had ended up lying on a mortuary trolley, with cotton wool stuffed in his ears to plug the trickle of cerebral fluids.

‘Yes, I agree,’ said Hitchens. ‘So what is your next move?’

‘What happened to Deborah Rawson?’ asked Fry. ‘Did she stay over in Edendale?’

‘No, she went straight back down to Sutton Coldfield. We offered to find her overnight accommodation, but she wasn’t interested. Her brother drove her home.’

‘Did she show much interest in the direction of the enquiry?’

‘In how her husband met his end? As much as you’d expect. Mrs Rawson didn’t really ask many questions. She seemed to take it for granted that we’d keep her informed. Which we will, of course.’

‘Yes, but that often isn’t good enough for bereaved relatives. They demand answers.’

Hitchens shrugged. ‘It takes different people in different ways. There’s often a period of shock, when they seem cold and lacking in any reaction. The questions might not come into her mind until later. You watch – another twenty-four hours, and we’ll find we can’t get rid of her.’

‘So who’s going to examine Rawson’s house?’

‘I thought you might like to do it. West Midlands have put a watch on the place for us.’

‘I’ll be looking for indications of what Mr Rawson’s business was in Derbyshire, and who he was meeting.’

‘Yes, that’s what we want.’

‘And another chat with Mrs Deborah Rawson, I think,’ said Fry.

Hitchens nodded. ‘I’ll let West Midlands know you’re coming.’

As Fry headed back to the CID room, Luke Irvine met her in the corridor. She found Irvine touchingly young and eager. She supposed she might have been like that herself once, when she first got a chance to take off the uniform and work as a detective, back in Birmingham. Uniformed officers thought CID got all the excitement and the glory. But when you’d worked behind a desk for a while with your groaning case-load and your stack of Narey files, you soon learned the truth.

‘Sarge, you know we’ve been finding whatever we can on Patrick Rawson’s background,’ said Irvine.

‘Yes, Luke?’

‘Well, the PNC shows that he has no criminal record as an adult, but I checked intelligence, and his name was flagged up by another agency – Trading Standards.’

‘Trading Standards? So, what? Has Mr Rawson been a bad boy in his business dealings? Sold something that breached the Trade Descriptions Act?’

‘No, not exactly. He was entered in intelligence as a known associate of some dodgy characters Trading Standards got convictions for about two years ago. I rang the case officer, by name of Dermot Walsh. He’s coming in to talk to us about it this morning.’

‘So soon?’

‘He’s very keen,’ said Irvine. ‘It’s funny, but he sounded quite pleased to hear about what had happened to Mr Rawson.’

18

Dermot Walsh came in to West Street with a female colleague he introduced as Daksha Patel. They were an odd pair – Patel small and elegant, Walsh built like a prop forward, square and broad-shouldered, his neck padded with muscle.

As he was introduced to Walsh, Cooper thought he might actually have seen him playing against the Derbyshire Police first XV. He recalled a gap-toothed tight head with bandaged knees who’d tried to maim his opposing prop in the scrum every time the referee looked the other way. Even cleaned up and wearing a suit and tie, Walsh was still a bit scary.

The CID team had crowded into the small conference room to hear the Trading Standards officers. The room was nearly full and overly warm.

‘So what exactly is Trading Standards’ interest?’ asked Hitchens, looking happy to be involved in co-operation with partner agencies. It was probably something he could add to his PDR. ‘Can we help you? Or are you here to help us?’

‘It’s largely a question of background information which might be useful in your present enquiry,’ said Walsh.

‘The suspicious death of Mr Patrick Rawson.’

‘Yes.’

‘Please explain.’

‘Well, two years ago, a series of prosecutions were brought by Trading Standards with the help of one of the national horse protection organizations. We achieved several convictions. One defendant was fined sixteen thousand pounds and ordered to pay six thousand pounds costs, when he was found guilty of breaching trading standards legislation, and certain other offences.’

‘What other offences?’ asked Fry.

‘Selling a horse without a valid passport.’

There was a moment of silence. Some of the officers fidgeted uncomfortably, as if they thought they might have something more important to be doing. Cooper could see that Fry was one of them.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said.

Walsh held up a hand. ‘Please, let me explain. This all started when our animal health team launched an investigation on the back of a complaint from a first-time horse buyer, who said she wanted a mature, quiet horse for her children. She purchased an eight-year-old Irish cob mare for three thousand five hundred pounds over the internet, only to find the horse lame on delivery. The mare was returned, but the replacement, a gelding advertised as “four, rising five” and “quiet”, bucked her off on the first ride. Her vet said the horse was obviously immature.’

‘Do people really buy horses on the internet?’ said Fry.

‘People buy everything on the internet,’ said Cooper, who had bid successfully for some Mike Scott CDs on eBay just the night before.

Fry looked amazed. ‘Sight unseen?’

Walsh shrugged. ‘If they think they’re getting a bargain, buyers can be easily duped. It’s always been the same way. The internet just makes it a bit simpler.’

‘It’s like buying a house or a car on the internet.’

‘People do that, too.’

Patel was handing around a set of data sheets, listing the details of complainants. Names and addresses, allegations of breaches of consumer protection legislation. And the names of companies and individuals the complaints had been made against.

Cooper scanned the list. The companies concerned weren’t quite called ‘Nags R Us’, but they certainly had names designed to reassure customers that they were getting a docile mount, something suitable for a happy hack around the paddock.

‘This was a full-scale investigation,’ said Walsh. ‘We raided the defendants’ business premises. We followed up more than fifty complaints, dating back five years. As you’ll see from the lists, horses had been advertised for sale under a variety of trading names, claiming they were suitable for novice riders or had perfect temperaments for children. Some of them even came with money-back guarantees.’

‘And?’

‘And, in reality, many of those animals were unsound, or unsafe to be ridden. Buyers alleged that horses were delivered lame, malnourished, or covered in bite or kick marks. Some of them had coughs, back problems – and, in one case, navicular disease diagnosed at a post-sale vet check. At least four of the horses had to be euthanased after purchase.’

‘You can have a horse vetted before you buy it, though.’

Walsh looked up. ‘Of course. But vets don’t come cheap. If you’re looking for an inexpensive horse, the vet’s bill on top of the asking price can put it out of reach. Perhaps worse than all that, we turned up several personal injury cases involving children thrown from their horses – one suffered neck injuries, another a broken arm. Buyers who complained said that, instead of refunds, they got abuse and insults. These were members of the public who found themselves thousands of pounds out of pocket, and facing huge vets’ bills.’

‘Some of these purchases were face to face, though,’ said Cooper, running his finger down the list. ‘Not online.’

‘The trouble with the equine trade is that face-to-face deals are verbal, and payment is usually in cash,’ said Walsh. ‘There aren’t many businesses where that’s still true these days. As you know, anything that involves piles of cash and a minimum of paperwork is bound to attract a few rogue traders. There are lots more cases. Too many for me to mention.’

There were certainly plenty of them. Cooper could see an example of a couple who bought a horse for £1,500, which was described as being an Irish hunter, aged nine or ten, and in generally good condition. Vets who had examined the horse after purchase said he was nearer twenty years old and not fit to ride. He had a wound in his mouth that would have made the bit very painful.

‘It’s like a car dealer “clocking” his cars,’ explained Walsh. ‘People buy a horse thinking they’re going to get x number of years out of it, but if the animal is ten years older than they’ve been told, then they won’t get the same value out of it. It’s always been a case of caveat emptor in this trade – “buyer beware”. But buyers need to be very careful where they take their business. Very careful.’

‘Was the website closed down?’ asked Cooper.

‘Yes. We managed to get an order under the Enterprise Act, plus the sellers took a hit on legal costs. That means contempt of court and possible imprisonment, if they commit any further breaches of the act.’ Walsh looked around the table. ‘This was a very lengthy investigation by the time it came to court. I was personally involved in the enquiry for nearly two years. I’ve got a file of paperwork on this a mile high – you wouldn’t believe it.’