Chapter One
Matt - Blackburn, Lancs. Friday a.m., September 1992.
On a bad day, he had to fight his demons just to walk through the door, but today was not a bad day. DCI Matt Hawker felt for the elastic band on his wrist before he entered the Victorian building that was Blackburn Central Police Station. He negotiated his thoughts and his route to his desk.
His office was the largest of three, shoehorned along one side of the original room. The remaining space was his squad’s home. The price paid for the largest office was no external window. His view was into the incident room: parquet flooring, white walls with framed niches and fluted stone pillars, supporting a high ornate plasterwork ceiling. Its current use the opposite of that intended by its creator.
Matt hung his black leather bomber jacket on its regular hook. Muttering about untidiness, he neatly stacked the witness statements left on his empty desk. He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket, removing a cloth, moistened with dilute disinfectant. After wiping over his chair and desk, he sat, took a pencil from the line in his stationery drawer, and opened the first statement. He began reading, absent-mindedly checking the point was sharp. Almost. Taking his sharpener, he gave the pencil a twist, carefully deposited the shaving in the bin and returned the sharpener to its designated place. Looking at the pencil, his annoyance with himself furrowed his brow.
Frank Jeremies, Matt’s trusted DS, knocked on his door, opened it, but paused.
‘You okay, Boss?’
‘Err, aye. Grand. What’s up?’
‘Looks like we’ve a fresh one.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘You know that pal of mine, Ralph?’
‘The vehicle recovery bloke. Got the torched cars recovery contract?’
‘He’s out recovering a torched Golf on Pickup Bank, above Hoddlesden, and found another burnt-out shell with a body in it. The smell made him chuck up, so it must still be warm. He phoned from a call box. I’ve sent him back to guard the scene ‘til we arrive.’
After checking Frank had called out the troops, he grabbed his jacket and said, ‘Since you’re so bloody organised, you can drive.’
Matt tossed him the keys to his new Cavalier Sri; metallic red, cloth seats, and walnut trim interior. He hadn’t asked Frank to drive it before. He wanted the journey time to recall a cold case from five years ago: a man burned beyond recognition on the moors above Darwen. He didn’t share his thoughts with Frank, not knowing if there would be other similarities. The fewer people made a connection this early, the better. Last thing they need is some hungry reporter jumping to conclusions.
After a few minutes, Frank broke the silence. ‘Wasn’t Penny having a check-up today?’
‘Sue’s taken her this morning.’
‘Last thing you need today, this?’
‘Takes my mind off it. Besides, we’re not expecting owt bad.’ Matt shifted in his seat to look at Frank. ‘Anyway, you looking forward to your trip this weekend?’
‘Yeah, well, Gill’s called that off. Her mum’s in hospital, so she’s staying at hers in Leeds. Closer for visiting. Says she’ll not get out before next week.’
‘Owt serious?’
‘Apparently not, but still scary. They’re talking pacemaker. That could happen Monday, so Gill wants to be there. Puts us back on hold. Again.’
‘Sorry to hear, Frank; very frustrating. Now, where’s that turning?’
‘Next right, opposite the Grey Mare Inn.’
‘That place still open? Nowt around here for miles, just moorland and a few lost sheep. Probably why they chose somewhere so remote.’
‘What? To open a pub?’
‘No, Frank, to burn a body.’
A bruised grey sky promised rain as they arrived at Pickup Bank viewing point. Chilly gusts bowed the moorland grass surrounding the potholed parking area. Uniform had closed the road and were taping off the area. There were no nearby buildings.
It afforded excellent views of Hoddlesden below, Darwen beyond, and across the valley to the Jubilee Tower. Despite the subdued light, the stone edifice stood clear and proud over the stark green and purple moorland the locals had built it upon. It boldly declared their 1896 victory, securing their free right of access in ‘The Battle of the Moors’.
Leaving Frank to talk to Ralph, waiting in his recovery truck, Matt paused to don a pair of latex gloves. He glanced across the valley as a shaft of weak sunlight crept apologetically across the moor, landing briefly on the tower, momentarily bathing it in a golden glow before a squally downpour swooped across the valley, drawing a veil across the hilltop monument.
As the rain began stinging his face, Matt shivered, pulled up the zip of his bomber jacket, and focussed on the crime scene: two burnt-out car shells, muddy potholes, and soggy litter everywhere. Bloody mess, he thought. What a miserable spot to pop your clogs in! He took a deep breath, braced himself for what was to come, and headed straight to the Fiesta.
‘How do, Harold? What’ve we got?’
Harold Roberts, the rotund divisional surgeon, stood with his head just inside the driver’s side window. He turned, swept back his over-long, greying fringe, and tucked it into the hood of his coverall. Matt often thought he resembled the Old English Sheepdog off the TV paint ad. Not the only one, he’d heard Harold’s nickname, Dulux, bandied around the station.
‘Give me a chance, Matt; only just arrived myself. What I can say is he’s male, stabbed and burned, likely happened late last night.’ Glancing at his thermometer, he added, ‘Body’s still warm, but so is the car. Not stabbed here, though; no blood pool. The pathologist may discover more later. Looks like there’s the frame of an attaché case on the passenger seat, but no murder weapon yet.’
Matt stepped closer, looking directly at the car for the first time. Anticipating the intrusive thoughts, he recounted the words of his therapist, suppressing the urge to walk away. Nothing abnormal here you haven’t seen before. Hesitantly, he took a deep breath before leaning forward to look into the car.
Matt gagged at the smell of roasted human flesh. His control gave way, and he saw a heavily charred, smoking corpse, with an eyeless, grinning face. A myriad of bloodied beetles and centipedes were crawling in and out of the facial orifices and gross, bubbling blisters around the torso.
Matt paused, closed his eyes, pulled and let go of the elastic band around his wrist to snap him back to reality, steeling himself once more. He glanced again, now seeing the actual human-shaped congealed mass of burnt flesh and ashes. He wondered how the hell Harold could tell he was male, let alone been stabbed. Viewing the dead always saddened him, but despite ignoring his intrusive vision, he found this one genuinely repulsive. Scanning the rest of the car, he saw nothing but scorched metal and ashes.
He pulled back. ‘Ugh. Never gets any easier. We’ll see what SOCO come up with.’
‘Not much else for them to go on, or me, really.’
‘Ta, Harold. Let us have your report as soon as.’
Relieved to step back, Matt looked around. Two white-clad SOCOs were hunched over something near the edge of the viewing area, trying to shelter it from the rain. Another two were hastily erecting a tent over the Fiesta, whilst another was leaning into its tailgate. He asked, ‘Who’s senior SOCO here?’
Ken Watson, diminutive chief of the Blackburn Scenes of Crime Officers, emerged from under the tailgate. ‘That would be me, Matt, and I’d appreciate it if you’d stop contaminating my crime scene. Let’s move away from the car.’
‘Sorry, Ken. You all look the same, kitted out. Seems more like your crime scene’s contaminating me.’
‘We never get used to that smell.’
‘Owt you can tell me?’
‘Not much more than Harold. Not your usual twoccer, this.’
‘How d’you mean, other than him up front?’
‘They just open the petrol filler, stuff a rag in, light it, and scarper; like that Golf. Not in this case; they must’ve poured a gallon of petrol in here before torching it. Look at what’s left: not much of the body, certainly no clothes, nothing inside the car except metal and ashes, and the shell is visibly twisted. It must have been damned hot. They also removed the number plates. Whoever did this intended leaving no clues, but we’d better conduct a search for the murder weapon in the adjacent fields, just in case.’
‘We’ll have a chat with uniform. Give us your initial report as soon as. Oh, when you get the bonnet open, let us know the VIN.’
‘Assuming they haven’t filed it off.’
Frank strode over. ‘What’ve we got, Boss?’
‘Bugger all yet, except your mate’s breakfast, and I don’t fancy that. All we know is the body’s male and were stabbed elsewhere. Seems the fire destroyed any evidence in the car, but if they intended it to look like suicide, they failed.’
‘Oh? Why’s that?’
‘They left the car sideways on to the view. Anyone, even contemplating suicide, would automatically park facing the view. Mind, they chose their spot well; it’s pretty quiet up here. Look down the road; we’re hardly causing a traffic jam.’
Frank turned to see the road traversed the steep slope at a gradual incline, before turning to plummet straight down towards Hoddlesden. No vehicles were in sight.
‘If it weren’t for Ralph collecting that Golf, it could’ve been days before we heard owt about it. Once nature took its share, there’d be nowt much left of him. He could’ve easily ended up in the crusher, with no-one the wiser, poor sod.’
‘Ralph had nothing else of interest. Nobody’s walked by since he returned from calling us. I’ve sent him off, told him to keep schtum.’
‘Have a word with uniform to help look for the knife, standard search pattern. Best call on the locals as well. Check if anyone saw or heard owt last night. Tell them not to mention the body. If anyone’s curious, we’re cracking down on joyriders.’
‘Shouldn’t take long; only a few places up here.’
‘When we get back, check MisPer - any with a Fiesta, and stolen vehicles for the last week. I’ve asked Ken for the VIN. Once we’ve got that, we’ll soon find out who’s it is. Someone must be missing this bloke and his car.’
Frank briefed the uniform inspector before he returned to Matt. ‘All organised. Back to the station?’
‘Aye, nowt else we can do here and me kecks are sopping. How come it always chucks it down at murder scenes?’
Chapter Two
Alan – Thursday, PM, two months earlier
‘That weldmesh, Dad, it’s been a good earner, hasn’t it?’
Alan glanced at his sixteen-year-old son. They were returning from delivering a load of weldmesh fencing rolls to Bradley’s place in Wales. Having returned the pickup to the hire shop, Alan was driving his estate car to their farmhouse on the outskirts of Blackburn.
‘Dead good, Son. Half the breeders in the country have bought some. Been mad for it. That was Bradley’s third load. Why’re you asking?’
‘I know how you get it, like most stuff you sell. It doesn’t bother me, but is that why you and Mum argued so much and why she left us?’
Alan glanced at Joe. He had been dreading the day one of his kids brought up this subject but was ready for them.
‘It’s not as simple as that. Your mum knew I made my living under the radar when we met. Trouble is, I can’t just drop all those deals and favours. Too many people rely on you, d’you know what I mean? The longer things went on, the more we drifted apart. Us splitting up really was for the best.’
It was his other ventures which caused Elaine to leave him last year. The criminals Alan associated with often demanded he do things outside his comfort zone. Elaine just couldn’t cope, although she didn’t know everything Alan did, or just how dangerous the people he mixed with really were.
‘I know Mum misses being with us and Katy misses her a lot.’
‘You had the choice; you could have lived with her.’
‘We’d have had to change school and lose all our friends. Mum understood.’
Alan asked, ‘Are you two having second thoughts now?’
Joe shrugged. ‘Do you think you’ll ever get a proper job?’
‘Can’t see it now; too long under the radar. It’s complicated.’
Alan drove into the farmyard, relieved to end the conversation. Long before Alan bought it, the farm’s land was sold off to create an industrial estate which now almost engulfed what remained. The stone house was 200 years old, but Alan had never bothered researching it. It had the required accommodation, the outbuildings for storage, and particularly for kennelling his German Shepherd dogs. Showing them was a hobby he had begun during his youth in Manchester, well before meeting and marrying Elaine.
Katy, two years younger than Joe, was sitting at the kitchen table when they walked in.
‘How’d it go? What’s Bradley’s place like?’
‘It went great, love,’ Alan replied. ‘We didn’t see much. Had to get the pickup back in time. The kennels and the house looked dead good, but then it’s all brand new.’
‘What about the quarantine kennels?’
‘Top, very professional; must’ve cost a fortune. Mind you, he can afford it, the prices he charges for pups and stud fees. No idea where his quarantine customers will come from; it’s in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Weren’t there any dogs in them?’
‘A couple, and the ones he shows in Germany, but he’s still finishing the last block. Anyway, what’ve you been up to today?’
‘Nothing special; just spent the day at Sarah’s.’
Alan smiled, thinking Elaine probably took her there, but she wouldn’t tell him that. ‘How’s your big sister, then?’
‘She’s fine. I’m thinking of knitting something for when their baby’s born.’
‘That’s still a few months off. Now, what about tea?’
‘I’ve already made chili con carne. I’ve had mine. I’ll put some rice on for you.’
‘I’ll sort that,’ said Joe, and headed for the stove.
Alan walked into the dining room, unlocked a drawer in his oak desk, and pulled out a cash box. He added today’s nine hundred pounds payment to the cash in there, sitting alongside a bulky sealed envelope. He wanted to transfer some to his safe under the dog runs, where he kept his other valuables, but not while the kids were around. Besides, there would be more tomorrow.
He returned to the kitchen. Joe had set two places at the table and was busy at the stove.
Taking a beer from the fridge, he asked, ‘D’you want one? You’ve earned it today.’
‘Already got some cola, thanks, Dad. This’ll be ready in a minute.’
‘Thanks for your help today, but your final school term starts next week and that’ll soon be over. Your lucky to get this extra chance. Any more thoughts about what you’ll do when you leave?’
‘What’s wrong with working with dogs?’
Alan bit his lip. ‘We’ve already discussed that. It’s a great little side-earner, a good second income, but won’t buy you a house, d’you know what I mean?’
‘Bradley Kendrick doesn’t do badly.’
‘He’s an international judge and breeder. He married into money, and he’s had help from family friends. Only those who start rich stay rich, so getting a good job is the best way to get ahead of the game. You need an apprenticeship, or at least a job with training, to give you a career. Now, think about it, and give me a proper answer when we’ve eaten.’
Joe dished out their meal, and they ate in silence.
Finishing first, Joe sat upright and said, ‘I wasn’t gonna tell you ’til I heard back. I’ve applied for a trainee chef job at three big Blackburn restaurants. My results won’t be good enough for an apprenticeship, so there’s no point in looking, and I don’t want to work in a shop. I’ve got Biology and Food Tech, and I enjoy cooking, so that’s what I’m gonna try. I’m concentrating on my Maths this time. If I get one of those jobs, I can start after Christmas.’
Alan was surprised. Three months ago, Joe didn’t seem to have any interest beyond a career in dogs.
‘If you’d told me, I could’ve seen if I had some contacts to put in a word for you.’
‘I don’t want your dodgy mates leaning on some restaurant owner to give me a job. I want to get it on my own merits.’
Alan smiled. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Son. C’mon, I’ll wash up.’
Later, Alan joined his kids in the lounge, watching the news on TV, but his mind was elsewhere. Tomorrow, he was up early again, carrying out a more stressful task in Hull. This was one part of his life he hated, but he had no choice other than do their bidding. At least the money came in handy. He heard the weather-forecast come on the TV, snapped out of his thoughts and paid attention to tomorrow’s weather for the East Coast. They predicted a fine day.
‘I’m off to bed. Up early, out at seven. I’ll wake you when I leave. Joe, can you feed the dogs and clean the kennels?’
‘Okay, Dad.’
‘I’ll do some washing and ironing,’ said Katy.
‘Thanks, love. Make sure the dogs get a proper walk, and they’ve plenty of water. I’ll be back around five, all being well.’
All being well. Alan wondered about the consequences of it not going well, then abruptly dismissed the thought. It had to go well. He had no other choice.
