‘Mr Havers, I believe you’re part of a group, or call it a gang, a criminal organisation, involved in rural crime in a big way, and a part of your operation made a nasty mess on my patch. I believe you’ve been using the abandoned airfield and hangar at Drewick because it’s a convenient transfer point for stolen goods from the north, and because you knew it was in limbo for the time being. Your men wouldn’t be disturbed. Last Sunday, one of your underlings, Morgan Spencer, was murdered there, killed by a penetrating bolt pistol to the head. Either you wanted rid of him for some reason, or some rival gang was muscling in. We don’t know yet why he was killed. Either way, I believe you know something about it.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ protested Havers. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t even—’
‘In the area at the time? How do you know what time it took place? I didn’t tell you.’
‘Oh, very clever. The old “how could you have known” trick. Now you’re putting words in my mouth.’
‘Well, how could you?’
‘Because it was on the news on Monday, while I was still at my brother-in-law’s. Ask him. They said it took place on Sunday morning. I didn’t get to Richmond until Sunday afternoon, as you well know.’
As far as Banks was aware, the media didn’t know on Monday that the murder had taken place in the hangar on Sunday morning, but he decided he would keep that point in reserve until he had done a thorough check on Havers, including a visit to his brother-in-law. ‘Exactly,’ said Banks. ‘So where were you before then? How do I know you didn’t find a way to foil Operation Hawk and the ANPR cameras and sneak up to the airfield earlier, for example?’
‘This is absurd,’ said Havers. ‘I have nothing more to say to you. If you plan on continuing this charade I want my lawyer present.’
Banks stood up to leave. ‘You’d hardly need a lawyer if it were a charade, Monty,’ he said. Then he paused at the door. ‘You know,’ he went, ‘if I were you, I’d take this as an omen, a bad omen. If I were you, I’d back off for a while, lie low and take stock. Disappear from the radar. No matter what you think, things aren’t going to get any easier for you from now on.’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘It’s reality, Monty. The threats come later.’
Banks closed the door gently behind him. The secretary scowled at him as he left.
Chapter 13
‘So you didn’t notice anything unusual about Mr Ross when he came to pick up here on Tuesday?’ Winsome asked. She was at the last farm on her list, the last place Caleb Ross had visited before heading for the Belderfell Pass and his death, and she had found out nothing new. He had arrived at a quarter to one and left just after one, so Mr Wythers said. Some of the farmers thought Caleb was a bit distracted, in a hurry, whereas others thought his behaviour just the same as usual.
Mr Wythers, owner of Garsley Farm, had invited her in for a cup of tea, and Winsome was grateful for it. She felt as if it had been a long day, though it was still only mid-afternoon, and she had not stopped for lunch. The slice of Battenberg cake Mr Wythers gave her with her tea reminded her how hungry she was. It would be back to the station, a quick report, then home for an early dinner followed by an early night.
‘Caleb never said much,’ Mr Wythers was saying. ‘I don’t mean he was rude or anything, but we weren’t mates, if you know what I mean. He was just a man doing his job, and I was the one who paid him for it. It was just like that. Businesslike, but polite, friendly, you know. I even asked him in for a cup of tea and a piece of cake, just like I did you, but he said he’d just had his lunch. We didn’t chat or gossip or owt, so I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything about him.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Winsome. ‘I’m just collecting whatever bits and pieces I can to try to build up a picture of his last day.’
‘It’s a terrible thing, what happened,’ said Wythers. ‘That pass has claimed more than one victim in my time here, that’s for certain. And you couldn’t see it coming. When he left here it was clear as anything. Clouds, aye, but there’s nowt odd about that. Came like a bolt from the blue, it did. Weather’s like that in these parts and it can be awful bleak out here. It pays to be careful, lass.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ said Winsome. ‘But I think I’m just about done now.’ She ate the last small piece of cake, one of the pink bits with a marzipan border, washed it down with the last of her tea and stood up.
‘Sorry I couldn’t be more help, lass,’ said Wythers, walking her to the door. ‘Stay, boy,’ he said to the excited young collie who had started to accompany them. The dog sat down by the hearth. ‘Stay. There’s a good lad.’
Winsome said goodbye and stepped into the farmyard. She had seen, and smelled, enough farmyards over the past couple of days to last her a lifetime, she thought, but at least she hadn’t drawn Annie’s unenviable task of checking out the abattoirs. Still, Annie had come up with a viable lead in the stolen bolt gun and dismissed workers, and Winsome had come up with nothing except the possibility that Caleb Ross might have had something on his mind the day he died. Whatever it was, she guessed that it had lain at the other side of Belderfell Pass, and he had never reached it.
She started the car and headed back up the long drive to the B road. Instead of turning right to get back to the Swainshead and Helmthorpe road to Eastvale, she turned left towards the high moorland. She remembered this part of the dale well because the potholing club had visited it often. The hills that loomed ahead of her were riddled by one of the largest cave systems in Europe, with miles of underground passages linking huge chambers, some as large as the inside of a cathedral.
Thinking about her potholing days took her mind back to Terry Gilchrist. She still felt embarrassed about the previous evening. He had rung her that morning, before work, and asked her if she would see him, just to talk. Reluctantly – mostly because of her embarrassment, not lack of interest – she had agreed to have lunch with him on Saturday. How long could she go on behaving like a flirtatious virgin around him? Not that she would jump into bed with him – it was only lunch, after all – but she would make good on that kiss she had promised herself last night. It had been a long time since she’d been romantically and physically involved with a man, that was all. It would take a little practice.
Beyond Wythers’ farm, which was right on the edge of the High Pennines, the land wasn’t much use for farming and was practically uninhabited. Sheep grazed there, of course, but that was about all. The road turned sharp left towards Belderfell Pass and Winsome could see it snaking up the hillside ahead. She pulled over in a passing place and got out to admire the distant view. She probably wasn’t that far from the Lancashire border, she thought, or perhaps she was even far enough north to be neighbouring on Cumbria, where the wild fells and moorlands of the Yorkshire Dales would slowly morph into the older, more rounded hills of the Lake District. It was a panoramic but desolate view before her, that was for certain, two or three large hills like long, flat anvils, a disused quarry, stretches of moor and marsh. She got her binoculars from the boot and scanned the distance. There were one or two isolated hunters’ lodges, owned by private clubs and used during the grouse season, but that was about all. She was already beyond the source of the River Swain, above Swainshead, and though becks and small waterfalls cascaded from the steep hillsides and meandered through the moorland, there were no rivers or tarns to be seen.