‘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.’