Lying Ways, page 21
‘Including?’ Kelly felt the tiny hairs on her arms stand up. The terrace door was open but it wasn’t cold. The sun shone along the hardwood floor, through the crack in the door to the kitchen. The late summer roses in a vase on the windowsill moved gently with a slight breeze.
‘Guv, they supply their latex gloves, their winches and straps, as well as therapy lamps. One of their senior members of staff is a guy called Ian Burton, and he’s ex-army.’
Kelly grabbed her things and headed to the door, just as Josie came downstairs to leave.
‘Where are you going?’ Johnny asked his daughter.
‘I’m going to a concert in Keswick Park.’
‘What about my charity abseil?’ he said.
Kelly stopped a foot from the door. It wasn’t just Josie who’d forgotten that he was out all afternoon, and now she felt sheepish for disregarding the importance of it.
‘I can stay if you need me,’ Millie said.
‘You’re a star,’ Kelly said. ‘If you’re sure?’ She glanced at Johnny briefly and left, knowing that they’d have words tonight.
Chapter 38
Nathan Appleton apologised to his wife for the third time. He had no choice but to make a trip to Highton prison on a Saturday because he’d left behind some documents that were needed to mark GCSE coursework. He taught English in the prison library every Wednesday, and had done for two years.
‘I don’t understand why you need it today, though,’ she complained. ‘We’d arranged to meet the Barnes at The Fox, walk up the Lion and Lamb, then have lunch back at the pub.’
‘I know, but it won’t take me long. These grades need to be submitted to the board on Monday and I haven’t finished marking them,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I won’t be much later than we’d planned. If I drive down to Highton, I know exactly where I left them, and I’ll be back to join you at The Fox car park.’ They each had their own car. That was part of life living and working in the Lake District – public transport was fairly good but it took time to navigate the winding single-lane roads. Having your own transport was much quicker, even when there was a herd of cute Dexter cattle in the way. She sighed.
‘This is a classic case of what I’ve been talking about,’ she said.
He looked at her and knew what was coming. His wife had attended a time management course on behalf of the Nationwide Building Society in Kendal, where she worked, and now she fancied herself an expert.
‘You left those papers on Wednesday, but it’s taken you this long to realise. If you’d picked them up on Thursday then you could have had them marked by now and my day wouldn’t be ruined!’
There was no point arguing with her, or indeed defending himself. He got his coat.
‘Just go!’ she said. ‘We’ll head off without you if you’re not back,’ she added.
The journey from Keswick to Highton was actually a very pleasant drive and Nathan relished the thought of being in the car, on his own, with the magnificent countryside, for a couple of hours. It would be a morning of peace and quiet, and he even had the fleeting thought that he might just misplace more items at the prison in the future. As he slammed the door behind him and shut out the sound of his wife’s voice, he smiled to himself and decided that he fancied driving the coastal route. It’d add on a bit of time but secretly, he could do without walking up a hillside with a hangover.
It was a glorious day, and the sun, though lower now as autumn crept up on them, was still ascending over the Yorkshire Dales to the east. It made him remember the time they’d driven with a picnic to St Bees Head to watch the sunset; it was one of the most spectacular views in the whole of the UK, possibly the world. Nathan was a proud Cumbrian, and though not a religious man, he imagined the valleys and hills touched by a divine hand. How else could it have modelled itself on perfection?
But the solitude also brought grief.
Jack Bell had been one of his students, and his death had caused shockwaves amongst them all. Nathan thought back to his first day in the library, thinking himself a lunatic for volunteering for such a task. But he’d never once regretted his decision. His students, young and old, kept him hopeful in many ways: for a better world and a better future. He and his wife had no children of their own, and, at thirty years old, they were faced with IVF as their only option. It had put a strain on their marriage and his wife had become more closed off. Drives on his own had become more frequent; it was his way of forgetting it all.
The A66 was surprisingly quiet for a beautiful October Saturday. The southern Lakes would be rammed on a day like this, he thought. Which is why they preferred Keswick. Bassenthwaite Lake looked resplendent, and he was reminded of the Lakeland poets. Frustratingly, GCSE courses were obsessed with war and conflict, but the A Level course allowed him to open his students’ eyes to the wonders of Romanticism, grounded right here in the Lake District. The topic soon made his mind reflective. He gazed at the colours of the trees, so reminiscent of Keats, the bare rock, more emblematic of Shelley, and the bright blue sky so inspiring to Wordsworth. The lines came alive to him and he smiled to himself as he neared the northern edge of the lake, which was dead calm as he spotted people walking around it. It looked like a mirror, and the fells and screes above seemed to flow into it in one continuous stream. It was a vision of gold, claret, green and bronze, a true spectre of Victorian opulence. But he was getting carried away. His visit to Highton this morning was not simply about papers. The police had left him a voicemail: they wanted to talk to him. He was more than happy to vouch for Jack’s character. He’d been an exemplary student, so much so that Nathan had arranged to tutor him after his release so he could proceed with his GCSE.
When Nathan got to the Cockermouth junction he said sod it and carried on to the coastal town of Whitehaven, where he’d head to the beach. The detour through St Bees would be worth it on a day like this, and he suffered a brief attack of melancholy as the image of him and his wife holding hands came back to him. All they seemed to do was argue nowadays. They seemed stuck. They both worked hard and Nathan believed they had a good life. But he’d already admitted to himself that he was happier out of the house, in prison even, and today was another example. He looked forward to Wednesdays, and had made a habit of getting to know his students. He spent time sipping tea and chatting to the prison officers too; he’d become familiar with the rhythms and routines of prison life, his wife would say too well, but he couldn’t help but feel empathy for his fellow human beings.
He was also a good observer, and had noticed Jack withdraw somewhat just before his release. Maybe he would mention it to the police. All he knew was that it had something to do with that awful character Rickie Burton. He’d asked around, about whether something had happened to Jack to make him so uncharacteristically quiet. A few of the students who knew him well shared gossip with him, and some of it verged on the unbelievable, but none of them knew anything.
The cloud in his head disappeared as he neared the great cliffs and dunes of St Bees Head where Wordsworth had walked with his good friend, the canon of the lovely old church, where Nathan had once sat and contemplated a thesis on the great poet. He stopped the car, turned off the engine, and looked across towards the Isle of Man, and made out the coast of Ireland in the distance. He felt philosophical and wondered if the news about the appalling deaths of the ex-convicts from Highton had affected him more than he realised. It struck him now, in this place of tranquillity, that his affection for Jack Bell was real. Jack hadn’t been his most gifted student, but Nathan had touched something in him. A light had gone on for the old man, and that’s what made Nathan’s job so rewarding. Anyone could revise and work hard enough to get awarded a qualification, but not everyone elicited a dawning invigoration simply from words. Jack Bell spent so much time in the library that Nathan had reckoned they’d have to order more books in. That’s why he’d started an appeal at school, for parents to donate books to Highton. The response had been incredible, and had warmed Nathan’s heart. A total of 1,293 books had been donated and it was Jack Bell’s job to sort them out. It had got him out of his cell and kept him busy.
It had appeared to Nathan that Jack Bell had much to live for.
Chapter 39
The level of activity at Eden House made it feel as though it was midweek. Everybody, bar Kate, was there. There weren’t as many uniforms, but Kelly’s core team moved around the incident room, going about their jobs with keenness, and a renewed buzz of excitement was notable. They had a name.
Ian Burton.
It was the name given to Emma by the care home in Waberthwaite, and the man happened to share a surname with the convict Rickie Burton.
Kelly wanted to know who he was, and, more importantly, if they were related. They had a sketchy biography and Dan had already been on to the MOD, who confirmed that Ian had served with the Light Infantry from 1999, when he was eighteen years old, and had been medically discharged with PTSD twelve years ago at the age of twenty-seven. Dan had done some sweet-talking and had managed to get some further unclassified information. In 2004 Burton had been the victim of kidnap in Basra, presumed dead, but in fact held captive for almost a year, 309 days to be exact. The exact nature of what had taken place was classified and in the veteran’s service files, which would have to be requested through a formal process. Kelly couldn’t remember hearing about it in the press. Had he been released, or did he escape?
Military files were not readily accessible to the police, except under section 19 of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act. Without power of seizure, which took time, only a veteran or his or her next of kin could access them. So they’d made a formal request.
Outside his medical discharge and his time in the military, they had little on Ian Burton. The care home had given them a residential address but a squad car had been sent over and reported that no one was home. He wasn’t due on shift at the care home until Tuesday, which was three days away. A routine check and search through the national computer didn’t have him registered to a motor vehicle or a mobile phone contract.
Kelly had made sure to check Rickie Burton’s list of known relatives, but it made no mention of a family member of Ian’s age, and Burton was a common enough English name. In fact Rob informed them that over 45,000 people in England had that surname, though it was in fact more popular in the USA. Rob was known for his flashes of nerdiness and he revelled in stats. Kelly thanked him and sarcastically asked for the origin.
‘It’s Old English, an import of the Normans, meaning enclosure or farm,’ Rob said. He winked at his boss, who shook her head. Emma raised her eyebrows, impressed; she was also known for her love of trivial facts.
‘Bravo,’ she said.
‘Their family coat of arms is beautiful, do you want to know their idiom?’
Kelly perched on the edge of a desk. ‘I’m all ears.’
‘Vitae lux. It means light of life.’
‘Fabulous, now we’ve ascertained that Ian Burton is possibly related to William the Conqueror, has anyone got any bright ideas about how to find him?’
‘Guv, this is the photo attached to his employment file at the care home,’ Emma said. She passed Kelly the image and she stared at his face. She’d been up close and personal with Rickie Burton, whose face was etched in her mind due to his scars, and the way he’d absentmindedly fondled his torn and stubby ear. The man in the photo had a whiff of resemblance, but only insofar as being Caucasian, male and balding. It looked as though it was decades old, too.
‘How long has Ian Burton worked at the care home?’ Kelly asked. Emma consulted her computer and read out what she had.
‘He started there in 2018.’
‘This must be an old photo then. I wonder what he was up to between 2012 and then?’ Kelly said. ‘Right, let’s find him. He must exist somewhere. Is he on the electoral roll? And have we tried the passport office?’ With no mobile phone, no vehicle and no criminal record, they had little hope of locating Ian Burton apart from waiting for him to turn up to his address, which could be an old one, or work on Tuesday, which, if he was their guy, he probably wouldn’t. Dan and Emma spoke in unison. He apologised and Kelly saw the affection between them. Emma spoke.
‘No Ian Burton matching his description is on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter or LinkedIn,’ she said.
‘According to the Electoral Registration Office, there are over eleven thousand Ian Burtons listed on there,’ Dan said. ‘I’ve sent his details to the UK passport office but with it being the weekend, the jobsworth on the phone didn’t quite appreciate the urgency.’
‘Well done, Dan. That’s frustrating. We have to be patient. Send an all ports warning in case he tries to leave the country and mark him as wanted on the national police database.’
She walked to a spare whiteboard and rubbed off some old notes.
‘Release the photo to the press. Relatives of those he cared for must know him, he has to eat, pay bills and communicate with somebody. Tap into all current colleagues at the care home, all the patients and their immediate relatives. Alert all squad cars within the constabulary on shift to keep their eyes peeled – you never know, we might get lucky. Contact Workington, Whitehaven and Seascale directly. If he’s our man, he might like to visit his scenes of crime.’ Her phone buzzed and she saw it was Kate. She answered and indicated to her team to get cracking. She walked back to her office and sang Millie’s praises.
‘Millie has been thrown in at the deep end. She’s absolutely lovely with Lizzie! I hope we didn’t force her hand,’ Kelly said.
‘She’s already called me, she’s thrilled. She can imagine doing something like this and feels as though it’s proper work, instead of shifts waitressing for peanuts. She’s happy. Thank you, Kelly.’
Her second in command had used her first name in private for a long time now and Kelly welcomed the opportunity to bounce an update off her. Kate listened and offered to work today too.
‘I’m reluctant to turn you down, but the rest of the team is in and if you come in too, it leaves me no option to rest anyone,’ Kelly said. Then she added: ‘Good night?’ She couldn’t resist.
‘It was pretty awesome. He’s a gentleman. We laughed, and ate amazing food, and laughed a bit more. His ex sounds like a bitch, his dress sense and manners are impeccable, and he paid.’
‘Result.’
‘Well, I’m actually in the car already, and don’t mind being your wanderer today. It’s a day for being out of the office and I’ve got nothing better to do,’ Kate said.
‘Okay, great. It’s early days, I think the team is holding up nicely so we’ll deal with rests somehow. Everyone’s heads have lifted a bit this morning with this new lead. It could take us nowhere, but we need to speak to this guy at the very least. How long a drive were you thinking?’ Kelly asked.
‘I’m listening to Heart 80s and it’s a beautiful day, send me where you like.’
‘I’ve got Emma and Dan going down to a care home in Waberthwaite, so I could arrange for you to give Brian Taylor a visit at HMP Highton, it’s his duty day and I’m waiting for my answer about a cell search. Ideally I don’t want to go above his head with a warrant, I’d like his blessing, though I can’t stand the man. I get the impression he’s seen enough of me. Maybe you’ll have better luck than I did, sweet-talking him, you have a knack with the seniors,’ Kelly said.
Kate pretended mock horror. ‘Sure. What am I saying? Is he in on a Saturday?’ she asked.
‘He is today, I checked. He called me late last night and I think he’s concerned about how hard we go in, so gently does it. He did consider a cell search, but tensions are high in there and he doesn’t want anything kicking off, so we might have to go above his head if you can’t talk him round. I also need to know if Rickie Burton has a relative called Ian, and face to face is the only way to get to the bottom of that one. I’d go but I’m chasing warrants and I want to concentrate on Rickie Burton’s finances with Rob. It’s laborious, but it could be the evidence we need to show he had opportunity and means. Craig Lockwood is aware of the links to Barrow dealers and he’s got the drug squad passing him what they know on possible contacts. He’s also hauled in the dealer whose mobile was linked to the one in the brown envelope. You might also cross paths with Nathan Appleton, the English teacher who taught Jack Bell. He was contacted this morning and was heading down there to collect something.’
‘Well I get all the best jobs. I’m just passing Penrith Castle so I’ll head straight out of town and turn the music up,’ Kate said.
‘Enjoy. I’m jealous,’ Kelly said.
She turned back to the room and looked at Rob, who was staring at something on his computer screen.
‘Guv, you need to see this,’ he said.
Chapter 40
Custodial Manager Liam Fawcett tapped his keys on the open metal cell door occupied by Rickie Burton.
‘To what do I owe this particular pleasure?’ Rickie asked, smiling with his mouth, but scowling with his eyes. Rickie was a cleaner on the wing. In wider society, of course, one might instantly see this as a manual job and thus one carrying average status, but inside, the opposite was true. It was the cleaner who was given the most freedom and thus had access to the whole wing. Rickie had been the cleaner on A wing for over twenty years. A mop and bucket sat on the floor by the single bed. Rickie didn’t share his cell. Liam peered in to the tiny space, about ten feet by seven, and lingered at the door. Beyond was Rickie’s private space and a screw only ventured in to break up a fight or conduct a pre-arranged cell search. Spontaneous searches weren’t worth the aggro.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ Liam said.
Rickie left his bed, where he’d been reading about yoga, and sauntered towards the door. He hung on to the side of his bed and jutted out his chin, to receive whatever information Liam had that might interest him.
