Dead Man Walking

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There weren’t too many of them actually. As well as the McCarthys, Ted Haveloc had arrived, along with Burt and Mandy Fillingham and a pair of spinster sisters, Dulcie and Sally O’Grady.

‘Hello, everyone,’ Heck said. ‘Thanks for dropping what you were doing and getting over here so promptly. By the way, does anyone here not know who I am?’

There was no reply. He was pretty sure he’d spoken to all of these people, for various reasons, over the past two and a half months. ‘Okay … I’ll get right to the point. I’m afraid there’s been an incident. A pretty vicious attack in fact, not too far from here. Two young girls were walking in the Pikes when they were assaulted. Just the other side of the tarn, in fact.’

The crowd listened in stony silence. But already, worried frowns were appearing.

‘I’m not saying there’s a specific threat to this community,’ Heck added. ‘But I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t at least warn you. We’ve no idea who the perpetrator is, but this was fairly serious violence. On top of that, we’ve got reason to believe he may be armed.’

‘You mean with a gun?’ Burt Fillingham said, looking uncharacteristically bewildered. He was a short, squat man in late middle-age, with thinning, straw-blond hair and a curious line in tank-tops, ties and tinted spectacles; he was normally a rather superior, disapproving character, who viewed himself as an authority figure. He certainly knew everybody else’s business, which sort of went with the postmaster territory, Heck supposed, at least in a rural enclave like this.

‘Yes,’ Heck said. ‘We don’t know what kind yet, or how much ammunition he’s got … or even how willing he is to use it. The thing is, this attack occurred sometime last night. On which subject, I don’t suppose anyone heard anything out of the ordinary?’

‘I heard what sounded like a gunshot?’ Sally O’Grady said in a querulous tone. Around fifty, she was the younger of the two sisters by about ten years, and by far the most nervous, but both were physically similar to each other; tall and thin, with short grey hair. ‘It was a long way off though, I thought.’

‘What time would that have been?’ Heck asked. ‘Early hours maybe? Four o’clock? Five?’

‘Oh no, much earlier than that. I’d say around midnight.’

‘Okay.’ Heck threw a discreet nod at Mary-Ellen, who nodded back, acknowledging that he wanted her to take a statement from Sally later.

‘You folks don’t need me to tell you how vast and empty the Lakes can be at this time of year,’ Heck said. ‘I mean, this guy … he could have legged it in any direction. He could be miles and miles away by now. He might even have left the county. We’ve no clue about his transport capability.’

‘If this attack was up in the Pikes in the middle of the night, he must be a robust sort.’ This came from Ted Haveloc, a rugged, sun-wizened character, whose tattoos, broken teeth and chaos of wiry grey hair indicated a life spent largely outdoors and made him look much older than his sixty-two years.

‘We can’t make assumptions about anything,’ Heck replied. ‘We don’t know the first thing about him. We haven’t even had a chance to get up there and look yet.’

‘The attack happened at around midnight, and you haven’t been up there looking?’ Burt Fillingham said.

‘The fog’s impeding our best efforts, but the latest forecast is that it’s due to clear by around midday tomorrow.’

‘That’s twenty-four hours off,’ Bella McCarthy said. ‘What do we do in the meantime?’ She was a tall, trim blonde of around fifty-five, always decked in the latest rural fashions and a famous local sportswoman, playing a prominent role at the Cragwood Boat Club. But at present she sounded so dismayed that her small-statured husband, who despite his dyed brown, crimped hair, was ten years her senior, took her jewellery-coated hand in his. James McCarthy was another boat enthusiast and one-time big noise in the City, and yet was inclined to extreme mousiness in his wife’s presence, which might explain why she seemed less than impressed by his attempts to comfort her.

‘That’s what I’ve gathered you all for,’ Heck said. ‘As I say, I’ve no reason to assume this man will come down to Cragwood Keld. Most likely he’ll be far away by now. But it’s not impossible. I mean, the Cradle Track is the most direct route up into the Pikes. It’s also the most direct route down.’

‘But would he really come this way?’ Mandy Fillingham – Burt’s plain, dumpy wife – asked, evidently seeking reassurance. ‘I mean, knowing there are villages here and people … and that he’s wanted by the police?’

‘I don’t know,’ Heck said. ‘The best advice I can give you at present is to go home and lock your doors and windows. Report anyone wandering the village who you don’t know, and certainly don’t admit anyone to your house. In fact, don’t even open the front door until you’ve looked through your peephole or living-room window and established who it is.’

‘So we’re prisoners in our own homes?’ Bella McCarthy said.

‘Kind of,’ Mary-Ellen agreed.

‘Oh my God!’ Sally O’Grady looked appalled to hear it in such bare terms.

‘Sally!’ her sister said warningly.

‘But only until tomorrow,’ Mary-Ellen added.

‘Assuming the fog clears tomorrow,’ Bella retorted. ‘I mean this is the Lake District, you know. And it is November.’

‘Bella, there’s zero chance of this guy coming here,’ Mary-Ellen said.

‘How can you say that if you don’t know anything about him?’

‘The thing is, Mrs McCarthy,’ Heck said, ‘you’ve got a police office right in the middle of Cragwood Keld. I can’t stress how unusual that is in this day and age. It exponentially reduces the chance of an offender setting up shop here. You’ve got officers right on the spot.’ He indicated Mary-Ellen. ‘PC O’Rourke and I will remain permanently on duty until this guy is arrested or until we can be absolutely sure he’s left the area.’

Some looked relieved by that. There were several murmurs of gratitude. The inhabitants of Cragwood Keld had got quite used to Mary-Ellen in the relatively short time she’d been here; they admired her spirit and enjoyed her sense of humour, but they also liked that she was a toughie who could look after herself and, if need be, them.

However, one person who didn’t seem relieved was Burt Fillingham.

‘But this man’s got a gun,’ he said. ‘If that’s the case, he could force his way into any building. He could force his way into the police station. There’d be nothing you or PC O’Rourke could do then.’

This thought had crossed Heck’s mind too, but the last thing he wanted now was an unofficial evacuation of the village. Despite the limited numbers, it could still turn into a stampede, and in these conditions that would be fraught with difficulty and danger, and it was probably unnecessary in any case.

‘The firearms issue’s being taken care of.’

‘How?’

‘Well … I’m hoping to get a couple of firearms officers posted here for the next day or so. I haven’t had time to organise that yet, but I’m going to sort it at the first opportunity.’

‘We didn’t mention that before because we didn’t want to alarm you,’ Mary-Ellen explained.

‘What about Cragwood Ho?’ Sally O’Grady asked in a shrill tone. ‘That’s much closer to the Cradle Track than we are. And those poor people don’t even know …’

‘We’ve already made contact with Bessie Longhorn and Bill Ramsdale and have given them exactly the same advice we’re giving you,’ Heck answered.

In actual fact, that was a little white lie. They hadn’t yet been able to personally warn the folk who lived at the north end of the tarn. Mary-Ellen had tried to call, but as Bessie Longhorn didn’t even have a landline, she’d been forced to concentrate on Bill Ramsdale – from whom there’d been no reply, despite her trying three times. This wasn’t a cause for knee-jerk concern; Ramsdale was known as a guy who wouldn’t bother answering his phone if he was busy or in a mood. On the third occasion, she’d left a detailed voicemail, with a request that he pass the info on to his neighbour as well.

‘PC O’Rourke will be setting off to Cragwood Ho very soon,’ Heck added. ‘Just to check everyone there is okay.’

This wasn’t quite as much of a lie. First and foremost, Mary-Ellen had to take the police launch back across the tarn, to mark out the one crime scene they so far knew about with tape and a tent, and to preserve any potential exhibits she might find. She then had to return the launch to its shed and retrieve the Land Rover which was still sitting in the car park up at the Ho, so she’d be visiting that end of the tarn in due course anyway. Of course, this would take a little longer than they’d prefer, but there was nothing else they could do.

‘Any questions, guys?’ Heck said.

‘Yeah,’ Hazel said from behind the bar. He turned, looking at her closely for the first time since he’d made the announcement. She had noticeably paled in the cheek. ‘You haven’t told us much about this attack up in the fells. What’s the reason for it?’

‘We don’t know,’ Heck said.

‘You said the victims were two girls. I mean, was … was it sexual?’

‘Yet again …’

‘He doesn’t know,’ Burt Fillingham replied on Heck’s behalf.

‘Whether it is or isn’t, the same rules apply,’ Heck said. ‘Keep your doors and windows locked and everything will be fine.’ He turned to the rest of the pub. ‘If any of you are really worried, there’s nothing to stop you doubling up for the night. You know, sleeping in others’ houses – set up a camp bed downstairs, or whatever. Strength in numbers, as they say.’

They absorbed this quietly, which wasn’t always a good sign. But sometimes there was no alternative but to give people the facts. If there was the slightest danger, the public needed to be put on their guard.

‘We’ve also got these.’ Heck laid a bunch of contact cards on the bar-top. ‘Everyone take one, please. They’ve got direct lines to Cragwood police office and the radio suite down at Windermere. It’s also got mine and Mary-Ellen’s mobile numbers.’

‘Lot of good mobile phones are up here,’ Burt Fillingham grunted, as if the rest of them didn’t already know that.

‘It’s only until tomorrow,’ Mary-Ellen said again. ‘Seriously folks, there’s no need to be upset.’

There was a brief contemplative silence, during which the fire in the hearth crackled and spat. The thick grey mist hung so close to the window it was like a layer of dirty cotton wool pinned on the outside of the glass.

‘Okay,’ Heck said. ‘That’s it.’

With subdued murmurs, the less-than-happy band broke up, some talking together quietly, others shuffling to the door.

‘What now?’ Hazel asked Heck. ‘We can double up for the night, lie low and all that, but what are you going to do?’

‘I’ve got to go down to Kendal,’ he replied. ‘Get a report from the hospital.’

‘Okay.’ She nodded glumly.

‘Hey … M-E’s nearby. I mean, she’s got a few jobs to do first, but she’ll not be too far away. And believe me, she’s as good in a fight as any bloke I’ve ever met. On top of that, I’ll be back by tea-time, I’m sure.’

‘It’s just that I think there may be another problem.’

‘Go on.’

‘You haven’t mentioned Annie Beckwith.’

‘Beckwith?’ The name didn’t ring any bell of familiarity with Heck.

‘Oh shit, yeah,’ Mary-Ellen said quietly. ‘That’s the old lady who lives at the top of the Cradle Track.’

‘Someone lives at the top of the Track?’ Heck was astonished. He had some vague idea there was an old farm building up there, but he didn’t know someone lived in it.

Mary-Ellen nodded. ‘Bit of a local character. At least, she would be if she wasn’t so reclusive. She’s very self-sufficient. Grows her own food, makes her own clothes, keeps a chicken or two. She lives in Fellstead Grange, which was built sometime in the 1700s and hasn’t been renovated since. There’s no power, no phone, no computer, nothing. The Track leads to it, but no actual road. And she’s completely alone.’

Heck wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to respond to this.

Hazel looked even more worried. ‘That puts her in the danger zone, doesn’t it?’

‘How far up the Track does she live?’ Heck asked.

‘About fifteen minutes’ walk. And it’s all uphill.’

‘You say she’s an old lady. How old exactly?’

‘Must be nearly eighty,’ Hazel said.

‘Seriously, and she lives up there alone?’

‘It’s her farm – she came into full ownership when her parents died.’

‘Which was about five decades ago, if I heard rightly,’ Mary-Ellen added.

‘Yeah, and now she won’t leave the place,’ Hazel said. ‘She’s been offered the market value loads of times, but she won’t sell. And why should she, Mark?’

‘Why should she? Well … how about no heating, total isolation, working the land at that age, next to no money …’

‘It’s her life,’ Mary-Ellen shrugged.

‘Well …’ He rubbed his chin. ‘She may not be in as much danger as we think. First of all, like I say, this guy might have left the area. Secondly, he may not even know she’s there. Thirdly, if he does, she may not be his type …’

‘His type?’ Hazel said. ‘So he is going for more victims?’

‘It’s way too early to make that assumption,’ Heck replied.

‘Even though you clearly have?’

‘Hazel, it’s my job to prepare for the worst. Annie Beckwith’s in a vulnerable position, and we’ll get up there at some point to check, but I’m not sure there’s anything we can do for her right at this moment.’

‘Why don’t I go up there?’ Hazel suggested.

‘What?’

‘You two have got things you need to do. I know Annie better than you two, anyway. I can drive to the Ho, and walk up the Track.’

‘I’m really not sure that’s a good idea,’ Heck said. He didn’t elaborate, but his head was suddenly full of images from the Stranger enquiry back in the West Country all those years ago: ‘Police Eyes Only’ photos of female victims lying in the back seats of cars, stabbed multiple times, genitals torn, eyes gouged.