Hunted

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Heck read through Gary Edwards’s statement. Edwards was young, only twenty-five, but fit; apparently he played football for a local amateur club. ‘How high is too high?’

‘About sixty to seventy feet.’

‘And what do we know about Edwards?’

‘He’s clean. Well, he’s not in the system.’

Heck thought about this. ‘That meadow where they fly these planes is … what would you say, fifty, sixty yards in that direction?’ She nodded. He mused again. ‘Only a stone’s throw. Wouldn’t be difficult for the odd one or two planes to stray over this way.’

‘Gary Edwards said he’s seen that occasionally, but he’s never seen any of them come down to ground level. I think there are rules governing that.’

Heck nodded. ‘There are. It’s a code of conduct laid down in the Air Navigation Order. The main elements of it, for our purposes, stipulate that the fly zone must be unobstructed, the model craft must at all times be a safe distance from persons, vessels, vehicles and structures, and – this is the really important bit – must never leave the sight of the operator at any time.’

‘I see …’

‘I saw that online, just in case you were thinking I’m a bottomless pit of knowledge.’

She shrugged. ‘The main thing is I’ve already taken statements from the Doversgreen Aviators.’

‘Yeah, I’ve read them. They’re not having it, are they?’

‘Not a single one will admit responsibility.’

‘Surely that doesn’t surprise you?’ Heck walked back along the towpath. ‘Even if it was an honest accident, it could lead to prosecution by the Civil Aviation Authority.’

‘Okay, so where are we going now?’

‘For a pint.’

‘Come again?’

‘You know a pub called the Ring O’Bells?’

‘Sure. It’s next to the local parish church.’

‘Good – that’s where they’re meeting us.’

‘Who is?’

‘The Doversgreen Aviators.’ Heck checked his watch. ‘In approximately twenty-five minutes.’

‘And when did you arrange that?’

‘I rang their club chairman last night. Wasn’t difficult, his details are on the website. I said I wanted them at their usual watering hole at two this afternoon. It’s Saturday, so there shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘And he agreed, did he?’ She sounded amused. ‘Just like that?’

‘Yep.’

‘Or so he said.’

‘I told him I didn’t need every member there; just the eighteen who were present at the meeting on 21 June.’

‘Some chance.’

‘Chance won’t come into it.’ Heck diverted from the path up a gravel track to the car park. ‘I told their chairman the alternative was that we visit them all at home, with search warrants and a view to seizing their model aircraft for forensic examination. I made sure he understood that anyone whose craft shows signs of recent damage, or recent immersion in water, or maybe has threads of unexplained fabric connected to it, no matter how microscopic, may have to answer questions under caution.’

They’d now reached Gail’s Punto. She regarded him over its roof as she unlocked the driver’s door. ‘Bit heavy-handed, don’t you think?’

‘What was that phrase you used – means to an end?’

The vault of the Ring O’Bells was a small side chamber into which only a corner of the bar protruded. Its low, smoke-browned ceiling was supported by heavy oak beams. Its handsome original features served to create the aura of a confined space, as did the double doors to the beer garden when they were closed – as they were now.

The eighteen members of the Doversgreen Aviators were crammed in like so many sardines, sitting along the benches, standing in corners, clustered around the brass-topped tables. They were exclusively male, but every group was represented, from teenagers to the husky middle-aged. Most looked like countrymen – weather-beaten faces, wild hair, patched woollen jumpers, but there were also shirts and dicky bows on view, even the occasional walking stick.

Not one of them had ordered a drink. Instead they sat or stood perfectly still, regarding Heck in silence as he leaned against the bar. He’d already checked, and found that none of the nervous faces in front of him had a criminal record. That was perhaps to be expected, as he didn’t actually believe that any of these weekend recreationists would be a regular offender.

‘Okay …’ He cleared his throat.

They listened with rapt attention.

He glanced at Gail, who was standing in front of the double doors, equally fascinated to know what was coming next.

‘I’m Detective Sergeant Heckenburg from the Serial Crimes Unit. You already know Detective Constable Honeyford, as you’ve all given statements to her in the recent past. Statements in which you acquit yourselves and your fellow club members of any wrongdoing. Which is unfortunate, because I have to tell you that I’m not at all satisfied by that … not least because this sad affair is looking like it may turn into a murder enquiry. I don’t mean it possibly will, I mean it probably