Blind eye, p.4
Blind Eye, page 4
‘Don’t tell me Doddie got off? Everyone knows about his little enterprise.’
‘Yes, but “everyone” wouldn’t admit it. I should have listened to you when you told me not to pursue it. Now he’s just going to come back again and I won’t be able to do anything about it. I’m scared, to be honest.’
Briony thought for a moment. ‘He probably won’t, you know. He won’t be looking for more grief from the police and they’ll be watching him.’
Sarah brightened at that. ‘Do you really think so?’ Briony was the oracle, in local matters. She’d lived in Tarleton all her life and she was totally plugged in to the local community.
‘He hasn’t been popular in the Caddon for drawing attention to what goes on – all the little scams and stuff. You know what they’re like there.’
‘Yes,’ she said, a little bitterly. She knew now that taking a shop at this end of town had been a mistake: the narrow streets of the oldest part, round the original little harbour, were a sort of thieves’ kitchen. ‘But what I don’t understand is why the victims let them do it.’
Briony gave her a cynical smile. ‘Resisting isn’t worth it, as you’ve just discovered. It’s quite a well-priced and well-directed business. Doddie wouldn’t try it on with the more middle-class shopkeepers. He just made a miscalculation with you.’
Sarah sighed. ‘It was my miscalculation as well. It hadn’t occurred to me that people would flatly deny that it was going on.’
‘Ah, but you don’t understand them. The rules in the Caddon go way, way back. They have a kind of relaxed attitude to the law – you keep your head down and don’t look for trouble. They’re not running in the tea and brandy now, but the habit’s ingrained – though actually, when I think about it, they probably are.’
Sarah pulled a face. ‘I’m living in the wrong place, Briony – and I’m living with the wrong man, in the wrong business. We’re broke and I’m miserable. We should just chuck it in.’
She could see the alarm on Briony’s face. ‘Oh, don’t do that! Dad would be really upset after the way he’s backed Niall.’
She’d gone too far, forgetting for the moment that she was talking to the big man’s daughter. ‘I know, I know,’ she said hastily, adding, ‘We’re truly grateful to him, honestly.’
‘Don’t do anything drastic,’ Briony urged. ‘Wait till things settle down and you and Niall may be able to work things out now this stupid case is over. I’d be really, really upset to lose my friend! The shindig tomorrow with these guys here from the supermarket – you know there’s going to be the usual bunch from the small farms, and you’ll feel better once you’ve all had a good moan about how tough it is.’
Admittedly, Sarah did always enjoy Jimmie Gresham’s parties. It was the only time she got to wear a posh frock, the food was always amazing and she enjoyed having the company of more interesting people than Niall. ‘Is your uncle coming this time?’ she said, very casually.
‘Oh God, yes! If one has a big do, the other one always goes, then stands around criticising under their breath. Rob and I always swap notes afterwards – it’s quite funny. And I’ve ordered fish and chips canapés in little posh newspaper pokes, you should know – that would cheer anyone up.’
Sarah laughed. ‘Oh, we won’t be doing anything in a hurry anyway. And I’m quite happy to do my schmoozing bit to all the buyers.’
‘That’s my girl!’ Briony said. ‘Dad relies on you for that – they love someone a bit glossy and no one could say that about me.’
‘Sterling qualities, though, darling – sterling qualities,’ Sarah drawled, and they both burst out laughing; it was one of their running jokes. She’d been grateful for a friend to laugh with during the darkest months, even if she did have to be careful what she said. Briony took loyalty very seriously.
She had to hurry away after that and Sarah drove gloomily back to Eastlaw. She should probably have opened up the shop this morning but she’d been feeling a bit too raw. It had left her, though, with no excuse for not tackling the hen house that needed fumigating after an outbreak of ticks, but Niall had gone in for farm supplies and after she’d done it, she’d have the house to herself.
But as she drew up, she saw that there was a strange car parked outside and as she pulled in alongside it, a young woman got out and came over, holding up a warrant card.
‘Ms Lindsay? DS Murray. I wonder if you’ve got time for a chat?’
Sarah’s heart sank at the thought of having to go over it all again. ‘Of course,’ she said, a little stiffly. ‘Come in.’
At least it postponed doing the hen house.
‘It’s an absolutely vile little place,’ Sarah Lindsay said.
DS Murray had followed her through the front door of the Eastlaw Farm house and then to the kitchen at the back where she was now, sitting with a mug of coffee and a plate of Hobnobs in front of her. It had been sticky to start with: Sarah clearly felt she’d been ill-served by the encouragement Strang had given her to go after Muir and it had taken a lot of sympathetic murmuring before she’d even been invited to sit down. Once she realised that Murray’s mission was to reassure her, she began to thaw, and after that there’d been no stopping her.
She’d told Murray all about their foolish belief that they could live on a view and then their awful realisation that no, you couldn’t. Murray could heartily endorse that, never having been tempted to believe it in the first place, and after seeing the elegance of Sarah’s shop, she was taken aback – shocked, almost – by the rural poverty she saw displayed here. The neighbourhood, with the slummy farm next door, and the dismal little house with the kitchen that didn’t appear to have been touched since the seventies and was dark even on a bright day like today, was enough to leave anyone depressed. And Sarah undoubtedly was: she was a very good-looking woman, but her skin looked uncared-for, there were deep lines between her brows and she looked miserable.
Murray had heard all about their farming problems but at last she had managed to get her onto talking about Tarleton itself.
‘The thing is,’ Sarah was going on, ‘it’s two towns, really. There’s the part the tourists like, and there are quite posh houses too – there’s a good bit of money around. That would be fine. But the end where I landed up, the Caddon – there’s a sort of in-your-face brutal sullenness there. I couldn’t say they made me welcome at the start, really, but they were civil enough and you have to make allowances for small communities being like that to incomers. They have their rules and after I was stupid enough to take on one of their own, it was like I was a bad smell.’
‘Who makes the rules?’ Murray asked.
‘That’s the thing. I’ve no idea. I’ve a good friend, Briony Gresham, who grew up here and she just quotes the local phrase, “Oh, it’s aye been,” and she sort of thinks it’s funny. But it feels more than that, somehow.’
Murray filed all that away. ‘Do you know many of the other farmers around here?’
‘Yes, a few. The big man is Briony’s father, Jimmie Gresham. He’s totally into organic stuff and supplies to supermarkets. He obviously makes a bomb but it hasn’t worked that way for us. It’s only because he lets us sell through his business that we haven’t gone under – at least, not quite. He’s having a big do because there’s buyers coming up and he invites all us small guys along so we can talk to them about how authentic we are. All our products are totally free from any of those dreadful pesticides – you know, the things that actually work.’ Sarah spoke lightly, but the bitterness shone through.
‘You’re not just totally into organic, then?’
‘No, I’m not,’ she said with some vehemence. ‘I couldn’t care less. I’m sick to death of having to do everything the hard way. Look at my hands.’ She held them out – well-shaped hands with long, slim fingers, but they were rough and reddened with ragged nails. ‘I used to have a manicure every couple of weeks. Now I can barely afford proper hand cream.’
Murray made a sympathetic face. ‘Sounds as if you’re in the wrong business.’
‘Oh, you think? But of course Niall can afford his nights in the pub – that’s essential, apparently.’
Her tone was heavily sarcastic, but relationship problems weren’t Murray’s business. ‘Which pub is this?’
‘Oh, the Waterfoot down in the Caddon. Ghastly, spit-and-sawdust style. I’d be scared to set foot in it, after all this. I tell you, if you just went in and arrested the lot of them, Tarleton would be a crime-free zone.’
They were getting back to the point where Murray was going to have to apologise again, and Sarah was showing signs of restlessness. ‘Was there anything else? Look, I’ve got stuff to do …’
Murray stood up. ‘Thanks so much for your time.’ But she couldn’t resist adding, ‘It’s obviously really tough for you. What are you going to do?’
Sarah’s lips tightened. ‘Oh, we’ll see,’ was all she said, and now she’d gone to the door and was holding it open.
Murray had a lot to think about as she drove away. She could feel for Sarah; it was a rotten situation and behind those tight lips there was smouldering rage. She didn’t think it would be very long till the volcano erupted.
When she arrived at Tarleton police station reception, she had little doubt that the woman PC who got up grudgingly from her seat at the back was the one who hadn’t been considered likely to invite confidences. Stocky, grey-haired and granite-faced, she didn’t seem to invite even the simplest of enquiries, like: ‘Could I speak to DI Gunn, please.’
‘Got an appointment?’
‘No, but he’ll be expecting me. Perhaps you could tell him I’m here. DS Murray.’
With a glare that suggested resentment at an unreasonable request, she went across to press a button on the internal telephone.
With a sidelong look at the visitor, she said, ‘There’s a DS Murray here – seems to think you’re expecting her,’ then, ‘Right.’ She put down the phone and went back to her seat.
DI Matthew Gunn appeared a moment later. He was young – about her own age, probably – and quite fit, but he seemed to be very nervous.
‘DS Murray? Hello. Matt Gunn. Come this way.’
‘Hi. I’m Livvy.’
As he closed the door to the reception area behind him, he said, ‘I’m sorry about PC Thomson. She doesn’t do welcoming.’
Murray laughed. ‘I had noticed,’ she said, following him down the corridor to his office.
‘The trouble is none of us feel we can pull her up on it nowadays. She accused her previous sergeant of bullying and harassment. Everyone knew it was the other way round but none of the high heid yins wanted to hear that. The complaint was upheld and he was basically forced into retirement.’
‘No point in picking a fight you can’t win,’ Murray agreed, sitting down. The light fell on Gunn’s face as he took the chair behind his desk and she saw that he had the sort of marks of strain on his face that you wouldn’t expect in a young man, and a tic was flickering at the side of his left eye. ‘DCI Strang’s sent me down to chat to Sarah Lindsay about what happened to her in court the other day. I don’t think anyone had expected Doddie Muir would put up a top QC.’
He looked at her wearily. ‘Not unheard of, actually, around here. Dunbar’s got a reputation for seeing off the police.’
Murray was startled. ‘Really?’
‘Take that car theft a couple of months ago – open-and-shut, but Dunbar was representing that guy too and it collapsed for lack of witnesses. We’re getting discouraged, quite honestly.’
He looked it, too. ‘If you can’t get convictions, you get to feeling it’s a waste of time, I suppose.’
‘Yes. The thing is—’ He hesitated, then said, ‘I don’t know how to put this. There’s something going on here, something I can’t quite put my finger on. With the lockdown, everything went quiet but I don’t think it meant nothing was happening.’
It seemed to be getting to him. Murray said soothingly, ‘Well, I suppose crime does thrive on secrecy.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Oh yes, they’re good at that here. It’s been impossible to make progress even with the offences that actually come our way, and we know of plenty that don’t. You won’t see it reflected in the stats. Oh, there’s always been a bit of low-level stuff, centred on the Caddon – that’s almost a village on its own, all the old fishermen’s houses round about the ancient harbour. Very picturesque, all higgledy-piggledy streets linking into each other – tradition has it this was deliberate, to give you a better chance of escape if the Excise was coming after you. But in general they were just what you’d call run-of-the-mill neds. Lockdown soured the atmosphere – not just in the Caddon either. Grassing on your neighbours got fashionable enough to keep us busy – “Jeanie So-and-So’s had folk in for a party”. You know the kind of thing.’
Murray nodded. ‘And then you find that Jeanie and Jessie next door have been at it for years – probably their mammies were as well.’
‘Yes, but it’s got more like the informant culture in totalitarian states. Reporting someone seemed to be being used as a threat – ridiculous, because the most we’d give them was a gentle slap on the wrist. But there was one man came in and reported that he was being blackmailed but when we asked him what it was about, he took fright and said he’d made a mistake. We’ve had a lot more graffiti and vandalism, and even the owner of a popular Chinese takeaway beaten up, I guess because the virus came from China. He didn’t want to report it and again we couldn’t get any witnesses to come forward. It’s like the neds feel they can operate with complete impunity. There were shockwaves when Ms Lindsay brought the case against Muir.’
‘She’s in a really bad place – very unhappy, angry, too. Eastlaw Farm’s a miserable sort of run-down place and she told me she’d basically been picked on in the town here since then – she feels victimised and trapped. She talked about “rules” but she couldn’t say who was making them. If they really exist, they’d have to be made by someone with a lot of clout, wouldn’t they? Is there anyone you can think of?’
Gunn didn’t hesitate. ‘Oh, the Greshams, Jimmie and Andrew – this is their fiefdom. They’re easily the major employers in town – Jimmie has a big farming cooperative and Andrew was a skipper and he’s expanded into fish processing and all sorts of other stuff too. Not much love lost between them, though – the old sibling rivalry thing.’
‘And would they have an interest in encouraging lawlessness?’
‘Not an obvious one, I’d say – it’s always seemed pretty much above board and it would be hard to see why they should. No, what I’ve wondered is whether one of the big guys is behind it but he’s invisible – organised crime, like your boss was investigating.’
‘Drugs?’ Murray said. ‘With all the boats coming and going, I’d have thought that might be one of your problems.’
‘Oh, certainly, but that doesn’t really come my way. We link up with the Cumbria constabulary and run a joint drugs unit – there’s always sniffer dogs going round doing checks so it doesn’t linger here – no doubt we miss quite a lot coming in but it goes out fast. It’s – it’s sort of worse than that.’ The tic beside his eye was jumping again and he was fidgeting with a pen on his desk.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It just – well, it seems to have become a toxic place.’
The pen jumped out of his hand and his bending down to pick it up gave Murray a moment to think. He was clearly under considerable strain and when he straightened up, he was biting his lip.
Again, she found herself trying to reassure him. ‘It’s been bad for everyone lately. I suppose—’
He cut in, and he was actually shivering now. ‘Yes. With redundancies and business failures we’ve had suicides – inevitable, I suppose, and what must have been happening everywhere, but there was this particular one. Bizarrely, I was there when it happened. My day off, went up for a walk at St Abb’s Head. Suddenly this car drove up and stopped, a young woman leapt out and ran straight to the cliff and jumped off. Didn’t hesitate, just sprinted as if she couldn’t get there quick enough.’
Murray felt a cold shiver herself. ‘What a dreadful thing. Did she leave a note?’
‘No, nothing. They said stress – she was a young doctor and they had a hard time, of course. But you see, she looked so eager, so happy. What could have made her life so wretched that a death like that was preferable? It’s haunted me.’
And obviously, it had. Was he, Murray wondered, suffering from some sort of PTSD? ‘It’s been a terrible experience for you,’ she said. ‘Have you talked to anyone about it, Matt?’
He visibly pulled himself together. ‘No, I’m fine, really – it was just, well – you know. Sorry, Livvy. I shouldn’t be running on like this.’
‘Not at all,’ she said sympathetically, but she didn’t think there was anything very useful she could say. Instead, she went on, ‘My boss was interested in something you said about farm machinery thefts – some evidence you had?’
To her surprise, Gunn coloured up. ‘Oh yes. Well, that’s maybe putting it a bit too strongly. But I’ve been noticing that there have been reports of thefts right up and down the coast and across the Borders, and they have to get rid of the vehicles somewhere. We always have boats here that ply their trade right across the North Sea, even to the Baltic.’
‘Have you anything to go on?’
‘Er, no, not really. I was just hoping DCI Strang would be coming down.’
Strang would be disappointed that this very obvious conclusion was all Gunn had to offer. ‘If something more concrete comes up, I’m sure he will.’ She looked at her watch. ‘It’s time I was getting back. Thanks for all your help, Matt. That’s been very interesting.’
She got up and he did too, but he was looking downcast as he said, ‘Oh yes, of course. Er – is there anything you think I could be doing – about the situation here, I mean? I’m – I’m afraid they’re actually becoming lawless. It’s a morass of evil – anything could happen.’
