There were no celebrations to mark the apprehension of Ross Irwin’s killer. When Samson and Delilah returned to the Dales Detective office late Wednesday afternoon they found Gareth, Ida, Nathan and Nina gathered there, all as subdued as they were at the conclusion of the case. For while Will had been exonerated and was on his way home from Harrogate, Kevin Dinsdale’s arrest had been harrowing to witness.
A good man who made a mistake. That had been Sergeant Clayton’s downbeat verdict as he stood next to Samson, watching the farmer getting into the back of the police car. That fatal mistake was going to ruin his life and probably bankrupt the farm he’d been desperately trying to save. The moment she heard what had happened to her neighbour, Alison Metcalfe had come over from Ellershaw and insisted on staying at the farmhouse until Louise returned, so she could break the news in person and not over the phone. Samson and Delilah had left her there, torn between relief at her own husband’s acquittal and dismay at her friend’s predicament, a feeling shared by many in the town. For Kevin had always been popular, an upstanding man in the community and a generous neighbour and friend. The news which had filtered down the fellside and into the town that day had left Bruncliffe in a state of shock.
On Thursday morning, the low spirits of the town’s inhabitants were reflected in the weather, a cold front having come in from the north, bringing with it the first taste of autumn and the winter to follow. Under a leaden sky, Delilah was driving out towards the auction mart, Samson beside her, Tolpuddle in the back. They’d closed the office and given Nathan and Nina a day off and had ordered Ida to take a holiday too. An order which had been greeted with a scowl and a declaration, as she arrived in the kitchen wielding her new mop, that dust and dirt took no time off, so neither would she.
The auction mart was busy, its trade of buying and selling livestock continuing despite one of the regular attendees having been arrested for murder. But there was no denying, as Samson and Delilah walked through the corridor past the heaving cafe, there were a lot of serious expressions and muted conversations as the impact of what had happened the day before hit home.
One of their own, driven by financial pressures into an act of violence which had led to dreadful consequences for all involved. It was a situation most farmers there could empathise with, that perpetual struggle to keep heads above water, the stresses which accompanied the precarious nature of the living they made in an occupation they loved. Stresses which always found a way to the surface like the water in the normally dry Hull Pot, roaring up after a deluge, with potentially catastrophic results.
While there was no condoning what had happened, there was a lot of sympathy for Kevin Dinsdale. And not just among the farming fraternity. Both Danny Bradley and Sergeant Clayton had been ashen-faced earlier that morning as they’d relayed to Samson and Delilah what Kevin had said in his first police interview the evening before. He’d admitted to it all. That he’d followed Irwin from the reception with the intention of just talking to him, seeing if the payment could be renegotiated, or even waived completely. He’d watched Irwin and Elaine from afar through the binoculars, and when Elaine shoved Irwin to the ground, he’d made his move, approaching the ecologist as he got to his feet. But Irwin had turned aggressive at Kevin’s proposal, and told the wound-up farmer that far from eschewing the ten grand, the amount he expected had gone up to fifteen thousand.
Kevin had flipped. Swung at his tormentor with the binoculars and sent him sprawling. According to Danny, Kevin had clammed up at that point in the interview and, apart from confirming that it had been his vehicle which had driven past Samson and Herriot on his way back from Malham with the body, had provided only monosyllabic answers from there on. Like he felt the shame of what he’d done and simply wanted justice to be served, swiftly and efficiently.
‘Have you ever worked a case like this before?’ muttered Delilah as they weaved through the throng of farmers making their way to the auction ring for the imminent sale. ‘One that’s left such a bad taste in your mouth?’
Samson shook his head. ‘One of the joys of being undercover is that the folk I bring to court don’t deserve sympathy. And there’s something to be said for running investigations where you don’t know anyone personally. Emotions don’t get involved.’
Delilah gave a short laugh. ‘No chance of that round here.’ Then she paused at the foot of the stairs leading up to the first-floor offices. ‘Do you think we did the right thing?’
He placed a hand on her shoulder, seeing the uncertainty in her gaze, the guilt too. ‘Will was about to be falsely charged with murder, remember?’ he said softly. ‘And while I would have preferred a different outcome, everything we did was for the right reasons.’
‘I just wish . . . that it had been a stranger. Someone we didn’t know who had a grudge against Irwin. That the mysterious 4x4 speeding through the town at night had remained that way . . .’
Samson went to reply and then paused. Head to one side. Feeling an echo of something Delilah had just said. What was it? Something which had jarred in connection to the Irwin case and sent a flicker of unease through him.
‘Come on, then,’ said Delilah, tapping the bag in her left hand. ‘Best we hand this over before I succumb to temptation and eat it.’
Samson wasn’t sure their gift would quite make up for the grilling they’d put Sarah Mitchell through earlier in the week. But they’d both agreed that a visit to the woman they’d falsely accused of being a killer – for what, to be fair, was the second time in less than twelve months – was needed, not least to set things right with Harry, too. And, to be honest, they were also here because there was a mound of paperwork waiting for them in the office which neither of them could face right now.
With heavy hearts, they started to climb the stairs, Samson brushing aside whatever it was which had set his senses tingling.
Danny Bradley was feeling honoured. Give DS Benson his due, there’d been no hubris when it came to him admitting the mistakes made in the Ross Irwin case and he’d been quick to set the gears in motion for the change of direction following Kevin Dinsdale’s confession and arrest. He’d also invited Danny and Sergeant Clayton over to Harrogate to witness the interviews, saying it was the least he could do, considering how much they’d contributed to getting the right result.
‘Contributed to saving his arse, more like,’ the sergeant had muttered good-naturedly as they’d sat in the Harrogate Police Station canteen that morning and eaten cake decidedly inferior to their usual fare. ‘See what you’d have to put up with lad, if you put in that transfer request you’ve been thinking about,’ he’d continued, pushing the slice of lemon drizzle cake – which was more mist than drizzle – around his plate and demonstrating yet again that he knew his constable better than he let on.
For Danny, though, the sub-standard cake had been made up for by being able to witness the culmination of his hard work. Although it was painful to watch a friend and neighbour being on the other end of the quest for justice.
Kevin Dinsdale’s first interview the evening before had been fairly straightforward, the farmer admitting to his deeds before he was even asked. But towards the end, when DS Benson had started to drill down into the details, the man across the desk from him had become less forthcoming, a gruffness to his answers which hadn’t been there before. So much so, the detective had called it a day. Now the interview was about to resume and Danny was sitting in front of a monitor, watching on, Sergeant Clayton by his side.
‘So I’d like to pick up from where we left off yesterday, if you don’t mind,’ DS Benson was saying, his voice carrying through the speaker.
‘Like Dinsdale’s got a bloody choice,’ muttered Sergeant Clayton.
‘You’ve outlined for us what happened in the lead up to the confrontation with Irwin and that you struck him with your binoculars,’ continued the detective. ‘So let’s start with how you moved his body.’
There was a long pause, Kevin Dinsdale sitting in a chair on the other side of the small table, a duty solicitor by his side. After a night in a cell the farmer should have been looking desolate, but if anything, he was looking determined. As though he was focused only on one thing: getting his misdeeds off his chest.
‘I just lugged him into the back of the Shogun,’ he said.
‘Why? Why not leave him where he was?’
The farmer blinked. Shrugged. ‘I didn’t really take the time to think it through.’
‘And the kiln? Why there?’
‘Out of the way, I suppose.’
Benson looked at his notes and then up at the farmer. ‘I’d like to run through the timings for the whole evening again, if that’s okay?’
Dinsdale gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Look, just type up what I’ve said, bring in a statement and I’ll sign the bloody thing. Just quit with all the damn questions!’
The door opened and a constable arrived with a mug of tea, placing it down in front of Dinsdale, the interruption allowing the farmer to regain his equilibrium.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered across the table. ‘Didn’t mean to lose my temper. It’s just . . . you know . . .’
Benson nodded. ‘I realise this is difficult but we really do need to get it all down for the record so the sooner we get to it, the quicker it will be over.’
‘Right. Fire away then.’
‘Walk me through what happened after you realised Irwin was dead.’
‘I drove straight back to the reception—’
‘What made you do that?’
‘It’s not as though I was thinking rationally! I’d just accidently killed a man, for Christ’s sake!’ Dinsdale reached for the mug of tea, took a long swig and put it down. He ran a hand over his face and gave a resigned shake of his head. ‘I went back into the rugby club and pretended to get steaming drunk. Let Lou drive me home. And then when she’d gone to sleep, I crept out and drove back to Malham—’
‘Why?’ asked Benson. ‘Why not leave the body where it was?’
‘I dunno. I thought it would help cover my tracks.’ He gave a wry laugh, lifting both hands as though he had just explained how to do something mundane, rather than describing the actions of a killer. ‘That didn’t work out too well.’
Sergeant Clayton shot Danny a glance. ‘This has got to be the strangest confession I’ve ever heard,’ he muttered.
Danny nodded, something not sitting right with him. He watched Dinsdale take another drink and had a flash of comprehension, there and gone like a trout in deep water, leaving only ripples of frustration on the surface.
‘Right,’ said Benson. ‘Thanks. That’s helped clarify things. So all we need to do now is get the statement typed up and then we’ll be onto the next stage of the process.’
He went to stand and Dinsdale reached out towards him.
‘How long?’ he asked, voice breaking, his composure cracking for the first time. ‘The sentence, how long is it likely to be?’
DS Benson shook his head, compassion on his face. ‘Not for me to say. But you’re looking at manslaughter rather than murder so it will be a lesser term.’
Dinsdale’s shoulders slumped, he ran a hand over his face and gave a grim nod. ‘Thanks.’
‘Christ,’ grunted Sergeant Clayton, tearing his gaze away from the monitor and picking up his coffee, ‘that was a hard watch. In all my years as a copper, I don’t think I’ve ever felt as sorry for someone on the wrong side of the law.’
Danny nodded, eyes still on the screen. Brain still working furiously for that something just out of reach. And then Dinsdale stretched for his mug of tea again and Danny shot to his feet, making Sergeant Clayton spill coffee everywhere.
‘What on God’s earth has got into you, lad?’ the sergeant grumbled crossly, dabbing at his stained shirt with a tissue. When he looked up and saw the pale features of his constable, staring at the monitor, he fell silent.
‘We’ve made a huge mistake!’ Danny exclaimed, eyes glued to the screen. ‘Sarge, we’ve got it all wrong!’
When Samson and Delilah reached Harry’s office, the door was open and Sarah Mitchell was sitting behind his desk, working away on her laptop.
‘Congratulations are in order, so I hear,’ said Delilah as they entered the room.
Sarah glanced up, a surprised smile on her face at seeing them approach. ‘Did Harry tell you I got the contract?’
Delilah nodded. ‘It’s great news, in a week where there’s been precious little to enjoy.’
The compliment was met with typical self-effacement, and an apologetic grimace. ‘To be honest, with Irwin out of the picture, the company we were both pitching to didn’t really have anywhere else to go. I think I might have been the best of a bad bunch.’
‘Don’t sell yourself short,’ said Samson, taking a seat opposite her. ‘You won fair and square. And here’s to many more successes in the future.’
‘Thanks.’ Sarah’s smile grew wider and then morphed into a cheeky grin, a dimple appearing in her cheek. ‘If it’s Harry you’re here to see, however, he’s down in the ring fleecing farmers by selling them fleeces. Or are you back to interrogate me again?’
‘Actually, it is you we’re here to see.’ Delilah sat next to Samson and placed the bag on the desk by Sarah’s laptop. ‘This is a small token by way of apology for giving you such a grilling.’
Sarah shook her head, waving away their mea culpas. ‘There’s really no need,’ she said.
‘You might want to see what it is first, before you say that,’ suggested Samson with a wink.
There was a rustle of paper and then Sarah let out a sigh of appreciation.
‘Oh, he’s lovely,’ she said, pulling out a box containing an otter, made of chocolate. ‘But I don’t think I’d ever be able to eat him!’
‘I don’t think Harry will share your qualms,’ said Delilah.
Sarah laughed. Then shook her head again. ‘Really though, I didn’t take offence. You were only doing your job and from what I hear, you did it better than the police.’
‘Can’t say we took any satisfaction from it,’ said Samson. ‘While we cleared Will, seeing Kevin Dinsdale in such trouble is not easy to take.’
‘It is all a bit grim. And all because of one man’s corruption.’ The dimple on Sarah’s cheek had disappeared like the sun behind a cloud as her expression became grave. ‘Harry’s really struggling to take it all in. Him and Kevin were good mates. And as for Louise, I’ve no idea how she’s going to cope. No matter how you look at it, it’s a horrible mess.’
‘I can’t help thinking,’ said Delilah, ‘that if only Kevin hadn’t followed Irwin and Elaine. Or if only he’d left the binoculars in the car. Anything which could have averted this. I mean, saving a farm on the brink of bankruptcy isn’t worth losing your life over, for Irwin or for Kevin.’
Sarah nodded. ‘I know. Timing is everything.’
‘Timing . . .’ Samson muttered to himself, staring at the floor. An alertness coming over him Delilah recognised.
‘Of course,’ continued Sarah, oblivious to the change in her guest’s demeanour, ‘the irony is, they weren’t even Kevin’s binoculars.’
Samson’s attention snapped up onto Sarah. ‘Whose were they?’
‘Louise’s. Her grandmother bought them for her when she was eighteen. They were her pride and joy.’
‘And the birds on the windowsill?’
‘Louise’s. She’s the twitcher in that house. Always was. I remember her getting the first one when she was at uni – the robin, I think it was. She’s been collecting them ever since – less so recently as things got a bit harder financially.’
Samson had gone still next to Delilah, a throb of energy coming from him. She glanced at him. ‘What is it?’
‘I don’t know, just . . . a sense of something not being right. I had it when we were walking up here and now again . . .’ He shrugged, getting to his feet and pacing over to the window, Sarah’s focus flicking between the two of them, as though she too was now picking up on the vibes.
‘Was it something I said?’ she asked.
‘The timing. It doesn’t add up.’ Samson turned, a deep frown on his forehead. ‘You were at uni with Louise?’
‘Only for the first year.’ There was something in the way Sarah said it. A sadness to the words.
‘What happened?’ asked Delilah.
Sarah opened her mouth. Closed it. Looked at the pair of them. ‘I don’t know the full story. I just know something happened. Something bad enough to make her leave.’
‘She’s never talked about it?’
‘Not really. At the time she claimed it was boyfriend trouble but looking back, I think there was more to it. Something which changed her overnight. She went from being outgoing and cheerful, to being a recluse – by the time she left, she barely went out of her rooms. I suppose I should have pressed her a bit more to open up but I was eighteen and not exactly an extrovert myself and, well . . . I didn’t. And now it seems too late to be digging up the past.’
‘What did Louise study in that year?’ asked Samson, a weight to his words.
‘Not ecology, if that’s what you were thinking,’ said Sarah, showing a perspicacity which didn’t surprise Delilah. ‘She was doing accountancy. I only knew her because we were next door to each other in halls.’
‘So she didn’t know Ross Irwin?’
A silence greeted the enquiry. As though it had unleashed a dark mass of trouble which was supposed to have been banished. When Sarah spoke, it was in a measured tone.
‘I’m not sure why you’re asking all this, seeing as Kevin has been arrested and the case is supposedly solved, but I respect how your mind works when it comes to investigations. So all I can say is that to my knowledge, Louise never had any dealings with Ross Irwin and certainly didn’t know him as a tutor. And if she did have previous dealings with him, she didn’t reveal the fact when he showed up here to carry out the assessment on her land. To all appearances, she’d never met him before.’
Delilah watched the way Samson absorbed the information, seeing that frown deepen, the cogs turning. She turned to Sarah.
‘How about apart from her course?’ she asked ‘Was Louise in any clubs or societies?’
‘Just the Birdwatching Society—’
‘Oh God!’ Delilah had her phone out, scrolling rapidly through the documents from Irwin’s computer. ‘The photo . . .’
She found it. That group of students, a much younger Ross Irwin in the middle, most wearing binoculars, all looking happy. She held it out towards Sarah.
The reaction was immediate. A widening of the eyes, an index finger extended, pointing, shaking as it touched the screen on the face of a young woman, university hoodie on, her features partly shielded by the man in front but her smile visible.
‘That’s her,’ said Sarah, hand now going to her mouth. ‘That’s Louise. I had no idea . . .’
‘Christ!’ Samson ran a hand through his hair, expression grim. ‘How the hell did we miss this? Louise Dinsdale knew Ross Irwin from a decade ago and never said a word about it. Now why would that be?’
‘But it doesn’t prove anything,’ said Delilah, despite the feeling of certainty in the pit of her stomach. ‘It could just be a coincidence.’
‘Or it could be the key to bloody everything.’
‘How sure are you about this, son?’ Sergeant Clayton demanded, a restraining arm holding back his constable who was trying to get to the door. ‘Because if you’re going to march in there claiming a detective sergeant has a case all back-to-front and upside down, then you really need to make sure you’re right.’
‘I’m certain,’ said Danny. Because he was. He could feel it burning in him, the knowledge that Kevin Dinsdale wasn’t a killer. That the case wasn’t solved.
‘And you’re basing this on what exactly?’
‘The forensics report.’
‘The same report which I’m damn sure Benson has read cover to cover?’ The sergeant wasn’t hesitating to let his scepticism show. ‘What makes you so convinced you’ve seen something he hasn’t?’
‘Dinsdale drank his tea with his right hand!’ Danny said. Desperate now. Wanting to get to the interview room so he could stop what was a travesty of justice.
‘Jesus wept,’ muttered the sergeant. ‘You’re going to risk your career over a bloody cuppa?’
‘Yes.’ Danny stared at him. ‘You don’t have to come with me.’
‘Sod that,’ said Sergeant Clayton, a grin forming. ‘If you blow this then you’ll be stuck in Bruncliffe with me for the rest of your time on the force. So seeing as it’s in my best interest that you screw up, I’m coming in to witness it.’ Then he winked. ‘Besides, you’re better off back home with me. As I said earlier, the cake round here is crap.’
And with that he led his constable out into the corridor and towards the interview room.