The Nidderdale Murders (A Yorkshire Murder Mystery) Page 3

  ‘Ah!’ said Oldroyd. ‘I’m glad it’s you, Bill. This is DS Carter and DS Johnson – Inspector Bill Gibbs.’ The introductions were acknowledged.

  ‘Welcome to Nidderdale, sir,’ Gibbs said. ‘I’m pleased to have your help. We don’t have a big staff up here in Pateley. My DS is out on another investigation and I’m here with a DC.’ He indicated a young officer, Ian Potts, who nodded to Oldroyd and said, ‘Sir.’

  Oldroyd looked at Steph and smiled reassuringly. Territorial feelings were not going to be an issue here. A tall man came over – Tim Groves, a forensic pathologist with whom Oldroyd had worked for many years.

  ‘Morning, Jim,’ said Groves. ‘Inspector Gibbs said you were on your way, so I thought I’d wait and give you a briefing. The body is on its way back to Harrogate. He was shot at close range by a shotgun. I’ll be able to tell what bore it was after the post-mortem. He was probably hit in the heart and died pretty much instantly; time of death was about midnight. Officers from Pateley have been here all night, but I couldn’t get here until this morning. Anyway, I’ll be off now. I wish you luck in capturing the killer and I hope it turns out to be fairly straightforward.’

  ‘That’s very rarely the case where I’m concerned, Tim,’ laughed Oldroyd.

  ‘I know. At least you’ve got a lovely setting for your work. OK, I’ll be in contact.’ He strode off to his car, carrying his bag of instruments.

  After a brief examination of the murder scene, the detectives went inside. Gibbs had already set up an incident room in the residents’ lounge, the scene of Sandy Fraser’s last conversation before the angry words he’d exchanged with his killer. They all sat down in the comfortable chairs and Gibbs went through the details.

  ‘We were called at twelve thirty a.m. by a Mr Rob Owen. He and his wife, Sheila, own the inn. The victim, Alexander “Sandy” Fraser, was dead when we arrived. Shot, as Tim said. He’d had dinner here with a shooting party, after which he’d sat here with members of that party until midnight, when he left to walk home. He lives in an old manor house just out of the village. It was late and there was no one around apart from the assailant. The good news is that we do have a witness.’

  ‘I thought you said there was no one around?’ said Oldroyd.

  ‘There wasn’t outside, but a woman called’ – Gibbs consulted his notes – ‘Kirsty Hemingway saw what happened from her bedroom window, which overlooks the front of the building. All the exterior lights were still on and it was a clear night.’

  Oldroyd smiled at this. Gibbs had always had a reputation for thoroughness. ‘She saw two men arguing, one of whom she recognised as Fraser even though his back was turned to her,’ Gibbs continued. ‘This was because he was wearing a kilt.’

  Oldroyd raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Apparently he always wears a kilt to these dinners with his shooting parties. It’s a kind of tradition.’

  ‘I see, go on.’

  ‘She then saw the other man lift up a shotgun and shoot Fraser in the chest. When he did this, he moved to a position where she had a clear view of his face. She says she’s sure that it was a man called Alan Green. He’s a gardener and odd-job man, lives somewhere in Pateley Bridge. He’d been in the bar earlier in the evening so he knew Fraser was here. Looks like he waited until his target left and then confronted and shot him.’

  ‘Is there any sign of him?’

  ‘No. No one I’ve spoken to knows an address for him. I’ve been on to my people at the station and there’s no criminal record for such a person. We’ve got officers out in Pateley searching for him.’

  ‘Right. Well, first off I think we need to talk to this girl – Kirsty – again, as our star witness. How far have you got with taking statements?’

  ‘Not very. The residential part of the inn was pretty full last night with members of the shooting party. I’ve given the instruction that everyone is to stay here and I’ve had a quick word with the Owens. I’ve been round to inform the victim’s wife, Miriam Fraser. Unfortunately I didn’t have a female officer who could have stayed with her. I think that’s everything.’

  ‘OK . . . so I want you,’ Oldroyd addressed Potts, ‘to start organising statements. See if anyone else saw anything suspicious. Who else knew this Alan Green, and what can they tell us about him? Was anyone aware that Fraser had enemies? You know the sort of stuff.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Potts.

  ‘Also find out if guns were kept on these premises and whether any have gone missing. Steph, can you go round to check on Mrs Fraser?’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘It’s an old manor house just out of the village, turn right when you get to the main road. You can’t miss it,’ said Gibbs.

  The three of them left, and Gibbs went into the kitchen where Kirsty was sitting with Sheila Owen, drinking coffee. Sheila had an arm around the younger woman’s shoulders. They both looked tired and shaken.

  Gibbs brought Kirsty in to see Oldroyd, who introduced himself, sat her down and smiled encouragingly. ‘You’ve told Inspector Gibbs what you saw from your bedroom window. That must have been a terrible shock.’

  ‘It was.’

  ‘I won’t ask you to go through it all again, but you’re sure that the man you saw with the gun who shot Mr Fraser was this Alan Green?’

  ‘Yes. I had a good look at him and I’d been talking to him in the bar only a few hours earlier. The inn lights were shining straight on to him. I recognised his face and he had the same clothes on: green jumper and brown cord trousers. He comes into the bar fairly regularly. I’m sure it was him.’ She looked at Oldroyd. ‘What I’m worried about, as I told the inspector here, is that he looked up and saw me watching. He knows I’m a witness so what if he comes for me?’ For a moment she looked panic-stricken.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll protect you. What else can you tell me about him?’

  ‘Not much. He does gardening and stuff for people. He lives in Pateley and cycles or walks up when he’s got a job, and he likes coming into the bar here. It’s not far. He has a north-east accent so he must have come from up there originally. He was in the bar earlier,’ she repeated, and looked as if she could scarcely believe it.

  ‘Did he say anything? Did you notice anything unusual about him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How well did you know Mr Fraser?’ asked Gibbs.

  ‘Not at all, really. He only comes in the bar with his party when the shoots are on. I’ve seen him and his wife dining here a few times.’

  ‘You must hear a lot of local gossip, working in the bar.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Did Mr Fraser have any other enemies? Did anyone ever express animosity towards him?’

  Kirsty looked very uncomfortable. ‘I don’t like to say.’

  There was a flash of the steely side of Oldroyd. ‘Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to; this is a murder enquiry and you can’t withhold information.’

  She bit her lip, twirled her hair with a finger and seemed to be frantically thinking of what to say.

  ‘A lot of us don’t like him and his shooting parties,’ she began. ‘They don’t behave . . . well when they’re here.’ She told the detectives about the groping and harassment. ‘Mr Fraser was big-headed and he didn’t treat people well. He . . .’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Look, I’ll tell you but don’t tell anyone I said it. Ian Davis is Mr Fraser’s gamekeeper. Mr Fraser was always on his back and Ian often got angry. But I . . .’

  ‘Was he angry last night?’

  ‘Yes, as it happens. Fraser had pulled him up over something on the shoot. But look, Ian would never harm anyone, and anyway I saw Alan Green, so it definitely wasn’t Ian or anybody else.’

  ‘OK, well, thank you,’ said Oldroyd kindly, trying to calm her down. ‘Now, stay in the inn and don’t go out anywhere unaccompanied. There will be officers around for some time. OK? And I’m just coming up to your room now so you can show me the window from where you saw Mr Fraser being
shot.’ She nodded and they left together.

  Gibbs and Andy chatted for a few minutes until Oldroyd returned.

  ‘So, sir,’ said Andy, ‘if the killer knows he was seen, he’ll make himself scarce.’

  ‘Yes, we’re going to get a message out to the locals to be aware that he could be hiding in a barn or outhouse and he could be dangerous, as we assume he’s still got the shotgun.’

  ‘Did you work with DCI Oldroyd, then, sir?’ asked Andy, curious to find out about his boss’s previous colleagues.

  ‘Yes, in Harrogate. It’s a few years ago now but I’ll never forget it. I learned most of what I know from him. You’re lucky to be part of his team. There aren’t many like him.’

  ‘I know, sir. I came up from the Met. He had a bit of a reputation even down there. He teaches you to think, doesn’t he?’

  ‘That’s right. And never to assume you know all the answers without investigating properly and considering all the possibilities. He once told me that he was very affected by all those cases in the seventies when people were wrongly convicted. He said it was lazy, arrogant policing and we had to do better. The thing is, he has such a fine brain and—’

  At that moment, Oldroyd returned. ‘Fine brain, eh? You must be talking about me.’

  Andy and Gibbs laughed.

  ‘Well,’ said Oldroyd, ‘I’ve seen the view she had from her bedroom and it’s some distance from that window to the murder scene, and it was night-time. I put that to her but she remains adamant that she saw Green, and the light from the hotel shone on his face and so on. I still think she could be mistaken or that she could be covering for someone else. There are no other witnesses.’

  ‘True,’ said Gibbs.

  ‘It’s not conclusive enough for us not to consider other possibilities. She seemed very alarmed when we questioned her about Ian . . . what’s his name?’

  ‘Davis, Ian Davis the gamekeeper,’ replied Gibbs.

  ‘Yes. I think he’s high up on our list.’

  Gibbs consulted his list again. ‘There’s also Wilf Bramley, a farmer, and Peter Gorton, who owns a local shop. They were in the bar earlier in the evening with Green and Davis. They might have noticed something.’

  ‘Excellent work. I think it would be a good idea if you went back to Pateley and supervised the search for Alan Green, and left us to question people here.’

  ‘Yes, sir, that’s fine. We need to catch him as soon as we can. The problem is we’ve got no photograph or anything. We need to ask around and find out who knew him.’

  ‘OK, off you go and I’ll keep you up to date. If anyone here can tell us where he lived in Pateley I’ll let you know.’

  Gibbs left for Pateley and Andy went to help Potts, who was continuing to take statements. Oldroyd took a break to take in his surroundings. The lounge at the Dog and Gun was very luxurious, with a thick carpet, an array of comfortable sofas and a range of sporting prints on the walls. There was an open fire which would be very cosy in winter. There was a pleasant view across the village pond with a glimpse of the fells beyond. He settled into an armchair and spent a while thinking about the case as he gazed out of the window. It was good to get a few minutes of calm. He was just wondering about whether to bring Deborah here for a nice weekend away when Andy returned with Potts.

  ‘I think we’ve got it sorted, sir,’ said Andy. ‘We have statements from everyone, and we’ve gathered some useful information. Before he left last night, Fraser was in here with three of his shooting friends: James Symons, Gideon Rawnsley and Henry Saunders. They were the last people to see him alive apart from the witness to the murder and, of course, the murderer. Apparently, there was an argument between Rawnsley and Fraser, and Saunders had to get Rawnsley out of the room and off to bed.’

  ‘Was there, indeed? So we need to talk to those three.’

  ‘In terms of the staff, sir,’ said Andy, ‘the owners Rob and Sheila Owen have had quite a lot to do with Fraser over the years and know the village well, so they’ll be worth talking to.’

  Oldroyd slapped his legs. ‘OK, excellent! Let’s get moving. We’ll start with the Owens as they’re close at hand. Inspector Gibbs has gone back to Pateley to pursue our chief suspect, so we need to see what we can find out here.’

  Sheila and Rob Owen sat in front of the detectives looking rather dazed. After their gruelling day they had been up most of the night, and it had been chaos with the police, the ambulance, and disturbed guests wandering around asking what was happening.

  ‘I know you’re very busy, so I’ll try to be quick. Before I ask you any questions, I have to tell you that it will be necessary to close the inn for a while. Unfortunately, it’s a crime scene. None of the guests should be allowed to check out until I give the word. We’ll try to keep it to the minimum time possible,’ began Oldroyd.

  Andy sat, ready to make notes.

  The Owens took in this information passively, as if they’d been expecting it.

  ‘So, what happened last night?’ continued Oldroyd.

  Sheila glanced at Rob, who started to speak. ‘We were in bed asleep; it had been an exhausting day. We were woken by Kirsty banging on the door, screaming that someone had been shot outside. She was nearly hysterical. I told her to stay with Sheila and I went down. Mr Saunders and Mr Symons were just coming up to their rooms so I asked them to come with me and see what was going on. The three of us found Mr Fraser on the ground just past the inn buildings. He’d obviously been on his way home. There was blood on the ground and a big wound in his chest. I felt for a pulse but couldn’t find one. We went back in and I called the police and ambulance. I think you know the rest.’

  ‘So who locks up at night?’

  ‘All the doors except the front are always locked and operated by a code. The front door is locked at eleven o’clock, but residents have a key and Mr Fraser had one on this occasion as the leader of the party. There’s a rota for staff to stay up until the last guest goes to bed and then go round to check everything and turn out the lights, et cetera.’

  ‘Who was on duty last night?’

  ‘It was Greg Cooper, Sheila’s sous chef. We all do a shift on that rota so that no one has to do it too often. We can’t afford to employ any security staff. Greg came out to see what was happening, but like the rest of us there was nothing he could do. He went back inside and spoke to the residents, who were asking what had happened.’

  ‘Did you see anyone else outside?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘OK. Now, you say that you met Saunders and Symons on the stairs. Would it have been possible for one of them to have fired the shot and come back into the inn?’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose so. Going by what Kirsty said, quite a bit of time must have elapsed as she ran to our door. But she was insistent that she saw Alan Green.’

  ‘Yes, she’s told us. So what do you know about Sandy Fraser and what was your relationship with him?’

  Rob looked very tired with the effort of talking, so Sheila took over.

  ‘He came to the village about six years ago when he retired. I think he was a judge. He bought the manor house which is just down the road, towards Gouthwaite Reservoir, and a grouse moor. He runs shooting parties right through the season, and we have a contract with him to supply accommodation and food at midday up on the moors when the shooters take a break.’

  ‘So, does this arrangement work well?’ asked Oldroyd.

  Sheila glanced at Rob. ‘It does on a business level. He’s a good customer and pays his bills, though not always promptly, but we’ve never found him an easy person to deal with. He’s very demanding and pernickety about things – always complaining about something.’

  ‘But he’s never gone elsewhere?’

  ‘No, it’s too convenient for him here, close to the grouse moor, and I think he knows we provide a good service. It’s all about him showing off the fact that he’s in charge, and knows about everything. Last night we prepared a special meal for them consisting of the
grouse they’d shot, served roasted with a sauce and vegetables. We put a lot of effort in. Every party gets that on their final evening here. They usually stay two or three nights. So he comes in afterwards, very lukewarm about it all and complaining about the sauce I prepared for the grouse. I could have stuck a kitchen knife in his back.’ She put a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, that was a tasteless remark. Of course I wouldn’t really have harmed him, I—’

  ‘I can see that would be very annoying. Never mind, just carry on.’

  ‘Well, he was like that, always picking you up on some detail, never satisfied. Ian Davis, his gamekeeper, found him a difficult person to work for.’

  ‘Where does Davis live?’

  ‘In a cottage on the back road. He’s got a wife and two children and I think they struggle a bit, so I don’t suppose he can afford to lose his job.’

  ‘OK. Did Mr Fraser have any other enemies that you know of?’

  Rob replied this time: ‘I can’t say anyone liked him, but someone who’d want to kill him is another matter. I know Wilf Bramley had no time for him. He was in the bar last night as well. He’s an old tenant farmer of Fraser’s. He complained a lot that Fraser charged him too much rent.

  ‘There are also two people who’ve made his life difficult with the shooting. Liz Smith campaigns against blood sports and she’s conducted shoot sabotages with the group she’s part of. And there’s a bloke called Tony Dexter. He lives in a tiny converted barn high up on the fellside across the dale. He’s a bit of a loner, a writer and environmentalist. He’s opposed to grouse moors because he says they damage the habitat and the environment. So Fraser had some run-ins with those two.’

  ‘And where does this Liz Smith live?’ asked Andy.

  ‘In a caravan in a field just out of the village – pays a bit of rent to a farmer who doesn’t seem bothered about her beliefs, probably just welcomes the cash. It’s a bit of a dump and it’s plastered all over with posters about cruelty to animals and stuff.’ Rob smiled. ‘I always thought it was quite amusing that Fraser had to pass her caravan every time he came in and out of the village. She works with another woman in a local pottery. You’ll have passed it on the way into the village – very artistic stuff but bloody expensive.’