Dead Man Walking. Paul FinchЧитать онлайн книгу.
was nineteen and worked here for bed and board only, because she was actually Hazel’s niece, taking a year out to do some hiking, climbing and sailing and to get in some additional study time before she went to university, where she hoped to take a degree in Sports Science. At present, she looked trim and athletic in grey sweats and white plimsolls, her lush tawny hair worn high. With her blue eyes, pixie nose, and rosebud lips, Lucy had been a welcome addition to the pub’s staff. Hazel assumed she’d attract men to the pub in droves, but on a night like this they’d be lucky to attract anyone. At present only a handful of customers was present: Ted Haveloc, a retired Forestry Commission worker, who now worked on everyone’s gardens; and Burt and Mandy Fillingham, who ran the post office which also doubled as the village corner shop.
Lucy nipped upstairs to get her aunt, who trotted down a few minutes later. ‘And?’ Hazel asked, looking vaguely uneasy.
Heck shrugged off his anorak and pulled up a stool. ‘Couldn’t have done it without you.’
‘You arrested them?’ She looked surprised, but still perhaps a little shaky. Hazel was every inch a local lass – she was well-travelled but had never actually lived outside the Lake District, as her soft Cumbrian accent attested – and the thought of serious crime visiting this peaceful quarter was something she evidently wasn’t getting her head around easily.
‘All three of them,’ Heck confirmed. ‘Caught ’em in the act.’
She served him his usual pint of Buttermere Gold. ‘So what was it all about? Or aren’t you allowed to tell me?’
‘Suppose you’ve a right to know, given the help you’ve provided. Several times in the last fortnight, tourists up here have been waylaid by distraction-thieves. It happened in Borrowdale, near Ullswater and down in Grizedale Forest. The usual form was the visitors stopped for lunch somewhere, but no sooner had they got back on the road than they had to pull over with a couple of flat tyres. A few minutes later, a young bloke and his girlfriend would conveniently stop to assist. Once these two had driven off again, the tourists found valuables missing from their vehicles.’
Hazel looked fascinated, and now maybe a little relieved that the crimes in question weren’t anything more violent. ‘I’ve heard about that on the Continent.’
‘Well … it if works in France and Spain, there’s no reason why it shouldn’t work here. Especially in rural areas. All we knew was that the suspects were driving either a green or blue motor, which might have been a Hyundai. The victims were never totally sure, and we only got rough glimpses of it on car park security footage … on top of that we only ever had partial VRM numbers, and they never seemed to marry up. You won’t be surprised to learn that after we arrested this lot, we found dozens of different plates in the boot, which they changed around regularly.’
‘So this was like their full-time job?’
‘Their career. The way they made their living. Anyway …’ He sipped at his beer. ‘As the crime spree only seemed to start around here two weeks ago, I made a few enquiries with other forces covering tourist spots – and I got several similar reports. A young male and female distraction team targeting motorists out in the sticks. It was always the same pattern. The boy offered to help with the tyre change, while the girl stood around chatting. In no case did the spree last more than two weeks.’
‘They only booked in here for two weeks,’ Hazel said.
‘They never outstay their welcome. The upshot was I canvassed all the hotels and bed and breakfasts.’
‘And that worked?’ She looked sceptical. ‘I mean, even in the off-season there are thousands of young couples who come up to the Lakes.’
‘Yeah, but not so many who’ve got a gooseberry in tow.’
‘I don’t get you.’
‘You may recall … I didn’t ask you if there were any adult couples staying here. I asked if there were any adult trios.’
‘Ohhh.’ Now Hazel looked impressed. ‘Who’s a clever boy?’
‘It struck me there’d have to be a third thief, someone concealed in the Hyundai. He would do the actual stealing while the others put on their show.’
‘And one such trio was staying here,’ she said. ‘And they even drove a Hyundai.’
‘And the rest is history.’ He smiled. ‘Mind you, I’m not saying we didn’t get lucky that they happened to be rooming right here.’
Hazel continued mopping the bar. ‘So long as they’re gone. I mean I hope they haven’t left anything behind … I wouldn’t want them coming back.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about that. Quite a few forces want to talk to them. They’ll be in custody a good while yet.’
Realising he hadn’t paid for his pint, he pushed some money across the bar-top, but she pushed it back. ‘On me. For a job well done. I’ll tell you what … I’d never have had them pegged for criminals. Bit of a curious mix, I suppose … mid-thirties, mid-twenties and a teen, but they didn’t seem rough.’
‘Successful crooks are rarely dumb. You want to infiltrate quiet communities, it doesn’t make any sense to ride in like a bunch of cowboys. Not in this day and age.’
‘Makes you realise how vulnerable we are up here, though.’
‘Nahhh,’ came a brash Irish voice. Mary-Ellen had materialised alongside them, now in a black tracksuit with ‘Metropolitan Police’ stencilled across the back in white. She leapt athletically onto the bar stool next to Heck. She was toothy but pretty, with fierce green eyes and short, spiky black hair. A champion swimmer, fell-walker and rock-climber, she radiated energy and enthusiasm – even now, at the end of a long, tough shift. ‘You’ve got us two, haven’t you?’ she chirped. ‘We’re a match for anyone.’
‘And here’s the other girl of the moment,’ Heck said. ‘Wouldn’t have been able to do it without her, either.’
‘What’ll you have, M-E?’ Hazel asked.
Mary-Ellen gazed at Heck with mock astonishment. ‘You buying, sarge?’
‘I’m buying,’ Hazel said. ‘You two have taken some nasty people off the streets today. Our streets. And with the bad weather due, they could have been stuck around here for God knows how long. Who knows, we could have been murdered in our beds.’
‘Don’t think they were quite that nasty,’ Mary-Ellen replied with her trademark rasping chuckle. ‘But I’ll have a lager, cheers. I’ll tell you what … felt good getting our hands on some proper villains for a change, eh?’
‘Too true,’ Heck said, peeling away from the bar and heading to the Gents. ‘Excuse me, ladies … too sodding true.’
Neither of the women chose to comment on that parting shot.
Mary-Ellen was a newcomer to the Lake District herself, having transferred up only a couple of months ago from the Met, just half a month after Heck in fact. But despite spending her last four years in Britain’s largest urban police force, she had worked exclusively in Richmond-upon-Thames, a well-heeled area with relatively low crime rates, and lacked Heck’s experience of inner-city policing and major investigations. But given that the most serious crimes they tended to have to deal with up here involved low-level drug dealing, thefts from gardens, and the occasional drunken incidents in pubs – she could understand how he might be feeling a little restless. He’d taken to this distraction-thefts enquiry giddily, like a kid in a toy shop, and had almost seemed disappointed they’d closed the suspects down so quickly. Of course, from Hazel’s perspective, the whole thing had been fascinating but also a little unnerving – not just because it had revealed the presence of real criminals, but because it had allowed her a first glimpse of Heck’s edgier, more adversarial character. In the real world, the handsome, homely landlady – newly divorced, thanks to her beer-bloated rat of a husband running off with one of his barmaids two years