Kickback Read online

  ‘It’s a bit embarrassing Davidson missed it but I have some sympathy for him. It must have seemed a straightforward accidental death.’

  ‘There’s a police officer who’s going to be just as embarrassed, I can assure you.’

  ‘And rightly so,’ said Poland.

  ‘But you’d agree Noel was murdered?’

  ‘It looks like it. I’ve got a bit more work to do but, yes, I’d say he was murdered.’

  ‘Look for anything to suggest he was killed elsewhere and where that might have been, will you?’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘And thanks again, Roger.’

  ‘Well, Dixon, what have you got?’ asked Bateman.

  ‘Noel Woodman was murdered, Sir.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘We start with Jon’s statement that Noel was about to blow the whistle on something big. Noel’s then found dead in Westbrook Warrior’s stable, apparently kicked to death.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘According to Roger Poland, this is an exact match for the horse shoe that inflicted the fatal injuries.’

  Dixon handed the standard shoe to Bateman, who looked at it and then passed it to DCI Lewis.

  ‘And this is an exact match for the shoes Westbrook Warrior was wearing at the time. This is an aluminium racing plate. The differences are obvious.’

  Bateman examined the racing plate.

  ‘They are,’ he said.

  ‘Therefore,’ continued Dixon, ‘Westbrook Warrior did not kick Noel Woodman.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Pass me the file, Jane.’

  Dixon took out the bundle of photographs and turned to the photo of Noel’s forehead.

  ‘What do you notice about the nails?’

  Bateman looked at the photograph and then passed it to Lewis.

  ‘They’re round headed,’ said Lewis.

  ‘That’s right, Sir. Carpentry nails. These are horse shoe nails,’ said Dixon, holding a nail up in front of Bateman and Lewis.

  ‘Square headed?’ asked Bateman.

  ‘That’s right. So, here’s what I think happened. Someone who doesn’t know the difference between a standard horse shoe and a racing plate nailed a shoe to a piece of wood...’

  ‘Using the wrong nails,’ said Lewis.

  ‘Yes, Sir. And then beat his brains out with it. Literally. All of the fatal injuries were inflicted by the same shoe. He or she then threw the body into Westbrook Warrior’s stable to make it look as though he’d been kicked.’

  ‘And the bite mark?’ asked Lewis.

  ‘I’m guessing now but I expect that was inflicted by the horse, probably post mortem. Poland is looking at that now.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it need two people to pick up a body and throw it?’ asked Bateman.

  ‘Depends on the people, Sir,’ replied Dixon, ‘but Noel was going to be a jockey don’t forget.’

  ‘He’s very small, Sir,’ said Jane.

  ‘And Poland will confirm this?’ asked Lewis.

  ‘He will.’

  ‘Who the bloody hell was in charge of this investigation?’ asked Bateman.

  Dixon looked at the front of the file.

  ‘DS Unwin, Sir.’

  ‘And I don’t think much of the first post mortem either.’

  ‘We’d better get the Scientific lot over to Spaxton immediately,’ said Lewis. ‘I’ll deal with that, Nick. You need to get over the road and get them out of that house. I’ll get on to the Coroner too.’

  ‘A murder investigation it is then?’ asked Bateman.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Lewis.

  ‘Who’s going to run that with Dixon off sick,’ asked Bateman, ‘you’re a bit thin on the ground in CID at the moment.’

  Dixon glared at DCI Lewis.

  ‘Do you feel up to it, Nick?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ said Lewis.

  Dixon rang Jon Woodman.

  ‘I’m coming over, Jon.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Everyone ok?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Alright, I’m on my way now.’

  Dixon put on a fluorescent tabard and walked across the road to number 37. Once inside, he sat on the sofa next to Natalie and Leanne.

  ‘You both ok?’

  ‘Yes, fine. Bored though. Can’t even watch the telly.’

  ‘Well?’ asked Jon.

  ‘It looks like you were right. Noel was murdered.’

  ‘I knew it. I fucking knew it!’

  ‘A murder investigation has been authorised and the Scientific Services team are on their way to Spaxton now.’

  ‘And?’

  Dixon produced the horse shoes from his coat pocket.

  ‘This is the type of shoe that killed Noel. This one is what Westbrook Warrior was wearing at the time. So, it couldn’t have been him.’

  ‘How was that missed?’

  ‘They weren’t looking for it. It seemed like a straightforward accident,’ replied Dixon.

  ‘Useless gits.’

  ‘It looks like a shoe was nailed to a piece of wood or something to make it look like he was kicked.’

  ‘So what happens now?’

  ‘Well, I’m in charge of the investigation so I need to get back out there. We had a deal, remember, so I’m expecting you to come too.’

  Jon looked at his feet and then at the gun in his right hand. He released the magazine, letting it drop to the floor, and then holding the gun by the barrel, handed it to Dixon. Dixon checked the chamber was empty and the safety catch was on.

  ‘You’ll let me know what happens?’ said Jon.

  ‘Of course I will.’

  Dixon rang Jane.

  ‘I’ve got the gun. We’re coming out. Natalie and the baby first, then Jon, then me. Ok?’

  ‘Got it.’

  Dixon rang off.

  ‘When we get out there, Jon, lie down on the lawn with your hands...’

  ‘I know the drill.’

  ‘Ok.’

  Dixon opened the front door. Natalie and Leanne went out first. She ran across the lawn, with Leanne in her arms, towards Ruth Marsden, the Family Liaison Officer. Dixon could hear her sobbing as she went.

  ‘Your turn, Jon.’

  He stepped forward and stood on the garden path, looking all around him.

  ‘Face down on the lawn, Jon, arms outstretched. This is no time for mucking about,’ said Dixon.

  Jon turned to face Dixon and winked at him. Then he lay face down on the lawn with his arms in front of him. Two firearms officers ran over. They dragged his arms behind his back and handcuffed him.

  ‘You prick,’ said Dixon, ‘I thought you were gonna...’

  ‘Nah.’

  Three

  ‘Put them on Jan’s desk for now,’ said Dixon.

  Jane and a police constable, who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, had carried the boxes of Noel Woodman’s belongings up to the office Dixon shared with DI Janice Courtenay on the second floor of Bridgwater Police Station.

  ‘We’ll have a quick rummage and then get them over to Scientific to see if they can find anything.’

  Jane put on disposable rubber gloves and emptied the contents of the boxes onto the desk.

  ‘Nothing of interest,’ said Jane.

  ‘What’s of interest is what isn’t here,’ said Dixon.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing of value. I mean at all.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘TV, radio, camera, iPad, iPod, computer. Nothing. You’d expect to find something like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I suppose you would,’ replied Jane.

  ‘We need to ruffle a few feathers at that racing yard, I think. You saw the shifty looks and twitching curtains?’

  ‘I did.’

  DCI Lewis appeared in the doorway of Dixon’s office.

  ‘Well done, Nick.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir. I don’t think Mr Bateman was too chuffed about i
t...’

  ‘I’ll keep him off your back, don’t worry. He was right though. We are a bit thin on the ground at the moment. Dave Harding and Mark Pearce are still finishing off your last one.’

  ‘What about Louise Willmott?’

  ‘She was on secondment from uniform last time. Leave it with me.’

  ‘Thank you, Sir.’

  ‘I’m still taking a bit of a flyer leaving you two together so don’t let me down.’

  ‘We won’t, Sir,’ replied Jane.

  Dixon powered up his computer and checked his email while Jane put Noel’s belongings back in the boxes and arranged for them to be taken over to Scientific Services.

  ‘I suppose you think you’re bloody clever?’

  The voice came from the doorway. Dixon looked over.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Harry Unwin. DS Harry Unwin.’

  ‘And that’s the way you usually address a senior officer is it?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘You’ve made me look a right idiot.’

  ‘And how did I do that exactly?’

  ‘You have no idea what you’re dealing with. No fucking idea.’

  Dixon looked back to his computer screen. ‘I’m going to count to three and if you’re still there when I’ve finished you’re going to be in serious trouble. Do I make myself clear?’

  Silence.

  ‘One, two...’

  ‘He’s gone,’ said Jane. ‘I wonder what that was all about.’

  ‘I don’t know, Jane, but I have a feeling we’ll find out.’

  ‘Have you got it in for me or something?’

  ‘C’mon, knee deep in horse shit has got to be better than the last one?’ replied Dixon.

  ‘True,’ said Watson.

  Donald Watson was the senior Scenes of Crime Officer, as Dixon insisted on calling them. Scientific Services didn’t have the same ring to it and Crime Scene Investigator made Watson’s job sound more exciting than his own. He declined the offer of a hand shake but only because Watson’s outstretched rubber gloved hand was covered in dung.

  ‘Ah, sorry about that,’ said Watson.

  Dixon had counted three vans but could see only one team at work in Westbrook Warrior’s stable.

  ‘What did Lewis tell you?’

  ‘That the body was found in here. I’ve got another team in the static caravan where he lived and another sifting through the muckheap for blood soaked straw.’

  ‘Can we get the team off the muckheap for the time being?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He was killed somewhere else and then thrown in the stable. We need to find where. It may have been in the caravan but at that time in the morning he would’ve been out and about getting ready for the day’s racing...’

  ‘So, it could be anywhere, is what you’re saying?’

  ‘I suppose it could,’ replied Dixon.

  ‘He was killed with a club with a horse shoe nailed to it. Right?’ asked Jane.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So, that rules out a confined space, doesn’t it? You wouldn’t risk attacking someone in the dark without room to manoeuvre, would you?’

  ‘Good thinking, Jane,’ said Dixon. ‘Start with the open spaces. The horses had been fed, according to the witness statements, so don’t bother with the feed room either.’

  ‘Or the tack room,’ said Jane, ‘it’s too small.’

  ‘It also rules out the stables and the alleyway,’ said Watson.

  ‘It does,’ replied Dixon.

  ‘Leave it with me.’

  ‘Right then, Jane. Let’s go and ruffle some feathers.’

  Dixon and Jane walked up to the farmhouse. He gestured to four uniformed officers, who had been standing by, to follow them and waited until they had caught up before ringing the door bell. He also knocked on the large carved oak door for good measure. It was answered by Michael Hesp.

  ‘Mr Hesp, may we have a word, please?’

  ‘Er, yes. Come in.’

  ‘Is Mrs Harcourt available?’

  ‘Yes, we’re in the kitchen. This way.’

  Dixon followed Hesp along the corridor. It had a low ceiling and was dimly lit but he could make out an old flagstone floor. Doors either side, presumably to dining and living rooms, were closed.

  It took a moment for Dixon’s eyes to adjust to the brighter light in the kitchen, which was only marginally cleaner than one of the stables. Mrs Harcourt was sitting at the kitchen table, pulling hard on what was left of a cigarette. She had unkempt grey hair and looked older than her sixty years.

  ‘Mrs Georgina Harcourt?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I am Detective Insp...’

  ‘I know who you are. We gave statements before.’

  ‘Noel Woodman’s death is now the subject of a murder investigation...’

  ‘We told the other chap everything we know,’ said Hesp.

  ‘You answered all his questions?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘We did.’

  ‘Well, I have more questions,’ said Dixon, ‘as you might imagine.’

  ‘Let’s get it over with then,’ said Mrs Harcourt.

  ‘I’ll need you both to accompany us to Bridgwater Police Station, please.’

  ‘Do we have a choice?’ asked Hesp.

  Dixon turned and looked at the four uniformed officers standing behind him.

  ‘I thought not,’ said Hesp.

  ‘Before we go, I’d just like to take the rest of Noel’s belongings, if I may?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘The rest?’

  ‘I think you know what I mean.’

  Michael Hesp looked nervously at Mrs Harcourt. She shook her head and looked away.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said.

  Dixon turned to one of the uniformed officers.

  ‘Go with him.’

  Hesp reappeared a few moments later carrying a holdall in his right hand and an iPad and a digital camera in his left, which he handed to Jane. He handed the holdall to Dixon.

  ‘What’s in here?’

  ‘A PlayStation and some games.’

  Dixon looked in the bag and then at Hesp.’

  ‘I don’t know why I didn’t give them to you when you were here before, really. Stupid, I know,’ said Hesp.

  The uniformed officers escorted Georgina Harcourt and Michael Hesp to separate police cars for the short drive to Bridgwater.

  ‘Where are we going?’ asked Jane.

  Dixon took out his phone and rang the Family Liaison Officer, Ruth Marsden.

  ‘Where’s Natalie Woodman?’

  ‘She’s been to see her father at the hospital and is at home now. I’m here with her.’

  ‘Thanks. We’re on our way. I need a word with her.’

  ‘Ok.’

  Dixon rang off.

  ‘Home first, Jane. Then Pawlett.’

  It was dark by the time they arrived at Manor Park in Pawlett. Monty was asleep in the back of the Land Rover, having been fed and given five minutes in the field behind Dixon’s cottage. Dixon himself had used the opportunity to take some Tramadol, which made the seat belt over his left shoulder more tolerable. Lights were on in the other houses, which told him that the residents had been allowed home.

  ‘You’ve got a new telly,’ said Dixon.

  ‘It’s the one from upstairs.’

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Yeah, fine.’

  ‘And Leanne?’

  ‘She’s asleep.’

  ‘What about your father?’

  ‘He’s going to be fine. Should be home tomorrow.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘What will happen to Jon?’

  ‘He’ll be remanded in custody by the magistrates tomorrow and then go to Exeter Prison.’

  ‘Neither of us will press charges.’

  ‘That’ll help him,’ replied Dixon. ‘Can we talk about Noel?’

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘How old was he when your father threw him out?’

  ‘I
t wasn’t like that.’

  ‘What was it like?’

  ‘Dad didn’t throw him out. He just made it impossible for him to stay.’

  ‘So, Noel left?’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘And where did he go, what did he do?’

  ‘He drifted around. Staying with friends here, there and everywhere. It was impossible to keep up with him.’

  ‘Did you keep in touch?’

  ‘Tried to.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Mobile phone and email. It was the only way.’

  ‘Where’s his phone, do you know?’

  ‘It’s here. I picked it up from the hospital, after he...’ Her voice tailed off.

  ‘I’ll make some tea,’ said Ruth Marsden.

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Dixon. ‘Can you get the phone, Natalie?’

  ‘Yes. I’ve got his wallet too. Do you want that as well?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Ruth Marsden brought the tea in just as Natalie returned with Noel’s phone and wallet.

  ‘Did you ever meet any of his friends, Natalie?’ asked Dixon.

  ‘Only one. An older man. He lived over near Glastonbury.’

  ‘Name?’

  ‘Philip, I think it was. Philip Stockman or something like that.’

  ‘How did they meet?’

  ‘In a car park. That was the way Noel always met his friends.’

  ‘What did Philip Stockman do for a living, can you remember?’

  ‘He was an accountant.’

  ‘So, tell me about his job at the racing stables...’

  ‘It was Philip who had horses and got Noel involved, really. He loved it. He was a good rider too. I’ve got a video clip on my computer of his first riding lesson.’

  ‘Can you email it to me?’

  ‘Yes. Then when Philip and Noel fell out, Noel got the job at Gidley’s. That was about eighteen months ago.’

  ‘Had you seen much of Noel since then?’

  ‘He used to come over now and again when Dad was out. He didn’t have a car though so it made it difficult.’

  ‘And he never said anything to you about blowing the whistle on something big, as Jon put it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about Jon, then. Did he talk to Noel often?’

  ‘They kept in touch on Facebook and used Facetime too.’

  ‘Ok, that’s enough for now, I think.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘It’s early days, Natalie. We’ll need to speak again, no doubt.’