Mortal Men (The Lakeland Murders Book 7) by J. J. Salkeld Read Free Book Online Page A

detectives, like.’
    ‘So you think you might have been framed, but you have no idea who by. Is that what you’re saying?’
    ‘Aye. I was just saying, like. I haven’t thought it through.’
    ‘That’s obvious, I’m afraid. So why would this someone, who you can’t identify, want to frame you in the first place?’
    Tyson shook his head.
    ‘Come on, now. You must have some idea. Framing someone for murder is a big deal. A very big deal indeed. So have you got enemies, John?’
    ‘How do you mean?’
    ‘Well, have you pinched another man’s wife, say?’
    ‘No. Someone bloody pinched mine though.’
    ‘All right, so how about a business deal that went wrong?’
    ‘You’re taking the piss, mate. I’m a bloody farm labourer. I work six days a week, just so I can stand my bloody round in the pub.’
    ‘All right then. Have you ever grassed anyone up? In court, like.’
    Tyson’s ruddy face reddened further.
    ‘I never grassed. It was Frankie who grassed. I did my time. Every last day of it.’
    ‘Of course you did. Stupid of me, sorry. So you’ve nothing to worry about from your old mate John Winder, then? He wouldn’t have any reason to kill Foster and put you in the frame for murder at the same time? Two birds with one stone, like.’
    ‘You’ll have to ask him that.’
    ‘We will, Mr. Tyson. So you can’t help us identify who you think might have framed you?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘And we won’t find your fingerprints, anything like that, on the murder weapon?’
    ‘No. I told you.’
    ‘And you, and your truck, never moved from where you were walling?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    Mann looked down at his folder.
    ‘All right. I’m done, for now. But don’t leave the area, there’s a good lad.’
    ‘Where would I bloody go?’
    ‘I hear that Antibes is nice, this time of year.’
     
    When Tyson had left Mann went to check if Winder was ready to be interviewed. He wasn’t.
    ‘No prizes for guessing how Winder’s brief is getting paid.’ he said, when he returned to the interview room, with Iredale in close attendance.
    ‘By the hour?’ said Jane, smiling.
    ‘By the minute, I wouldn’t wonder.’
    ‘So what did you make of Tyson then, Ian?’
    ‘Is he our killer? Not impossible, certainly. There’s no ANPR out there, of course. Not for miles. So he could have driven from where he was working out on the fells back down to Foster’s house in Troutbeck, done the job, and driven straight back. I don’t doubt that he’s built the length of wall that he claimed he has today, but what if he just worked a bit harder to make up time? He would only have been away from the job for fifteen, twenty minutes.’
    ‘What about the stolen shotguns? Down to Tyson, do we think?’
    Mann shrugged. ‘We’ve both read the file, Jane.’
    ‘Yes, and it’s a bloody shocker. The estate office door was unlocked even when unattended, which it pretty much always was, and the gun cabinet was a hundred years old and riddled with woodworm. A gentle bloody breeze would have been enough to get it open. That Irving bloke only kept his firearms certificate because he’s a big mate of the magistrate who heard our application to have it rescinded. I remember it actually, because Andy was bloody furious about the whole thing. Went into one of his us and them rants about the landed gentry still owning the whole bloody county.’
    ‘I know the ones. He’s a right firebrand, when he wants to be.’
    Jane smiled. ‘Anyway, the long and the short of it is that pretty much anyone could have gone in there and helped themselves, and like Tyson says he did co-operate in the investigation. So unless forensics links him to that gun I don’t think it helps us make a case against him at all, really.’
    ‘Agreed. And if Tyson nicked those guns with the intention of shooting Foster, then why not do the deed straight after? It’s not like we’d forget the link between him and the shotguns, is it? No matter how long he held