he’d finished with him.
‘As you know, we’ve not seen him for a few days. He’d normally have been arrested at least once by now for shoplifting. He doesn’t even pretend to browse anymore. Just walks in and runs out. All the security guards and shopkeepers know him.’
‘What do you think’s happened?’
‘Honestly, sir? I think he’s found somewhere safe to spend the nights.’
‘We think we know where he was last night and we think he’ll be in hiding now. Any idea where he’d go if he were in trouble?’
‘There’s no way he can go without scoring. Not even for a day. Even if he was scared, he’d have to go out and get some heroin. And he can’t get it on tick so he’ll have to pay for it somehow.’
‘You think he’s worked for it?’
She paused while she thought. ‘Probably,’ she replied. ‘He’s shite at shoplifting, I know that much.’
Fluke’s phone rang. It was a Penrith number.
‘Boss, it’s Jo. I’m just ringing to let you know that the CCTV was a bust. Copeland Council turned all their cameras off months ago, part of their efficiency savings. We’ll keep going with the house-to-house but there’s been zilch so far. The entrance to the site doesn’t face anything so there’s no reason for people to take any notice.’
‘Okay. Thanks, Jo,’ Fluke said, disappointed but not surprised. ‘Any news on the bullet?’
‘Not yet. It got there no problems but it may take a while. They’re still trying to get something off the smashed mobile, so nothing on that yet either.’
‘Any good news?’
‘Not sure. The lab rang just before and said they had something from the note. There were prints on the cover but they all belonged to the vic. They said they can have a look for what they call ‘indented writing’, basically trying to see what’s been written on the page that had been ripped out. It’s expensive though. They use some sort of electrical bullshit to do it.’
‘What’s wrong with rubbing a pencil over it?’ Fluke asked. ‘Yeah, tell them to go ahead. It’ll probably just be a shopping list or something but even that would be more than we know now about her. How you getting on with the misper list?’
‘Nothing so far. I’ll get onto the lab and tell them to run their test. Oh, and can you ring the bug lady? She says she needs to speak to you.’
The bug lady? Sometimes his lot were so unimaginative. Fluke was intrigued though, he hadn’t expected to hear from Lucy again. One post-mortem looked like it was enough for her; the amount of notes she’d taken would surely be enough for her thesis.
‘Okay, text me her number, I’ll ring her when I get five minutes,’ he said.
‘Will do. Where are you and Matt?’
‘We’ve drawn the short straw, Jo. We’re just about to enter Pinegrove.’
Chapter 11
Fluke knew that Cumbria was a safe county. ‘A safe place to live, work and visit’ was the tagline used by the authorities. There were areas of outstanding natural beauty: the lakes, fells, mountains, Hadrian’s Wall, even parts of the Yorkshire Dales. Picture perfect villages, castles and stately homes. A county that took William Wordsworth’s breath away. A county that inspired Beatrix Potter.
But there was another side to it.
Parts of Cumbria had a lower GDP than the Czech Republic; an underclass carefully hidden from tourists, a culture of violence and fear. Estates with third-generation unemployment. Estates devastated by the decline of industry. Where dealers and loan sharks prospered. Recruiting grounds for the extreme right parties like the BNP and the EDL. Estates bereft of hope.
The notorious Pinegrove Estate was a small island, cast adrift from the town of Whitehaven. It had its own roads in and its own roads out. There was no reason to enter it unless you lived or had business there. It wasn’t a shortcut to anywhere.
Like most of West Cumbria, it had a two-tier social structure: those who enjoyed the
‘As you know, we’ve not seen him for a few days. He’d normally have been arrested at least once by now for shoplifting. He doesn’t even pretend to browse anymore. Just walks in and runs out. All the security guards and shopkeepers know him.’
‘What do you think’s happened?’
‘Honestly, sir? I think he’s found somewhere safe to spend the nights.’
‘We think we know where he was last night and we think he’ll be in hiding now. Any idea where he’d go if he were in trouble?’
‘There’s no way he can go without scoring. Not even for a day. Even if he was scared, he’d have to go out and get some heroin. And he can’t get it on tick so he’ll have to pay for it somehow.’
‘You think he’s worked for it?’
She paused while she thought. ‘Probably,’ she replied. ‘He’s shite at shoplifting, I know that much.’
Fluke’s phone rang. It was a Penrith number.
‘Boss, it’s Jo. I’m just ringing to let you know that the CCTV was a bust. Copeland Council turned all their cameras off months ago, part of their efficiency savings. We’ll keep going with the house-to-house but there’s been zilch so far. The entrance to the site doesn’t face anything so there’s no reason for people to take any notice.’
‘Okay. Thanks, Jo,’ Fluke said, disappointed but not surprised. ‘Any news on the bullet?’
‘Not yet. It got there no problems but it may take a while. They’re still trying to get something off the smashed mobile, so nothing on that yet either.’
‘Any good news?’
‘Not sure. The lab rang just before and said they had something from the note. There were prints on the cover but they all belonged to the vic. They said they can have a look for what they call ‘indented writing’, basically trying to see what’s been written on the page that had been ripped out. It’s expensive though. They use some sort of electrical bullshit to do it.’
‘What’s wrong with rubbing a pencil over it?’ Fluke asked. ‘Yeah, tell them to go ahead. It’ll probably just be a shopping list or something but even that would be more than we know now about her. How you getting on with the misper list?’
‘Nothing so far. I’ll get onto the lab and tell them to run their test. Oh, and can you ring the bug lady? She says she needs to speak to you.’
The bug lady? Sometimes his lot were so unimaginative. Fluke was intrigued though, he hadn’t expected to hear from Lucy again. One post-mortem looked like it was enough for her; the amount of notes she’d taken would surely be enough for her thesis.
‘Okay, text me her number, I’ll ring her when I get five minutes,’ he said.
‘Will do. Where are you and Matt?’
‘We’ve drawn the short straw, Jo. We’re just about to enter Pinegrove.’
Chapter 11
Fluke knew that Cumbria was a safe county. ‘A safe place to live, work and visit’ was the tagline used by the authorities. There were areas of outstanding natural beauty: the lakes, fells, mountains, Hadrian’s Wall, even parts of the Yorkshire Dales. Picture perfect villages, castles and stately homes. A county that took William Wordsworth’s breath away. A county that inspired Beatrix Potter.
But there was another side to it.
Parts of Cumbria had a lower GDP than the Czech Republic; an underclass carefully hidden from tourists, a culture of violence and fear. Estates with third-generation unemployment. Estates devastated by the decline of industry. Where dealers and loan sharks prospered. Recruiting grounds for the extreme right parties like the BNP and the EDL. Estates bereft of hope.
The notorious Pinegrove Estate was a small island, cast adrift from the town of Whitehaven. It had its own roads in and its own roads out. There was no reason to enter it unless you lived or had business there. It wasn’t a shortcut to anywhere.
Like most of West Cumbria, it had a two-tier social structure: those who enjoyed the
Similar Books
