Free To Honour the Dead by John Dean Page B

when I get there.’
    Harris closed his eyes. ‘I’m not sure that’s entirely necess—’
    ‘I do not care what you think. I have just finished my meeting at headquarters and not surprisingly the chief constable was eager for information. I’ll be there within the hour.’
    ‘Looking forward to it already,’ said Harris and clicked the end call button on his phone. He looked at the dogs. ‘That’s all I need.’
    Having let the animals out to wander round the car park for a few minutes, the inspector sat in the driver’s seat and stared moodily at the hills. Not for the first time that day, he wished he was up there. You could trust the hills. You could also trust Leckie. He dialled a number on his mobile.
    ‘It’s Hawk,’ he said.
    ‘Not wanting me to solve another of your crimes, are you? Someone nick a sheep?’
    ‘Not quite,’ said Harris as he settled back in the seat. Same joke every time. Graham Leckie was one of the few people who could get away with such banter. ‘But I do need your help.’
    ‘Shoot.’
    A uniformed constable with Greater Manchester Police, Leckie was one of the inspector’s closest friends, the two men initially connecting some years previously through their love of wildlife. Even when Harris had moved north, they talked regularly on the phone because Leckie worked in force intelligence and the valley regularly witnessed crimes committed by criminals coming into the area from further south. Harris had already decided where to look for his killer.
    ‘I want to talk medals,’ said the inspector.
    ‘Don’t tell me someone has been stupid enough to award you one?’
    ‘Got a dead war hero on my hands.’
    ‘Ouch.’ There was a change in Leckie’s tone. More businesslike. ‘They’ll be coming out of the woodwork on that one. How can I help?’
    ‘Someone lifted this guy’s VC and I wondered if any of your lot might be in the frame for it? This job has big city stamped all over it and I really do need an early break. The media are all over this like a rash and my commander is already riding up the valley on a white horse.’
    ‘I’ll bet he is. Nothing stirs up folks like a dead war hero, especially one with a VC to his name. And we’re only three days away from Remembrance Sunday, don’t forget.’
    ‘Like I could forget it. The locals have already gone into meltdown, which is why I really do need to get the lid on this PDQ. I’ve got old folks worrying themselves sick that the Day of Judgment is upon us.’
    ‘Well, there’s certainly one or two down here like their memorabilia. Big black market in the stuff. Let me try something.’ Harris could hear Leckie tapping on his computer keyboard. ‘Thought I remembered something about it. There’s a bunch working out of Manchester. Did a ninety-one-year-old at the start of the year. Took his medals. Poor guy was in hospital for five weeks. Disturbed them in his bedroom in the middle of the night and had a go. Got his head banged off the edge of a table for his trouble.’
    ‘Sounds familiar. He dead?’
    ‘He’s in a home, by the looks of it. Suffered three strokes in hospital.’
    ‘Your lot get them?’
    ‘Got two guys for it. They’re inside awaiting trial.’ Harris heard more tapping. ‘The DI on the case – lad called Jamie Standish—’
    ‘He made DI, did he? Not surprised, mind, he always was a good officer. I was the one who made him sergeant, you know.’
    ‘Not the only thing you made, as I recall.’
    ‘Yes, well, we don’t talk about that, Graham.’
    ‘He does.’
    ‘Ah.’
    ‘Anyway, moving on swiftly,’ said Leckie but Harris could hear in his voice that he was smiling, ‘it says here that the old guy might not be well enough to give evidence which means the case would collapse. They left precious little at the house. Bunch of pros, apparently.’
    ‘Pros don’t beat old men up, Graham. Not sure this helps me if he’s got them locked up, mind.’
    ‘Not so fast. According to