Inspector Stone Mysteries Volume 1

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Detective Inspector Nathan Stone – Nate to his friends – yawned hugely as his partner drove them into the field that had been used for the Rock Radio music festival. It was just gone four in the morning and he was not happy to be there; an hour before he had been in bed, warm, comfortable and, most importantly, asleep. Why he had been called out for a robbery, when Detective Sergeant Mason was the officer on duty until eight a.m., he didn’t know, and he hoped to find out soon.

The moment his partner brought the car to a stop, Stone got out, rising to his full height of just under six feet. He stretched to ease his stiff muscles and yawned again, his mouth gaping wide for a moment before shutting quickly. Running his fingers through his sandy hair he attempted to transform it into something more suited to a senior detective, without success – his hair had never been all that tameable, and fresh from bed it put up more resistance than usual.

As awake as he felt he was likely to be, given the time and the circumstances, he looked around, his hazel eyes taking in all there was to see. Though it was the early hours of the morning, and dawn was still an hour or so away, the festival grounds were ablaze with light - some of it came from the quarter moon that shone in the night sky, but most of the light came from the spotlights that dotted the field, and which only a couple of hours before had illuminated the bands playing the festival and entertaining the thousands of people who had attended.

“They sure made a mess of this place,” DS Stephen Burke remarked as he walked around the car to join his partner. There was little difference in their heights, not even an inch, but he had better posture, so he seemed taller; his slimmer build, close cropped black hair and green, almost emerald, eyes further separated them in the eyes of any who them.

Stone nodded his agreement. “I’m no environmentalist, but I’ve always thought it a shame when I see the mess left behind after a festival like this. I’ve never understood why people are so prepared to leave their rubbish all over the place just because they’re at a festival; most of them would never do it at home.” He let out a heavy sigh as he rubbed his eyes to remove the last of the sleep from them before running his fingers through his hair once more; it was a habit, and one he often wasn’t aware of doing. “Okay, let’s get on with this. Standing around isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

With Burke at his side, Stone strode briskly over to the pavilion, whose entrance was being guarded by a uniformed officer. He looked around quickly once inside and noted the presence of the two white clad forensics officers who were working over a small area to one side of the pavilion – in addition to them there were three men and a woman seated at a table near the ‘bar’, untouched cups of something that still steamed gently in front of them, while a short distance from the table was Detective Constable Chris Grey.

“Christian,” Stone greeted the younger man, whom he liked to call by his full, Christian, name because of the lead male character in the Fifty Shades series of books; it wasn’t something Grey liked, but since he was only a junior officer, and one newly promoted to detective, he was not in a position to do or say much about it. “What’s the situation?” He had been told little of what had happened when he was woken by the duty sergeant. “Armed robbery I believe.”

Grey nodded. “That’s right, sir. Two men with sawn-off shotguns tied up the staff, that’s them over there,” he indicated the foursome at the table, “knocked them out and took all the money the beer tents took today,” he told his superior succinctly.

“Is there something special about this case?” Stone asked curiously of the young detective, whose face took on a quizzical look. “Why was I called out for this? I’m off-duty till morning - Mason’s the duty detective tonight, he should have been the one to get this call.” He stifled yet another yawn and silently wished for a very large mug of strong, black, well-sweetened coffee to wake him up.

As if he had read his superior’s mind, Burke chose that moment to appear at Stone’s side holding a pair of Styrofoam cups that steamed, more forcefully than did those on the table, in the cold night air. “I’m afraid it’s nothing special, just instant, but it’s better than nothing.” Burke took a sip of his coffee and grimaced, revealing what he thought of the coffee he had secured for them.

Stone gratefully accepted the cup that was held out to him and immediately lifted it to his lips. He let out a sigh of relief as the hot liquid slid down his throat and that first jolt of caffeine and sugar hit him – unlike his partner he wasn’t a coffee snob who paid more attention than necessary to what he drank, he was satisfied if his drink had plenty of caffeine and sugar. “Well, Christian?” He turned his attention back to the detective. “Is there a reason I got this call?”

“I couldn’t say, sir,” Grey said. “I was expecting DS Mason to take the lead here. I did hear just before you arrived that he’s been sent to a hit-and-run a few miles away though.”

“Any connection to this?” Burke asked. He saw from the look on his partner’s face that he had surprised Stone, whose mental faculties, just then, were not on the same level as his, and who had not been so quick to consider the possibility that there might be a connection between the two incidents.

“Not so far as I’m aware, Sergeant, but I know nothing about the hit-and-run, so it could be,” Grey said apologetically.

Burke shrugged. “If there is a connection, I’m sure we’ll find out about it soon enough.”

“Has Mason got anyone with him?” Stone asked of Grey, knowing that he had been assigned to partner the detective sergeant.

“No, sir.” Grey shook his head. “I was out of the station when this call came in, and was sent straight here; DS Mason said he would join me, but you turned up instead.”

“You’d better get off and join him then,” Stone told him. “We’ll take care of things here.” He sipped heartily at his coffee as he made his way between the tables to where the quartet of witnesses/victims were seated.

“Hello, I’m Detective Inspector Stone, and this is Detective Sergeant Burke,” he introduced himself and his partner. “I realise you’ve been through a traumatic experience tonight, and I’m sure that you’d rather not relive it, so I’ll try not to keep you any longer than necessary.”

“Thanks,” the eldest of the three men, who was holding the woman’s hand comfortingly, said. “I’m David Leigh, I own The Stag Inn, and it’s my money been stolen,” he declared angrily. “This is my wife, Rose, son, Tim, and Eric Green, one of our barmen.” He made the introductions.

Stone nodded to each of them in turn and then returned his attention to David Leigh, who was clearly the one most in control; his wife was white-faced and trembling, his son was attempting to seem unaffected by what had happened but still couldn’t speak, though he appeared to want to, while Green showed every sign of still being stunned by the blow that had knocked him out. Stone wondered briefly if he shouldn’t be in hospital, being checked over, rather than there, and was about to say something to that effect when he remembered that he and Burke had passed an ambulance on their way up to the field - he assumed that everyone had been given the once over by the paramedics.

“First off,” he said, “can you tell me how much money was stolen?” He knew there was a lot of money to be made from the beer tents at a festival like the one that had finished earlier that night, but not how much.

Leigh grimaced and said regretfully, “I wish I could. We’d only just started counting it all when those bastards came in. Based on what we took yesterday and Friday, though, I’d say they got away with a little over fifty grand.” His voice was bitter. “It was the best day’s takings. Sunday’s always the best – bastards.”

Fifty thousand pounds, Stone thought; it was clear that the beer tents made more money than he had imagined. He made a note of the amount in the pad he took from a pocket. “Is the money insured?” he asked.

“It should be,” David Leigh said, though his voice was uncertain. “I’m sure the insurance company’ll try and find some way out of paying, but we should be covered for it.”

“That’s good. If you don’t mind then, I’d like to start at the beginning – if you could tell me what happened.” His eyes remained on David Leigh for a moment, but when the pub owner’s eyes moved to his barman, Stone’s followed.

There was silence for a short while before Eric Green finally spoke. “I was clearing up, collecting the glasses and wiping the tables down when they came in. I only saw one of them, and I didn’t realise he was there ‘til he told me to get on my knees. He had a shotgun in my face, so I did as he said.”

“You did the right thing,” Burke assured him. “If you’d tried anything you might have been hurt - better for you to do what he wanted and avoid that.”

Stone nodded his agreement. “What happened next?” he asked.

“I asked him what he wanted, and the guy said, ‘the money’ then he hit me. I don’t know about anything else that happened ‘til I woke up later.” Absently he rubbed his forehead, where a large bump, visible to everyone at the table, was forming. “I didn’t even see his face; I saw the shotgun and just sort of froze – it’s like I didn’t want to see his face, I was too scared.”

“That’s understandable.” Stone suspected he would have reacted the same if he were in that position.

David Leigh took up the account then, “After they knocked Eric out they came through to the back.” He gestured behind him to where two flaps had been tied back, and several forensics officers in their white coveralls could be seen. “And did the same to us; they made us get on the ground, tied and blindfolded us, then they knocked us out. I don’t think we were out for more than about five minutes, ten at the most, before one of the festival staff found us and woke us up. That’s when I called you guys.”

Stone took in Leigh’s brief account of events and then twisted around. “Is the guy who revived everyone still here?” he called out the question to the two constables at the entrance to the pavilion.

“Yes, sir, he’s out here having a smoke,” came the reply. “Do you want him?”

“Not yet, just keep him there. I’ll get to him shortly.” Turning to Burke, Stone said, “Can you organise the questioning of all the festival staff, and anyone else who might have been around, while I get some details here.”

Burke nodded and, putting away his notepad and pen, got to his feet; he left his barely touched coffee on the table as he made his way out of the pavilion, glad to have an excuse not to finish the almost undrinkable beverage.

“What can you tell me about the guys who robbed you?” Stone asked, his attention back on those at the table.

“Not much,” Leigh answered. “They were both dressed in jeans, dark tops and leather jackets, and they were both wearing balaclavas.”

Stone scribbled that down in his spider scrawl, disappointed by the lack of a useful description. “Anything else? Did you notice an accent, did they sound local or from somewhere else; maybe you saw a tattoo, or something that might make it possible to identify the guys who took your money?”

Once he had all the information the quartet could give him, which took very little time, Stone made his way outside. He found the festival crew member who had untied and revived David Leigh, his family, and their employee, a short distance from the pavilion entrance, still smoking. The small collection of cigarette butts on the ground at his feet indicated that he had been chain-smoking for quite a while, most likely to calm his nerves after the night’s events.

“How did you know Mr Leigh and the others needed help, Mr Powell?” Stone asked once he had introduced himself. He moved to one side until he was downwind – the breeze was only slight, but it was enough to send the smoke from the cigarette into his face. It wasn’t that the smoke bothered him, more that it awoke cravings he thought he had long since put behind him.

“After being almost run down by those idiots I was sure something’d happened, so once I got to my feet I went and checked the pavilion. That’s when I found them, tied up and knocked out,” Powell answered. Dropping his cigarette to the ground he crushed it into the dirt with his foot. “I revived them, wasn’t easy, they didn’t want to wake up, and Mr Leigh called the cops while I went and got one of the first-aiders.”

“You say you were almost run down, can you describe the car, or the people in it?”

“It was blue, a Vauxhall, Astra I think.” Powell paused to light a fresh cigarette, which he puffed on a for a moment before he continued. “I didn’t see it pull up, I was having a piss, but it was out front when I finished, with the engine running. I didn’t think much of it, I just thought it belonged to someone in the pavilion and they’d brought it round so they could load some stuff up.”

“Did you see the license plate?” Stone didn’t hold his breath; he was sure that even if Powell had seen the license plate it wouldn’t help any. In his experience, the car used by the robbers would most likely have been stolen, perhaps even specifically for this job. “How about the men? Did you see anything of them?” he asked when Powell shook his head in response to the first question.

“Not clearly,” Powell said regretfully. “I did get a glimpse of the driver, though.”

Stone felt his hopes rise as he waited for Powell to continue.

“He had messy brown hair and stubble.”

“Was there anything distinctive about him that you saw? Scars, tattoos, anything like that?”

Powell had to think about that for a moment. “Tattoo, yeah, he had a tattoo on the side of his neck.”

“What sort of tattoo? Can you describe it?”

Powell took a long drag on his cigarette, which was almost finished already, and shook his head. “I couldn’t see it clearly, but it looked like some kind of bird, not sure what sort, I only got a glimpse – I had to dive out of the way when they nearly ran me down.”