Best Served Cold: A DCI Harry Grimm Novel

photographs from a sponsored walk along the roman road, which crossed the fells behind Hawes, and in those opened the briefest of windows onto John’s friendship group at the time. There were six in total, Harry found, including John, Barry, and Nick. The other three, names and faces new to Harry, were Simon Swales, Jack Iveson, and Ian Snaith. And in the last year John spent at Hawes primary school, before heading off on the bus down the dale to the comprehensive at Leyburn, those six names made frequent appearances in the logbooks, and never, it seemed, for any good reason. Numerous mentions of them were made, not just as individuals, but as a gang, and Harry found it almost laughable to think of the six boys staring back at him from those old photos as being described as such. He’d dealt with gangs, bad ones, and not just adults either. Kids could be just as mean, just as violent. But he just couldn’t see it in the pages in front of him. And yet, years later, two of them were now dead, murdered, and for why? A bit of bullying, playing cowboys and Indians with a little too much enthusiasm, throwing a few stink bombs around?

Harry turned a page to continue reading, his eyes drawn to a substantial section just down the page where the boys’ names were noted, and a date, but the notes relating to these details had been scribbled out, which struck him as a little odd. Why would that be? The rest of the records were all clear, but this bit had been all crossed out for some reason. But what was it? The notes surrounding this particular section were from the winter of nineteen seventy-eight and seventy-nine, which had clearly been a bit of a one to go through. The school had been closed for a while with frozen pipes, a particularly lethal ice slide – which had stretched the entire length of the playground and been the main cause of at least two broken wrists and a case of mild concussion – had had to be salted, much to the pupils’ disappointment, and a mass snowball fight, between years five and six, had resulted in two of the dinner staff going home with bruises, and detention for both year groups. An eventful winter, Harry smiled, imagining the fun that the kids must have had.

Harry thought back over the last few days, remembered the little chat with Nick, and how he’d found himself wondering if something had happened back at school. Was that this crossed out bit in the notes? It was a leap, not least because Nick had not exactly said very much, if anything at all. But then again, Harry mused, by not saying much, perhaps Nick had ended up saying quite a lot. So, was this it, then? The something that either did or didn’t happen? It was hurting Harry’s brain to think like this and he was pretty sure a headache was coming on when a cough from behind him caused him to glance over his shoulder and find the headteacher standing in the door.

‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said, glancing at his watch, ‘I didn’t mean to be so long.’

‘It’s not a problem, honestly,’ the head teacher replied. ‘However, I do have a meeting to go to and I need to lock up. Unless of course you want to spend the night in a draughty Victorian school, which rumour has it, may even have its own ghost!’

‘Really?’

The head teacher laughed.

‘No, I don’t think so, at least I’ve not seen anything, though this is an old building, so it makes lots of weird creaking sounds. The children do like to spook each other though with stories of something hiding in the boiler room under the school!’

Harry started to pack away the folders. ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about this, do you?’ he asked, pointing at the crossed out text.

The head teacher stared over Harry’s shoulder.

‘No, can’t say that I do. Winters were a lot worse back then by all accounts. Though they can still be pretty harsh up here if the wind blows in the right direction. And that snowball fight sounds like it was fun, doesn’t it?’

Harry laughed. ‘Yes, it does, rather.’ He tapped a finger on the file. ‘Is there a chance I could take these with me? Down to the police office, I mean? If I had a few sets of eyes on them, they could be helpful.’

The head teacher looked thoughtful for a moment.

‘I don’t have a problem with that,’ she said eventually, ‘if you’re sure they can be of help?’

‘Anything can be of help right now,’ Harry said.

Outside the school, and now carrying a very heavy bag of files, Harry made his way down the hill and back into Hawes. The weather had turned nasty again, the world around him a crashing, thunderous mess of stair rod rain and howling wind. It was gone six in the evening and the town was still busy, regardless of the weather. And on the wet wind, the delicious scent of fish and chips wafted by and Harry’s stomach grumbled. He resisted though, walking past the chippy and on towards the community office.

It seemed as though the weather was doing its level best to act as a portent to the investigation, Harry thought. The week was moving forward, and with every step they took, the journey seemed to get darker, murkier, more awful, and the weather was doing just the same, matching it all step for step.

Pushing through the door, Harry found himself in the presence of a somewhat depleted team, comprising Liz, Gordy, and a completely new face in uniform. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket but ignored it.

‘Well, the mighty wander returns!’ Gordy said, standing up and stretching. ‘And how goes it at the hallowed place of learning?’

Harry heaved the bag of files onto a nearby table.

‘Well, I’ve got homework, so make of that what you