It’s not often you’re a witness to a murder, even in my line of work.

It had started out as a nice day on the beach, just me, the missus, and the kids. We’d been swimming for a while, the kids lapping up the opportunity to get in the sea. Coming from inland it’s a rare treat for them. We were sat at the southern end of the beach, just where the sand ends, and the huge steep grassy hill starts. We were watching some hang-glider pilots above the cliff. Three of them there were, their triangular sails sweeping a vivid streak through the air, then stopping still as if pinned against the sky. Always facing out into the sea. Occasionally one would swoop right out to sea, daring to pit the pilots luck against the wind and fates, then rushing back to the updraft of the cliff. One of them, a bright blue kite with a red slash along the edge of the wing, was particularly bold charging far out, then scooting back; cutting it fine each time. He seemed to be reveling in the challenge.

My boy, Dan, was entranced by them, kept nagging me and insisting he wanted a go. In the end I gave into his nagging; "come on then Dan you little git, let’s go see what the score is." I knew there was no way he’d get to go up in one, he’s only nine. But truth be told I quite fancied the idea of flying one myself, and wanted to ask the score about getting lessons. We jumped into the car, and drove for what seemed like forever up and around the back of the hill, before seeing the farm gate and track that led to the top. I found a notice that said that all pilots had to be licensed, and members of the local club, to use the site. I pointed it out to Dan to soften the blow of him not being able to take a runner off the top of the cliff today.

We got to where the pilots were landed, all three of them were sat down chewing the fat. They were a friendly enough bunch, two lads in their early thirties, and a fella in his mid to late fifties. The old guy, fellow by the name of Neil, talked Dan through all the kit, and gave him a brief chat about flying in general. He had Dan in the palm of his hand, it turns out he and the other guys, who it turns out are his sons, run the local hang-gliding school. His patter was charming Dan’s pants off, he came across as a bit full of himself to me, but the kid liked it, so what the hell. He gave me a card, nice flashy number; with "Neil Shepard School of Hang-Gliding" and a list of his achievements on it. He told me all about getting licensed, how much the kit cost (sodding fortune) and let me know that he would do me a deal on lessons if I bought a glider off him.

Then one of the younger guys chips in; "let’s get up, the winds dying off, could be our last chance for one today." Then he gives the older bloke a bit of eyeball, comes on quite a bit strong I thought; " No more pushing it out for you dad you old fart. Stick in to shore. You’re not the hotshot pilot of yesterday, your getting a bit dozy in your old age." He seemed to be deliberately needling the older guy.

Dan and me stood back and watched them going through their preparation, me desperately trying to remember what the old guy had said about the kit, and chatting with Dan about it all. Just as the old guy was getting ready to shoot off the younger of the two lads runs up to him and tops up his drinks backpack, I think they’re called a camelback or something; "here you go dad, been thirsty work today," he said. They were all ready, the old geezers new looking kite making the other two look shabby. They all took off at just about the same time, and soared up above.

We watched all three of them till they started doing the pushing it out to sea bit. They dipped below the headland most of the time while doing this. It’s a good three hundred metres to the sea from up there, and Dan was getting too close to the edge for my tastes. So we, or rather I, decided to get back to the beach. I was starting to get worried that the wife would have given up on us, thinking us gone for good and may have eaten all the sarnies.

We wound our way back, quicker now we knew the way to go. As we rounded the final corner, just down towards where we’d left the girls waiting, we saw the kite we now knew as Neil’s, glide out into the sky, way out to sea. "He’s going too far dad, far to far! Shouted Dan; "he’ll never get back from there!" I thought at first Dan was exaggerating, but the glider just kept on going, and on, and on. I had my mobile in the car and got straight onto the services. Called for a lifeboat, but there’s no inshore boat on this bit of coast. Dan was crying his eyes out by this time, poor sod. He was just repeating "Neil…Neil..Neil" as if trying to call him back to shore. But by now the glider had hit the sea, too far out for us to see exactly where, or what was happening. Just then Dan glanced left and pointed at something moving fast out to sea from the beach, a jet-ski.

There was nothing I could do but watch for now, that and keep notes. I’m a habitual note writer, comes with the territory I suppose.

The jet-ski had stopped a fair way out, we still couldn’t see what was happening there though. After fifteen minutes one of the local area cars turns up, with a thick looking woodentop in it. I gave him a rundown of what I’d seen so far, and he told me that they had an "all boats" alert out, and there was a fishing boat coming from the harbour on other side of the hill. Just as he said that it stove into view around the headland, making good speed. I told the woodentop, or PC Conyers to be more precise, to get himself up the top of the hill and pull in the other two pilots if he wanted a good collar on his record. He pulled one of the most dim faces its ever been my misfortune to witness, so I showed him my warrant card and told him to piss off sharpish. "What’s the charge Guv?" he asked, still looking as bright as a nine watt bulb. "Conspiracy to commit a crime, either attempted or actual murder, depending on how bad the guy out there is."

I got Dan back to the wife, and gave her my apologies. I let her know that, even though it’s my weekend off, I’d gone and got myself involved again. To take some of the heat off me, I told her that Dan had just had the shittiest day of his young life and was desperate for some TLC. Being the darling she is she took it all in her stride, and told me to go and do whatever I had to, and to try and be back before midnight. I couldn’t help think I’d just got myself on short rations for the rest of the month.

I drove to the harbour. After about forty minutes the boat pulled in, the hang-glider stuck incongruously on the deck like a dead lorikeet. A cylinder of tarp, like a rolled up carpet, was laid out against the gunnels of the boat, no prizes for guessing what was under there. I was just about to jump down onto the boat when a hand restrained me; "you always a ghoul, or you just trying it to add some novelty to this holiday?"

Coppers wit never varies, though to give him his due his delivery was good. So the warrant card got another airing. Young DC this guy, DC Craig, fresh out of probation, fast tracker by the look of him, wanting to make his mark. So I gave him what I knew so far, before we jumped down into the boat. DC Craig went and spoke to the boat owner and the jet-skiier, I took a look at Neil.

Just as I thought, no marks for originality boys.

I spoke with DC Craig, apparently PC Conyers had caught the two lads making a hasty job of packing up, they told him they were rushing over to see what they could do to help. They had reacted badly when he told them he was arresting them, the youngest one had thrown a punch at him. Funnily enough, and for all his dim looks, PC Conyers is the local force’s self defense instructor, and a karate champ to boot, you never know do you? The lad was now safely cuffed, slightly bleeding, and he and his brother were on their way to a cell back at the local nick.

So I got DC Craig to one side; "I can’t get involved, I’m a material witness, so here’s all that you didn’t hear off me. When they do the PM tomorrow, make sure the surgeons not pissed, and make sure he gets a toxicology test for cyanide and al other poisons done. Get both of them two swabbed down, when you get back. Make sure all their kit gets a good going over, and sweep the fields up there for any medicine bottles or the like." He was scribbling like fury now. "Go over the books for the flying school, see who owns it, what it owes, and what’s down the pan if it goes tit’s up. Get in touch with all the pupils who’ve trained there over the last year, see what they have to say about the whole set up. Check with other flying schools and get their rep. Check who they owe money too, and how much they were getting leaned on" Not only was he scribbling, he was nodding like one of those toy dogs in a car back window now. "Get a full family breakdown, and interview every local family member, boozing buddy, neighbour, and anyone with any connection to them."

"Jesus Guv, what if it turns out he had a heart attack? I’m going to look a right plonker! I’ll end up back with the woodentops before you can say "big screw-up."" He looked me in the eye when he said that, fair play to him, he may go places.

"Gary," I used his first name for the first time, giving him a little leeway, "I’ve seen more poisonings over the past thirty years than you’ve had canteen meals." He had the decency to give me a grin for such an obvious lie. "Don’t give me the beady eye, you can call me Sherlock if you want to, but lets just say that once you’re a copper you get a nose for these things. And once it all went tit’s up, I started doing the casework, I’m not so long off the streets to have forgotten all that stuff." He smiled in earnest at that. "I’ve been a copper for over thirty years Gary. I’m a good Chief Constable, and if you keep your gob shut, and your ears open you may learn something, ok?" He straightened up after the words "Chief Constable", finally remembering who I was, and how miserable I could make his life if he didn’t behave.

"Here’s what you are going to find. The old man was a big hotshot pilot, one of the sons said as much. He got the school going on the strength of his name. His name now means bugger all to the up coming generation, he’s history. He still likes the high life though, he was flying the flash new kite, the sons were on old ones. His card that he gave to me, has loads about him, and very little about the school on it. The two sons are breaking their balls trying to make a go of it, but all he wants to do is fly. I’ll bet you next months wages that the two lads have everything they own, probably including a mortgage on theirs and the family homes that’s up to the hilt, riding on the school. When you talk to ex-pupils they’ll tell you that the old man talked a lot, but it was the two boys that did all the work."

He was looking a bit gobsmacked now.

"One of the two lads has a temper on him, it’s the other one you want to look out for though, he’s the planner. He’s the one who will have gained the poison. They were hoping that he’d drink the stuff, and hit the sea dead. That thing would sink like a lead brick. By the time they got him off the bottom, what with the currents and tidal flow around here, and the fishes having him for breakfast, dinner and tea, he’d be in no fit state to test properly, they’d be in the clear. "Old man, pushing it on, heart attack." They were just bang out of luck with that jet-ski."

He’d stopped scribbling now. "Ok, just for the final coupe de grace, check all their insurance policies. There’ll be one, probably the most recent, which pays out handsomely, and doesn’t excluded these very circumstances. Ask them why, but more importantly how the hell, they got that."

He had the decency to drop me back to the cabin we were renting, I’d like to have seen him try to get out of it. He had a beer with me and the wife.

Six months later and the case opened and shut on the same day, the elder lad pleaded guilty, the younger to conspiracy. They got twenty plus years each. I met up with DC Craig at the courts, I had a favour to ask. He was like a puppy with a new toy, couldn’t do enough for me. The case had got him big brownie points with his boss, and as Jim, his boss, was an old mate of mine, I didn’t mind the two of them getting the glory. So I got taken down to the holding cells. The brothers were in separate cells, both of them had that stunned "what just happened to my life" look on their face.

I gave both of them the same message; "I don’t mind what you do to your own family, but I reckon you’ve put my lad off flying for life. That’s bang out of order, the kid was in love with the idea of it, and you robbed him of it, you bastards. You don’t do that to my family."

I think the message got through.