George had almost forgotten about Ronnie’s crushed hand. Had he told Sarah what had happened? He’d guessed he might. What did he care?
‘Good,’ he said, as his anger from that night flashed back all at once.
‘No denial then.’
‘Denial? No. Ronnie didn’t deny it either, Sarah. And if he ever touches you again or upsets my daughter in any way I’ll start breaking things right off. Things that surgery can’t help. So if you just called to have a go then you should know that I don’t care, that I’d do the very same—’
‘I didn’t.’
George was stopped in his tracks. The call wasn’t unexpected. But he had fully expected her to have had a go at him. Sarah didn’t approve of violence. She never had. George had always needed to be careful of what he told her about his work when they were together. And he’d always loved her principles.
‘Why did you call then?’ He felt calmer.
‘I need somewhere to stay. We need somewhere to stay. I can’t stay here. My mum’s being . . . difficult.’
‘Somewhere to stay? You’re moving out? What about Ronnie?’
‘I’ve kicked him out. That was the last straw. It’s not the first time. He was always so sorry. I thought he would change. Blah, blah, blah, right? You’ve heard it all before I bet. I’ve become a cliché — battered wife!’
‘Not a battered wife.’
‘No. You would never treat me like that. I was treated like a princess compared to that. I guess . . . I guess I miss that. Any chance then? We wouldn’t get in the way and it would just be until I can get somewhere sorted—’
‘Yes! Fuck, yes! Of course. I’m away — I mean, I’ll be back in a day or two. You can go there right now, though. There’s an old lady — flat two. She makes me terrible dinners. A lot. I haven’t got the heart to tell her I ditch them. She’s got a key.’
‘You’re rambling, George.’
‘I am. I don’t know what to say. I mean . . . don’t accept a dinner . . . This is so unexpected. Good unexpected, obviously.’
‘Really? You’re okay with this?’
‘Yeah, I am. But what about Charley? Moving back in with me just until you get somewhere sorted, I don’t want to play with her emotions. Is that not going to confuse her?’
‘Well, yes. If I really was looking for somewhere else and if we really can’t make it work then it will. But I’m always the optimist, George. I’ve been considering it for a while. I don’t think I’ve had a single happy day since . . . well, since we stopped being a family. I know about your job, I know what it means to you — for us. And I still want it back. I want it all back. We can try at least.’
‘I’ll chuck it in. I said I would. I told you this job is nothing to me if it means I get my family back.’
‘You don’t need to do that. I know how important it is. It’s me. I need to change my attitude towards it. I know that now.’
‘I’ll walk. It’s been getting on top of me anyway. I said I would. This job that I’m on now is the perfect reminder — it’s horrible, Sarah — what people will do to one another. I don’t want to be a part of it anymore. I want to go back to being a family man and pretending that this sort of shit doesn’t go on.’
Sarah actually chuckled. ‘Well, don’t do anything stupid. Or rash. Or rash and stupid. So when will you be home?’
George was still reeling. He couldn’t think straight. ‘I don’t know. A couple of days, tops. There’s a lot to do up here. As soon as I can.’
‘I thought the job was nothing to you!’ Sarah’s laughter continued. George giggled too.
‘This one is a little different.’
‘They’re all different, George. I’m not having a go. You do important work — I know that. Just like I know you can’t walk away from it.’
‘Not now. Not today. But tomorrow, maybe. We should make progress over the next twenty-four hours.’
‘Tomorrow!’ Sarah still sounded amused. ‘You know what they say about tomorrow, right?’
‘I do. It’s the very next day!’ George could see that the meeting room was emptying. The detectives were filing out. Some glanced over. Most didn’t.
‘Keep me informed,’ Sarah said.
‘I will, yeah. Go see my neighbour at number two for the key. I’ll call her to let her know. Oh and there’s not much food in and the bathroom’s a bit rank.’
‘I can hardly complain.’
‘No, I just mean can you get a shop in? And you might wanna get on your hands and knees and give the floor a scrub in there! If that’s not too much trouble, princess.’
‘Cheeky shit!’
‘So you’re really going there now? You’ll be there when I come home?’
‘We will, George. It’s been a while.’
George felt euphoria sweep through him. He took a rushed breath. ‘Too long, Sarah. I’ll be home. Soon.’
Emma got to him just as he ended the call. ‘You okay, George?’
‘Perfect. Everything’s perfect.’ He knew he was smiling broadly. He couldn’t help it.
‘Good to hear.’
‘How did it go with the team?’
‘As expected. A lot of shock and then a lot of determination. They’ll do what’s needed. I’ve already got a lot of them tasked. I see some improved CCTV has come through from a petrol station down your way. It gives a much better image.’
‘Did it? When?’
‘A few minutes ago. From Emily Ryker.’
‘Ah. I was on the phone. I’ll have a look.’
‘Well I wouldn’t expect you to be able to identify anyone from it. I’ve already forwarded it on to be put on the briefing up here for all the local officers. You never know your luck.’
‘Okay. Good. Are we ready to go see our vicar then?’
‘I think we are. You remember what I said about how we need to be gentle with him? Because he doesn’t like our police force very much.’
‘I do.’
‘You can forget that, George. Let’s go and piss him off.’
George laughed loudly, his spirits soaring. ‘Well, if there’s one thing I’m good at . . .’
Chapter 33
‘Do you people not pay your road tax around here or something?’ George moaned. His family hatchback was struggling over yet more ruts and bumps as he drove the last mile to St Dubricius’s Church. It was just after 10 a.m. They had been reliably informed that the vicar was there from ten o’clock most days. Sure enough, his car was parked in the same passing place as last time. The road was narrow, and George needed to slow down to pass it. He noticed the bank was well worn, suggesting that Lawrence’s car was always left there. George pulled up in the gravel car park. This time there was another car there, too: a small, silver Toyota. George pushed open the door to the church.
‘John? John are you here?’
‘Hold on, please!’ It was a woman’s voice, coming from the back of the church — elderly, George guessed. He walked towards it. Someone stepped out of the vestry. He had been right about her age.
‘Sorry to bother you. I was hoping to speak to the vicar.’
‘I see. Well I’m sorry but he isn’t here. I haven’t seen him today. He was here yesterday morning.’
‘I see. Is that his car outside?’
‘It is. I saw it this morning. He does leave it sometimes if he’s going to the pub on his way home.’
George turned to Emma. ‘And we know where home is, do we?’ She nodded confirmation.
‘Perfect. Well, thank you for your help. Once again, sorry to bother you.’
‘It’s no bother. I just do a bit of cleaning. Maybe some paperwork. If he comes in, who should I say was here asking after him?’
‘Ah, yes. I’m Inspector George Elms. We have met before, John and I, very briefly. I said to him that if I was ever back in the area I would pop in is all. Nothing to worry about.’
‘Nothing to worry about, but you’re still going up to his house from here?’ Her head t
urned sideways a little. Her lips curled. She looked like a woman who could smell a rat.
‘I’m a three-hour drive away. No guarantee I’ll be back up this way anytime soon. I might just bid my goodbyes is all.’
‘No point going up to the house, then. He’s not been there in a while. Between you and me I don’t think it’s very good at home.’
George was suddenly interested. ‘Is that right? I’m sorry to hear that. Is it the pressure of running this place?’ George gestured towards the stained window that was bleeding its colour where the sunlight was pouring through it.
‘Maybe. I did wonder if it was all getting too much for him. But I don’t like to pry.’
George didn’t believe that for a second. ‘So where would I find him? If I wanted to catch him before I left?’
The woman shrugged. ‘I really don’t know. I didn’t think he had anywhere else to go. Maybe she’s let him back in up there, but I doubt it. I thought I hadn’t seen her for a while and she always used to come down, at least on a Sunday. Then she brought some of his stuff down in suitcases. He wasn’t here, it was just me. She left the cases, said I should tell him not to go back. She looked furious. He must have found somewhere to be but I wouldn’t fancy it was back there. Not yet.’
‘Are you expecting him here today?’
‘He’s here every day at some point. There’s an evening sermon and choir practice today too. They’re both much later though.’
‘Great. Thanks again for your help.’
‘No problem.’
George and Emma waited until they were back in the car before they spoke.
Emma went first. ‘She doesn’t like him, does she?’
‘No. She would appear to take a very dim view. Seems to be a running theme with our friend Lawrence.’
‘So, do you think he’s been messing about with another woman? That might give us a problem if no one knows who she is. We need to know where he’s staying.’
‘And we need to find him first. I’d rather not ask around too much either. We don’t want him getting wind that we’re looking for him. He can’t be allowed time to ditch anything.’
‘Well we’re not going to find him at home and I’m not very good at waiting. I get the feeling you’re not either.’
‘It’s not my favourite part of policing. We could still try his home address? Maybe his wife will talk to us. Tell us what we don’t know already.’
‘We could do that. What do you think about going to visit this other church?’ Emma said.
‘The ruins?’ George was doubtful.
‘I’ve not been there. I don’t think anyone did as part of the initial investigation either. Why would we have done, I suppose? I don’t know if it’s viable as a place to hide out.’
‘You think Lawrence is hiding out?’
‘Who knows? Maybe that’s where all this money has been going all along.’
‘That is a fair point. And you know where it is?’
Emma was fiddling with her phone. George could see a mapping application. ‘We must have passed the turning for it on the way here. There’s a curve in the road, a gentle curve. It looks like if we had gone straight on there . . .’
‘I don’t remember seeing a road coming off it?’
‘Me neither. I wasn’t looking for it though.’
George turned round in the car park. As the car moved away he saw the old lady at the main entrance to the church with a broom. She was making token efforts to brush the steps as they drove past. He waved. She didn’t wave back.
George was right about the road. There wasn’t one. There was a track, thick with ferns. It wasn’t a track that would be found if you didn’t know it was there somewhere. George parked the car to get a closer look.
‘Well something’s been along it,’ he said. ‘And recently.’
Emma nodded. ‘It has.’
‘And they’ve tried to hide that fact too.’ George stepped past the first layer of ferns. There were two flattened tracks leading away from the road. The ferns were tall, between four and six feet high and they had been flattened rather than broken at the stem. The layer closest to the road looked to have been stood awkwardly back up while further in they were crushed and lying down. As if someone had used the track and then made a good effort to conceal it. George held up one of the taller ferns closest to the road. He let it fall back to where it had been lying. He locked eyes with Emma.
‘You don’t think . . .?’
‘Roberts?’ George turned to peer down the track. The crushed ferns gave a clear trail to follow.
‘We should call it in,’ Emma said. ‘Get some more patrols here before we take a look.’
‘We should definitely call it in,’ George said. He walked quickly to the boot of his car where he and Emma both had their grab bags. He pulled his stab vest over his head. His pepper spray, baton and handcuffs he slung over his shoulder in a covert holder. Emma did the same.
‘We’re not waiting, then.’ Emma picked up her radio. She turned it on and waited for the beep to confirm it was joined to the network. ‘I was hoping we wouldn’t.’
George walked ahead. He could hear Emma on the radio. She gave their location as best she could. She requested immediate backup. She said that a 4x4 vehicle would probably manage the track. George thought his family hatchback might stand a chance, but he preferred an approach on foot. He didn’t want to make a sound.
Emma caught him up. The path curved to the right, towards the river. It was close enough for George to hear it but not see it; the foliage was too thick. It sounded like they were passing a shallow section. The water hissed and gurgled as if over rocks and pebbles. They kept moving. The track now curved gently to the left, enough to limit visibility to around ten metres in front. Suddenly the terrain changed: the ferns were replaced by a wild grass underfoot. The two flattened lines were now more obvious as the exposed mud showed them to be tyre tracks with a distinctive pattern.
‘There!’ Emma pointed off to the right, towards the sound of the river. George now saw it too: a flint wall, old and decrepit, with no roof.
‘We’re here,’ he whispered. He moved to the left of the ruins, staying on the track. Suddenly it opened up into a wild grass clearing with some tombstones scattered among the greenery. The ruins were scattered too, and incomplete. It wasn’t clear what part of the church they were looking at. George moved into the clearing. The high flint wall they had seen to the right was long and flat with a big, rough-looking doorway cut out of the middle and tall, empty windows to both sides.
‘George!’ Emma was a little further forward and was staring around the end of the wall. George closed the distance between them quickly to see what she was looking at. It was a white van, side on, with its rear doors hanging open. George remained still. There was neither movement nor sound from anywhere other the chattering of the river. He moved towards the van.
‘George!’ Emma whispered. ‘We should wait.’
‘We might be too late already,’ he whispered back. He ran silently over to the driver’s door and peered in. The cab was empty. There were two bottles of water in the centre console and a pizza box in the passenger foot well. It looked the same as the pizza box left back in Capel and the phone number on it had Langthorne’s area code.
George felt like he might burst. He moved slowly towards the back of the van. He pulled his baton and racked it. It sprung to its full length with a thwack. He rested the hitting end on his shoulder and gripped the handle tightly. He reached the end of the van and squatted to see under the open rear door. There was nothing on the ground — certainly no giant feet that might be holding up Henry Roberts. George didn’t know what to expect. He thought he could feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck. As Emma drew up at his right shoulder, he sucked in his breath and moved swiftly round the door.
‘Empty,’ he said. ‘But come and look at this.’ George pushed his baton shut on the floor and put it back in its holder while Emma joined him at the
back of the van. There were deep, fresh gouges down the middle of the van’s plywood floor. Something heavy had been dragged out. Drag marks continued on the ground, too. Whatever it was had been heavy enough to churn up the turf and leave a trail that led from the ruins into dense woodland. George motioned at the radio Emma still clutched in her hand.
‘How far away are they?’
‘Five minutes out, I reckon.’
‘Ideal.’ George started walking. The drag marks were easy to follow.
‘I thought that meant you were going to wait?’
‘No need. They’re only five minutes behind.’
Emma swore, but she fell in behind George. She spoke quietly into her radio. The path closed in almost immediately. To the right, the foliage was thicker: bushes, ferns and leafy trees. To the left was a bank made up of large rocks and mud. The going became more difficult at a couple of points, where rocks from the bank had slipped across the path. George could still hear the river to their right but it was quieter. It burbled and gurgled, but he still couldn’t see it. He was certain that he wouldn’t be seen from the river either.
George and Emma froze at almost the same time. There was a small clearing ahead shrouded in trees; they could only see the entrance to it. Across the entrance a rope was pulled taught at an oblique angle. George racked his baton again and edged forward.
The rope was hooked over a stout branch that, despite its thickness was bowing under the strain. One end was anchored, passing through a grey, metal hoop and then into a solid-looking ratchet device. The other end of the rope was still out of sight. George needed to move further out of the safety of the tree-lined path to see where it went. George lifted the baton so he was ready to strike. He could feel the steel resting on his shoulder. He glanced back to Emma. She was moving closely behind him. He stepped quickly into the clearing and then stopped dead.
The rope groaned and strained as it flexed. George was so tense the noise made him jump. It ran high above him and wrapped around a thick plank of wood that formed the upright of a cross that rose some fifteen feet. Its base looked to be sunk into the ground. Attached to it and facing away he could see the back of a figure in dark clothing, clinging to the wood. He couldn’t see how; the legs were at an odd angle. The arms were stretched out, along the plank. George wasn’t sure if it was someone or something. It looked to him like an effigy. George lowered his baton. A crucifix. Someone was playing games.
The George Elms Trilogy Box Set Page 74
