The Piggy Farmer (The Barrington Patch Book 3)

by Emmy Ellis

  Today she had a meeting, one she’d asked for in private, with those three detectives, the ones who led the case, useless prats that they were. DCI Robin Gorley, DC Simon Knight, and DS Lisa Codderidge. Bob Holworth was going to be there, too, seeing as he was a beat officer, supposedly with his twig-like finger on the pulse of the community, although he turned a blind eye to everything because of Lenny. Joe wasn’t aware of what she was doing—she didn’t need him smoothing things over, accepting everything the police had to say, nodding, saying, “Thank you for all you’ve done.”

  And what was that then? Nowt much as far as she was concerned. Officers had gone over Joe’s land and Sculptor’s Field, canvassed the residents, but other than that…

  It wasn’t enough.

  Part of her thought Joe was amenable for a quiet life, or maybe coping with grief was enough for him to deal with at the minute, and owt more was too…extra. He was probably holding on by the skin of his teeth, although he hid it well for her sake, God bless him. She could understand why he acted that way, but for her own peace of mind, she needed to know once and for all whether everything had been done that could be done—but she knew that answer already: it hadn’t, not in her mind anyroad.

  The lie in place—“I’m going to the market, Joe. I need some fresh air and time by myself. No, please don’t come with me…”—she parked in town behind the high street and walked towards the nearby police station. She imagined they’d be dreading her arrival, moaning amongst themselves about having to put up with some snivelling woman who couldn’t let things go. The Family Liaison Officer, Dina Corsa, had been the only one who’d seemed to give a proper shit, staying with Lou and Joe while their horrific new life played out, from the snatch right up until a week after the funeral—but her being there was more to do with watching them, to see if owt slipped and their guilt became apparent.

  It was usually the parents, Dina had said, without tact, but Lou preferred honesty.

  “Not that I think it’s you, mind.” Dina had massaged her temples—it must be headache-inducing having to observe people so closely. “But I have to stay here because of that line of enquiry. You’re good people, I can see that, but those are the rules, and I apologise if it’s obvious I’m listening in. I’m not meant to tell you this sort of thing, by the way.”

  Well, it was a good job Lou hadn’t taken offence at that, wasn’t it. She’d seen enough programmes on the box that showed a behind-the-scenes look at how the police worked. She remembered thinking they wouldn’t find a speck of evidence against her and Joe: “You carry on and do your job, Dina, but you won’t see or hear owt incriminating from us.”

  She sighed, blotting out the memories.

  Along the path that had a shortcut branching off it into town, people gave her funny looks—some who might think Lou and Joe had something to do with the kidnap and murder, others clearly at a loss, not knowing what to do or say:

  “Do I smile at her? No, that’d be disrespectful.”

  “Do I ask how she is? No, because I don’t want her going on and on then crying; I can’t deal with that, got too many of my own problems to deal with.”

  Really, though? The biggest problem you could ever have was dying yourself or someone you loved carked it, but she got it, she did. She’d avoided grieving people herself in the past, unable to express her condolences without feeling fake or inappropriate. Like the flowers, platitudes were a waste of time. Nowt made death any better.

  Unless it was murder for justice.

  But maybe knowing the man in the back of the van had been caught…that would go some way to easing things a bit, to calming her tumultuous mind. Lenny had already killed The Mechanic, the man who’d wielded the gun, but she’d keep her mouth shut about that.

  She entered the station, approaching the desk, telling the sergeant behind it who she was and why she was there, a stream of words she’d rather not have uttered, but they were necessary all the same. To be honest, talking was a chore now.

  Being a human trying to move on while emotionally stuck in place wore her out.

  He gave her a sympathetic glance, his top lip hidden beneath a wiry, ginger-tipped moustache, the roots brown, and buzzed her through, his directions on where to go leaving her mind as quickly as they’d entered it. She only ever retained information that was important these days, and all of it was to do with Jess.

  The sergeant must have phoned through. DCI Gorley appeared in a doorway on the right, hanging out of the room, balanced on one foot as if he gripped the inside jamb, swinging there, a child in a man’s forty-something body. Hardly appropriate or respectful behaviour, was it, but she’d let it slide no matter how much it poked at her nerves.

  In the room, the other male officers sat on a sofa, the woman on one of two armchairs. Lou had been in here before, the ‘soft’ interview room, one that was supposed to put people at ease and fool them into thinking they weren’t being interrogated. Comfort, Gorley had said last time: “So you don’t feel overwhelmed with a table-and-chair setting, and we have video recording us instead of the usual tape.”

  She wondered whether they’d be recording this today, whether they’d indulge her with the idea of catching her out. Whether her name was below the word SUSPECT? on their incident room whiteboard, never mind that Dina would have passed on her expert opinion, proclaiming them innocent.

  “Please, take a seat.” Gorley pointed to the spare chair.

  Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood to be polite and shake her hand today, and the other officers weren’t inclined to use their manners either, remaining on their arses instead of standing when she’d walked in.

  Lou couldn’t help but feel the seat left for her was so she could be seen from all angles, her responses scrutinised, her body language interpreted to fill whatever mould they wanted it to fit in. Well, they could study her all they liked, she hadn’t killed her daughter, so they could piss off on that one.

  She sat, regardless of her stubborn nature urging her to insist she’d stand, thanks, and placed her handbag on her lap. They’d probably see that as her putting a barrier between herself and them, some kind of psychological nonsense, but no, she just didn’t want it on the floor. Who knew how many germs it’d pick up there. She had to ensure her home was free of dirt for when Jess returned from Cornwall.

  “How can we help you today?” Gorley sat beside Bob on the sofa. He crossed his legs and laced his fingers, cuddling his knee with them, his shiny-shoed foot swinging.

  “The man in the back of the van.” Lou stared at him. “Or woman. They still haven’t been found. Why not?”

  Gorley winced at her directness and cleared his throat, his cheeks going rosy. “Ah, see, here’s the thing…”

  DS Lisa Codderidge leant forward in the chair opposite, hands curled over the ends of the arms. “Please know we didn’t want this to happen.” She gestured to herself then DC Simon Knight.

  Gorley glared at her, his nostrils flaring.

  It reminded Lou of the pigs on the farm.

  “I’ll handle this, thank you.” Gorley appeared uncomfortable, either annoyed at Codderidge or bracing himself for what he had to say. Was bad news on the way? “Jess’ case has been closed for the time being.”

  Blood pulsed in Lou’s ears, and the room seemed to spin. Disorientated for a moment, she blinked. “What?” She hadn’t said it breathily, on a gasp, a mother at the beginning of a long road who just wanted to curl up and die, but more in anger, a blunt delivery through clenched teeth.

  “We will still be looking out for Rear Van Man, and of course the one who had the gun, but as of today, the team has been disbanded. The clues we have to go on—the people involved, the white van, the shotgun—that’s all we have, nowt else. There were no traces on Jess or her clothing to lead us to whoever took her. I’m sorry.”

  “So she’s only just been put in the ground and already you’re giving up?” Lou couldn’t believe this. Didn’t her daughter matter? Now she was buried, the case
was being buried, too?

  “As I said, we will still be active—well, I will be; Simon, Lisa, Dina, and Bob will need to return to normal duty—but I assure you, if I find owt, you’ll be the first to know.” Gorley swallowed.

  “What’s your reasoning behind this?” she asked. “I’ve heard about cases being active for years. Why is Jess’ so different?”

  Gorley smiled as though he’d armed himself with this information previous to the meeting and was well able to fob her off. “With so little clues to go on, the search of your husband’s land and Sculptor’s Field bringing up absolutely nowt regarding a perpetrator, despite the body being left by The Beast… We have no van sightings other than Joe following it as far as he could, then it disappeared on the Barrington, as you know. No discarded shotgun, boilersuit, balaclava, or the brown gloves from Rear Van Man, no witnesses coming forward saying they saw someone on the field placing Jess there. We’re chasing ghosts.”

  “You’re washing your hands of it, you mean.” Lou had a hard time remaining in her chair. She gripped the top of her bag, the contents hard against her fingertips—the back of her brush, perhaps, the can of Coke she’d brought in case her throat went dry.

  Codderidge wasn’t successful in hiding a smirk; was she glad Lou had sniped at her boss? But was it really the best time to chalk up slights? Was it appropriate? No, it bloody well wasn’t. Lou was offended by it. Wanted to leap up and hurt the woman: Don’t you dare sully the meeting about my daughter with your stupid, stupid one-upmanship, you fucking bitch!

  Codderidge maybe sensed Lou’s animosity and straightened her treacherous face into something more respectful. “Despite not being on the case any longer, myself, and Simon especially, will be keeping our eyes and ears open. There must be something out there for us to find.”

  My thoughts exactly, although I still don’t trust you, woman. Why haven’t you found it already? You’ve had long enough. Too busy shagging your colleague, I’ll bet.

  “Um, that’s not what the superintendent wants,” Gorley butted in, hand held up to stop Codderidge from talking. “We’ve unfortunately had our orders.”

  So had someone else made the call? Was Gorley only passing information on and the decision was nowt to do with him? She’d heard of ‘don’t shoot the messenger’, of course she had, but right this second, if she had a gun, she’d fire all six bullets into his bastard face.

  Lou rose, unable to stand these people any longer, their presence, their breathing, their everything. Yet she stared at each officer in turn, wanting to gauge where they stood on this, the tiny root of revenge grasping in the darkest corner of her mind, a course of action she’d take if she had to, but for now, she’d just think about it, imagine it.

  A life for a life. Or four lives for Jess’.

  Maybe five if the superintendent found himself on her shit list.

  Gorley couldn’t meet her intense gaze, glancing around the room like some builder totting up the cost of repairs, already mentally absent from the discussion now she’d made her intention to leave clear. He’d washed his hands of her as well as her daughter.

  Knight made eye contact and mouthed ‘sorry’, his cheeks reddening, then he perused the ceiling, mimicking Gorley enough that Lou was tempted to check for damp patches up there.

  Codderidge gave her a tentative smile, her eyes apologising instead of her mouth, but those eyes, they didn’t show her soul enough, the shutters to who she really was were closed, and Lou wasn’t convinced the woman’s emotions were sincere.

  And Bob? He gawped at the cheap grey carpet, maybe asking himself why he hadn’t gone inside the houses of the people he’d questioned after the kidnap—if he had, he could have been the hero of the hour and found who they were looking for. And as the strained seconds ticked by on the office-generic wall clock, the air tense with Lou’s suppressed feelings, he was unaware she knew all about his part in this from the gossips at the funeral. She ought to blab about it, right this minute, tell Gorley what his precious officer hadn’t done, but no, she’d wait, get her revenge someday.

  She walked out, going down the corridor, back to the door to be buzzed through. She strutted into reception and leant on the front desk. “I’d like to see Superintendent Black, please. Now. Either that or I file a complaint.”

  The flustered desk sergeant made a phone call then escorted her back down the corridor, past the door to Soft Interview One, which stood open, the room empty, only the three shapes of backsides on the sofa giving any clue as to who had so recently sat on it. Up some stairs, and she was shown into an office, Black sitting behind a large desk covered in paperwork, his hair the opposite of his name, all grey-white with tufty sideburns, a leftover from the seventies. She supposed he was proud of his uniform by the way he straightened the tie. He was probably all togged up ready to do a press conference about closing the case.

  He stood and shook her hand, his thin fingers unsettlingly warm, bordering on sweaty. “Ah, you had a meeting with DCI Gorley et cetera, yes? Do sit down.”

  Lou didn’t want to. She wiped her palm on her thigh. “I’ll stand and get straight to the point. I’m not pleased the case has been shut down.”

  “Well, it hasn’t been closed exactly, just scaled right back. DCI Gorley is still on it.”

  She laughed, the sound abrupt and unlike her usual, the one before Jess was taken, where every note was carefree and merry then. “What can one man do that a hundred or so couldn’t? If your whole force couldn’t find any clues, how will he?”

  “I do understand your feelings, I really do, but unfortunately, when no new clues come to light, and the ones we currently have lead nowhere, we can’t possibly keep a whole force on just one case. There are budgets and—”

  “So it comes down to money. The cost.”

  “I’m afraid that’s a factor, yes. When I asked DCI Gorley how things were progressing and he laid it all out, the decision was made to scale it back.”

  “But she hasn’t even been dead that long. It’s all so fresh.”

  “To you, I imagine it will always be fresh, and I’m incredibly sorry about that, but to us… We’ve exhausted all options. I can ask DCI Gorley to question the residents again, if you like, but it will be a long process as he’ll have to do that around his usual workload. Other crime doesn’t stop because one little girl is dead.”

  Oh.

  Oh.

  That was a terrible thing to say. So unfeeling. So blunt.

  She mentally wrote his name on her shit list.

  Bright-red pen.

  Capital letters.

  At the top, above Gorley.

  “So he’ll fit it in,” she said. “Like an afterthought. I see how it is.”

  Lou stalked out, anger burning through her. These coppers, they didn’t care. And despite Codderidge acting like she gave a shit, she didn’t, not really. Her behaviour had been to keep Lou from casting the net of blame over her, to absolve her of any involvement in the decision to shut the case down.

  All of them would pay. Black, Gorley, Knight, Codderidge, and that bastard Holworth. She just didn’t know how.

  Yet.

  Chapter Ten

  Cassie’s gloves had her hands sweating; maybe a pinch of fear contributed to that, too, although it was healthy fear, the kind that whispered: Don’t be complacent. Don’t think you’ll never get caught.

  The allotment was on the outskirts of the estate behind the trees near where one set of her sex workers stood at night, and someone could come by, cutting through town on their way to Worksop, spot the shed burning, the smoke rising, and call the fire brigade. While that wasn’t what she wanted or needed, she’d leave it up to fate.

  Gorley was dead, main objective met.

  She took his notebook off the bench, lit the edge via the gas heater, and dropped it on the shed floor, searching for something to place on top. She spotted a folded deckchair leaning against the wall and chucked it onto the mini fire. The flames caught the striped materi
al, an orange tongue poking through, the smell plasticky. Once a good blaze was going, enough that it wasn’t likely to go out, she glanced at the ex-copper and thought about his adult kids mentioned in the ledger. His wife.

  Then shut her mind off.

  She walked out, closed the door, padlocked it, and joined Mam and Lou in the car.

  They needed to get away before the gas cannister exploded.

  She took a blonde curly wig off the passenger seat, left there once they’d arrived at the shed, jammed it on, and checked Mam and Lou in the back. They also had wigs on, disguised perfectly again for the journey. If they had been seen on the way here, their fake descriptions were so far removed from their usual that the police would be looking for illusions. She drove off, the air tense, adrenaline barking at her blood, and scanned the road behind and ahead for anyone who’d spot them.

  No other vehicles on the quiet lane. She was going to enter the town from the far side of New Barrington, where the scrappy bloke conducted his sometimes-illegal business. She’d have to get this stolen vehicle torched then wrecked. Blood had splashed on her and Lou, and it was on Lou’s boot where she’d kicked Gorley’s cheek.

  Barney Lipton had been sent away, a grand in his pocket instead of a flea in his ear, his silence guaranteed; he’d been one of Dad’s many listeners back in the day, a spy in The Donny. The RESIDENTS ledger said Barney had been used to watch Gorley on the allotment once the old DCI had retired. Lenny still hadn’t trusted the ex-copper then, even though it appeared the man had done as her dad wanted.

  Cassie had made the decision not to mince Gorley, not to keep the detectives’ deaths quiet. During the early hours (possibly an hour of madness, depending on how this turned out), she’d decided the coppers getting killed was a proper good message, that even officers of the law weren’t safe—not that she’d be admitting she’d had owt to do with it, but people might suspect.

  If they got to Simon Knight and Lisa Codderidge this evening at their usual liaison spot, where they had sex then went home to their spouses, the officers looking into Gorley’s shed fire would rush to the other crime scene. They’d be occupied, caught up in officers killed in the line of affair, not duty, while Cassie, Mam, and Lou scoffed cake from The Shoppe Pudding, something Cassie needed to pick up later.