Their path took them towards a tall building with a corrugated roof. Inside stood a fearsome metal contraption with a conveyor belt and a huge circular saw with teeth sharper than a shark’s. On the ground at the far end of the machine was a big sack filled with poplar logs.
‘DIY wood cutter,’ Greg said. ‘Naughty, naughty. Bet he makes sure it’s out of sight when the health and safety people come round to inspect. Lethal, by the look of it. If Orla Payne wanted a quick exit, she could have squatted on the conveyor and switched on the saw.’
‘Nasty way to go.’
‘Hey, a few nanoseconds of agony, and it’s done. As compared to – what?’ He pretended to squirm. ‘Trapped in a pile of grain, waiting for the loader to dump the next batch. Think about it. Knowing the stuff will suffocate you, and able to do bugger all to save yourself.’
Hannah swallowed. ‘Point taken.’
The barn loomed before them. Stone steps led up to the haylofts; calves squealed in the bays below. A spade and scythe leant against one wall. At the sound of unfamiliar voices, a broad-shouldered man in a faded black T-shirt and grubby jeans came out of the nearest bay. Hair grey and close-cropped, face weather-beaten, arms muscular. A line of sweat gleamed on his brow. He considered them rather as he might weigh up cats caught in a hen coop.
‘Mr Hinds? My name is Detective Chief Inspector Scarlett, and I head the Cold Case Review Team. This is DS Greg Wharf. Thanks very much for sparing us a few minutes.’
‘My time is money.’
Mike Hinds had a strong local accent, which he seemed to be laying on with a trowel, as if he liked to play the horny-handed son of toil. But there was more to him than that; he’d spent a year studying natural sciences at Cambridge before giving up and going back to the family farm. Bloody-minded, yes, but intelligent.
‘We understand that, Mr Hinds.’
‘Then hopefully you won’t cost me more than a few quid, Chief Inspector. I’ve already spent a long time talking to your people about Orla.’
He stood on the cobbles, legs wide apart, hands thrust deep into his pockets. His sceptical tone made her rank sound like proof of declining standards, as if she’d been promoted because she was a thirty-something woman, not a proper detective. Hannah ground her teeth, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of provoking her temper.
‘We’d like to ask you a few questions about Callum’s disappearance.’
‘When my wife told me you wanted to talk about my son, I thought she must have got her wires crossed.’ Hannah guessed Deirdre had felt the rough edge of his tongue. ‘What has Callum got to do with this? He died twenty years ago.’
Were his eyes glistening? Could be the sunlight, rather than tears.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Hinds, I understand this is a difficult time for you.’
‘Oh, you understand, do you?’ He took a stride forward, and for an instant, she thought he meant to grab hold of her and wrap his meaty fingers around her throat. ‘A boy dead, twenty years back, and now his sister? You’ve got dead children of your own, have you? Do you really feel my pain?’
Hannah remembered the unborn child she had lost. Don’t go there. He didn’t know; he was a wounded animal, lashing out in a confusion of grief, rage and self-defence.
‘Might be easier if we went inside, Mr Hinds,’ Greg said. ‘This doesn’t need to take long.’
All of a sudden, her DS had morphed into Mr Nice Guy, affable as a saloon bar chum. It was like watching an alien bodysnatcher assume the appearance of a harmless human being. But Hinds wasn’t shifting.
‘Don’t worry, Sergeant. It definitely won’t take long, you can bet on that.’
‘Orla contacted the Cold Case Review Team this week,’ Hannah said. ‘She wanted us to look afresh at what happened to her brother.’
Mike Hinds flexed his muscles. Habit, or a warning sign? ‘She knew bloody well what happened.’
‘She discussed the case with a variety of people after coming back to this area. It’s clear she wasn’t satisfied that her uncle was responsible for Callum’s disappearance.’
‘She didn’t have a clue,’ Hinds said. ‘As a kid, she preferred fairy tales to reality, and she never got them out of her system. Things got worse once the booze started to rot her brain. Just like it rotted her mother’s.’
‘Niamh didn’t believe Philip killed Callum either, did she?’
‘Her state of mind depended on how pissed she was. After Callum went missing, she was in … what do you call it?’ He glared. ‘Denial?’
‘Philip didn’t leave a suicide note, or any confession. There is no proof he harmed a hair on your son’s head.’
‘Hanged himself, didn’t he? What better evidence do you want?’
‘He’d been interviewed by the police, he must have been scared witless. A man with learning difficulties, under intolerable pressure, who had never learnt effective coping skills.’
‘He was pathetic. So fucking weak.’
Mike Hinds spat out the words, and Hannah saw in his eyes that nothing, in his book, was more contemptible than weakness. He must have despised Philip for as long as he could remember.
Greg said, ‘After the divorce, Niamh made it hard for you to see Callum. Women do that sometimes, don’t they? The law’s in their favour, and they use it to their advantage. Driven by some sort of thirst for revenge.’
‘She was a mean bitch.’
Greg nodded towards the barn. ‘Couldn’t hack it, I suppose. Farm life doesn’t suit everyone, eh?’
‘Farmers marry farmers’ daughters, it’s the best way, but I met an Irish girl with big tits at a club in Carlisle and let myself get carried away. Biggest mistake of my life.’
‘Often let yourself get carried away, do you?’
‘Not by women,’ Hinds said. ‘Least, not for a long while.’
He fixed his eyes on Hannah. She was wearing a cream trouser suit and open-neck blouse. Lauren had issued fresh ‘standards of expectation’ a month back, as part of her campaign to smarten up the force’s image, and as a DCI, Hannah was expected to take a lead when it came to dress code. In the age of austerity, the emphasis was on looking sober and businesslike – no earrings for men, no tattoos likely to offend, no violently coloured hair. And certainly, nothing too revealing. Hinds didn’t look impressed.
‘You did better second time around,’ Greg said.
‘Deirdre? Yeah, she’s not quite such a pain in the arse as Niamh.’
Don’t go overboard with the compliments, Hannah thought. Spare a thought for what it’s like for a woman, trying to make a life with you. But she kept her mouth shut. Greg was doing fine, talking man to man.
‘You got to know her before Callum went missing?’
‘She was only young at the time. Training to be a farm secretary; we met at an NFU do. Her dad had a sheep farm, a few miles this side of the Scottish border. Thankless task – poor sod went bankrupt six months before cancer got him. Deirdre was one of five, the baby of a family that didn’t have two pennies to rub together.’
‘Until you provided a roof over her head?’
‘We didn’t live together until we’d been courting for eighteen months. Things were different in them days, and I bided my time. Once bitten, you know?’ Greg said with feeling, ‘I do know.’
‘Deirdre would come over here to visit, then go back home. Bit by bit, she started staying the night.’
‘How did Niamh react?’
Hinds snorted. ‘She got wind I was seeing Deirdre, not that it was any of her business after she’d run off with Kit Payne.’
‘I bet it didn’t stop her grabbing her pound of flesh in the divorce settlement.’
‘You’re not wrong. She tried to say it wasn’t good for Callum, hanging around here.’
Greg chuckled. ‘When you might be occupied with your girlfriend?’
‘He caught us at it once, admitted.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘Nah, we were on the sofa in the back room.
’ Hinds had his eyes on Hannah. The idea of shocking her appealed to him, she thought; he couldn’t resist the temptation to talk. ‘I couldn’t wait to get her upstairs, and we suddenly realised he was watching us through the window.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Greg sounded almost admiring. Hannah realised, not for the first time, that she was very glad not to be a man. Talk about basic instincts. ‘What happened?’
‘Told his sister, the daft sod, and of course she opened her trap to Niamh. I think he’d guessed what he was going to see, but there you go. He wanted an eyeful, and by Christ, he got it. She was a bonny lass, Deirdre, before she started eating too much chocolate cake. Anyroad, that’s teenage lads for you.’
Greg nodded. ‘Yet Niamh reacted badly?’
‘Too fucking right. Hypocritical cow – she was the one who started shagging a businessman whilst she was still married to me. Talk about one law for the rich.’
‘How did she get to know Kit Payne?’
‘I’ve known old man Madsen and his family all my life. Bryan’s stand-offish, doesn’t care to mix with riff-raff like me, but Gareth’s not so bad.’
‘You were students together, weren’t you?’
‘For a year, that’s all. I couldn’t stick the place. Full of posh folk who talked through their arses. They made me sick, but Gareth had a whale of a time. He loves being cock of the walk. Anyroad, he introduced Niamh and me to Payne. I would never have guessed she’d fall for Payne – he’s as ugly as sin. But she hated being a farmer’s wife, and he lent a shoulder for her to cry on.’
‘Money talks, eh?’
‘Yeah, when she broke the news she was running off with Keswick’s answer to Quasimodo, I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.’
‘And she used the incident with Deirdre as an excuse to prevent Callum visiting you?’
Hinds’ face darkened. ‘There was no cause for her to take it out on the boy. To stop him from seeing his dad was pure malice.’
‘He kept your surname. That says a lot.’
‘He was made of sterner stuff than Orla, she just wanted everything to be happy ever after. Niamh liked to have things her way; why do you think the kids were given Irish names? I wanted Callum to be christened Eric, after my dad, but she wouldn’t hear of it. But she couldn’t watch over the boy twenty-four hours a day. She and Payne only lived across the field; no way could she stop us seeing each other every now and then.’
Greg nodded. ‘When was the last time you saw your son?’
Hinds frowned. ‘You’ll have read my statement?’
‘At the time Callum disappeared, you said you hadn’t seen him for some time. But was that right? Niamh is dead now, it can’t make any difference.’
‘If it makes no difference, why ask?’
‘We need to be clear about Callum’s movements in the period leading up to his disappearance. The more accurate our information, the better our chance of making sense of what Orla was saying.’
The farmer kicked at a pebble, and sent it skittering across the cobbles. ‘So what if he did come and see me? Where does that get you?’
‘It’s simply a question of building an accurate picture of his movements.’ Greg’s tone was so soothing, Hannah half-expected him to start crooning a lullaby. ‘Did he come here before he visited your brother?’
Hinds scowled. ‘If that’s in your mind, think again. All right, the last time I saw him was the night before he disappeared.’
Well, well, a result. This was what Hannah liked about cold case work. Sometimes, just sometimes, you unearthed treasure trove. Important evidence that had lain buried for years.
Greg’s expression didn’t flicker. He was too smart to give away the excitement he must be feeling. ‘What happened?’
‘I used to make my own beer in those days, and Callum slipped over here after Niamh gave him his tea. He told her he had a headache, and wanted a breath of fresh air. As soon as the coast was clear, he scooted over and we knocked back a few glasses of home brew. He loved the stuff, it had a bit of body to it. Not like the bat’s piss you get served nowadays.’
‘He was only fourteen,’ Hannah said.
Shit, why did I open my big mouth? She should have bitten her tongue. Greg gave her a pained look, and no wonder, after he’d got on to the witness’s wavelength. She edged backwards, in tacit apology.
‘So what? His mother may have been a drunk, but I’m not. It’s all about knowing your limits. He came to no harm with me.’
‘Deirdre wasn’t around?’ Greg asked.
‘After that time he saw her starkers, she made a point of checking when Callum was likely to show up. Not that she’s easily embarrassed, but she drew the line at having a teenage lad gawping at her knockers.’
‘Yeah, well, that’s women for you.’ Hannah felt she had become invisible. If it was punishment for her indiscretion, she could scarcely complain. They were like two mates, bad-mouthing the opposite sex over a pint. ‘Did he tell you he was going to see Philip the following day?’
‘Never mentioned it.’
‘Did Niamh object to him seeing your brother?’
‘Not on your nelly. Shows what sort of a mother she was, uh? Refused to let him visit his own father, yet happy for him to call on an oddball with a brain like mashed potato. Always had a soft spot for Philip, reckoned I was too hard on him.’
‘So what did you and Callum talk about?’
‘Usual sort of stuff. England’s crap batting in the Test match. Carlisle United’s prospects for promotion.’
‘Bonding, eh?’
‘Whatever you like to call it. Father-and-son stuff.’ Hinds glared. He was angry about life’s unfairness, Hannah thought, far more than their intrusion. ‘The boy had his whole life in front of him. He’d had time to forget school and start enjoying his summer holiday. No wonder he was excited.’
‘Excited?’
‘Yeah. It’s how I remember him. Pleased with life. And himself.’
Hannah couldn’t contain herself any longer. ‘Any particular reason why he would be excited?’
Hinds glared at her. ‘Such as?’
‘Was it about a girl?’ Greg asked. ‘He’d met a teenager on the caravan site.’
‘That was a load of bollocks, for a start,’ Hinds said. ‘The girl’s father tried to say that Callum was spying on her. Chances are, she made the whole thing up. Who knows? Maybe she’d led Callum on, and then got cold feet and was afraid of her dad going ballistic.’
‘Did he have a girlfriend?’
A shake of the head. ‘He was only fourteen.’
‘I had girlfriends before I was fourteen.’
‘Look, he was interested in girls, yes, but I told him there was no hurry.’
‘And did he take your advice?’
‘What are you getting at?’ Hinds’ face reddened under the sunburn. ‘My boy was no peeping Tom.’
‘Despite watching his father at it with his lady friend on the sofa?’
‘A young lad’s natural curiosity. You can’t read anything into it.’
‘The girl’s story makes him sound like a voyeur.’
‘The little cow lied.’ Hinds balled his fists, struggling to control his temper. ‘It’s what women do. Just like my bloody stupid wife, when she told me you’d not bother me for more than ten minutes. Come on, I’ve answered your questions fair and square. Time’s up.’
He waved beefy hands at them, indicating the way back out of the farm. He might have been shooing animals through a gate.
‘Had Orla discovered something about Callum?’ Hannah asked. ‘Did she mention it to you the last time you were together?’
‘I said all I’ve got to say about my daughter yesterday.’
‘Finding her like that must have been a terrible experience, Mr Hinds. We only want—’
‘Didn’t you hear me?’ he yelled.
‘Take it easy, eh?’ Greg said.
For answer, Hinds bent and lifted up the scythe. ‘Get off my fuckin
g land.’
‘Mr Hinds.’ Hannah’s voice sounded thin in the silence. ‘You have been cooperative so far. Please don’t do anything you will regret.’
The farmer’s face had blackened with fury. With the scythe in his right hand, he advanced towards them. He’d come to within two or three strides of Greg. Five yards further back, Hannah froze.
Stomach churning, she exchanged glances with her DS. He gave her the faintest nod and mouthed: Run for it.
No way was she abandoning him. She shook her head.
Sunlight flashed on the curve of the blade. Hannah fought the instinct to retch with fear. The wrong move now …
‘All right, Mr Hinds.’ Greg must be wetting himself, though you’d never guess from his relaxed tone. The scythe was within striking distance of his neck. ‘Thanks for speaking to us.’
‘You should never have come here,’ Hinds muttered.
Hannah heard the door of the farmhouse open. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Deirdre Hinds. She stood on the doorstep, shaking with fear. Not knowing what her husband might do.
He took another pace towards Greg, who raised his hands to shoulder height. Whether to calm the man down or for self-protection, Hannah couldn’t tell.
‘Mike!’ Deirdre screamed. ‘Put it down!’
‘Piss off back inside,’ he shouted back. ‘This is nothing to do with you.’
‘Mike, this won’t solve anything! What do you think Orla would have said, if she’d seen you like this?’
The farmer stopped in his tracks. In a swift and smooth movement, Greg jumped forward, seized the man’s wrist, and twisted it. Hinds let out a cry of pain and dropped the scythe. Greg kicked it over the cobbles, out of reach.
Hinds spat at Greg. The DS wiped his face, gave Hinds’ wrist a final jerk, and dropped it. Turning on his heel, he strode back to join Hannah and they both hurried off towards the drive.
‘You shouldn’t have done that, you scumbag,’ Hinds roared. ‘Next time, I’ll be ready for you.’
They strode past the farmhouse. Deirdre stood motionless on the doorstep, hands clasped as if in prayer.
The Hanging Wood Page 10
