Bring Them Home (Detective Karen Hart Book 1)

by D. S. Butler

  ‘We heard you were making allegations in your local pub a few nights ago,’ DI Morgan said, fixing him with a stern look. ‘You claimed that Dennis’s father had ripped you off and you were going to teach the Dean family a lesson.’

  ‘No, I would never. I didn’t. I . . .’

  Karen held up a hand. ‘Save it for someone who believes your lies, Lewis. We have two little girls missing from Heighington and we intend to find them. If you know anything about it, you’d better come clean sharpish.’

  Lewis frowned and looked genuinely confused. ‘Two little girls?’

  ‘My Emily,’ Dennis roared, taking a few menacing steps towards Lewis. ‘She’s gone missing from school, and you were full of all the big man talk about how you were gonna pay my dad and me back.’

  Lewis shook his head rapidly and stepped away from Dennis until he was pressed against the wall of the house. ‘No, look, I just had a few drinks. I got a bit mouthy. I didn’t mean it, and God knows I’d never touch your daughter. Jesus, you can’t think I’d be involved in something like that.’ Lewis turned to DI Morgan. ‘I promise. I don’t know anything about it.’

  Karen was inclined to believe him, and she thought they were wasting their time. They needed to get to the briefing room so they could organise a plan of action. The search would continue late into the night despite the limited visibility, but it was looking more and more likely that the girls had been taken. If they’d been injured or lost, the officers and PCSOs carrying out the comprehensive search of the area should have found them by now.

  Plus, she was itching to go and pay Nigel Palmer a visit, just in case the old farmer had something to do with Sian and Emily’s disappearance. If she looked Nigel Palmer in the eye and studied his body language, she was sure she’d be able to tell if he’d had anything to do with the missing girls.

  Dennis put his head in his hands. He believed Lewis, and now that his suspicion and fury had dissipated, there wasn’t much left holding him together.

  ‘Come on, Dennis. Let’s get you home,’ Karen said.

  She put her hand on the big man’s shoulder and steered him towards the doors, surprised at the ease with which he let her lead him through the house and out front towards the cars.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he murmured.

  ‘Leave it to us. I promise you we’ll do everything possible to get Emily back.’

  Dennis shook his head. ‘What can you do? It’s been hours. If she’s been nabbed by one of them child snatchers, she could be anywhere by now.’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘I can drive myself home,’ he said and moved towards his van.

  ‘Oh no you can’t. I can smell the alcohol on your breath,’ Karen said. ‘Get in the car and we’ll take you home.’

  ‘I only had one,’ Dennis said, attempting to stare Karen down.

  ‘We could do a breathalyser test, but we really don’t have time, so just get in the car.’

  Dennis gave Karen a rebellious look but did as she asked.

  ‘When a child is abducted, the person responsible is often someone they know and trust,’ DI Morgan said as he opened the passenger door. ‘Most of the time it’s someone known to the family. I’m not saying that’s the case here, but if you’ve noticed anyone acting a bit differently recently, Dennis, you need to tell us. You can’t try to sort this out on your own.’

  Dennis sat in the rear passenger seat, staring ahead glumly at the headrest in front of him.

  Karen got in the driver’s seat while DI Morgan called into the station for an update. Dennis perked up a little, listening to the one-way conversation. But when it became clear there was no fresh news, he stared despondently out of the window.

  She pulled up outside Dennis’s house, this time not bothering to pull into the driveway. ‘We’ll keep you updated, Dennis. It might be best if you stay at home tonight in case Emily tries to get in touch.’

  Dennis said nothing as he climbed out of the car, which lifted with a squeak when free of his bulk. He slammed the door before stomping up towards the house.

  ‘Back to the station, sir?’ Karen asked, glancing at DI Morgan as she prepared to pull away from the kerb.

  ‘You don’t have to keep calling me sir, you know. I don’t mind you calling me Scott.’

  Karen shrugged. ‘Sorry, it’s a habit. I suppose the new recruits find it easier to be on first-name terms, but if it’s all the same with you, I prefer to stick to calling you sir.’

  ‘Fair enough. If you’re really keen on speaking to Nigel Palmer, then I could drop you there now. But I’d need to take the car. Superintendent Murray will expect me to lead the briefing.’

  ‘That would be great, sir,’ Karen said.

  ‘All right. Let’s go straight there, and then I’ll drive back to Nettleham. You’ll have to make your own way back to HQ.’

  Karen nodded. ‘Not a problem.’

  Karen drove along Station Road up to the junction and then took a right. A mile or so out of the village, she turned right again into a narrow country lane lined by fields on each side.

  After they passed an old windmill that had been damaged by fire years ago, Karen said, ‘That’s the Palmer farm.’

  A huge barn dominated the smaller redbrick farmhouse. Both buildings were set well back from the road and surrounded by open farmland. There were lights on in the house, lending it a warm and cosy feel. But Karen couldn’t help shivering as she thought of the residents inside.

  ‘I imagine it’s quite picturesque in the daylight,’ DI Morgan said, taking in the dark, flat landscape.

  Karen nodded as she turned off on to the bumpy, single-track private road. ‘If you like that sort of thing. The place always seemed a bit barren and stark to me.’

  DI Morgan put a hand on the dashboard as the car dipped into a pothole and bounced back out again. ‘Do the entire family live here?’

  Karen pulled to a stop outside the farmhouse and paused a moment, watching the bats as they swooped to catch insects attracted by the car’s headlights. The weather had turned cold, and she was surprised the bats were still active. She guessed they must roost in the barn.

  ‘Nigel Palmer lives here with his daughter and son. His wife left him years ago. His son, Jasper, supervises most of the farm work these days, and the daughter – I’ve forgotten her name – looks after the home and takes care of her father. They’re an odd family,’ Karen said.

  ‘Odd how?’

  ‘I think Jasper and his sister have always been scared of their father, and even though they’re in their early forties now, they still tiptoe around him. Jasper takes after his father. He’s short-tempered and has a mean streak. The daughter’s a quiet, mousy thing, always seems scared of saying the wrong thing and getting into trouble.’

  DI Morgan nodded. ‘Okay. Well, find out if they’ve seen anything, and if they know either of the girls. Keep it casual.’ He glanced at the dashboard clock. ‘I’d better get a move on. The briefing’s in thirty minutes, and Superintendent Murray’s not going to accept any excuses for my absence.’

  ‘I won’t need long,’ Karen said, sure that after a few minutes with Nigel Palmer, she’d be able to tell if he knew anything about the girls’ disappearance.

  They got out of the car. Karen stared at the farmhouse as DI Morgan walked around to the driver’s side.

  He followed her gaze and looked towards the glowing lights of the house. ‘Are you comfortable going in there on your own?’

  Karen turned to him. ‘Absolutely. I think it’s worth taking the time to talk to him.’

  DI Morgan glanced at his watch. ‘I could come in with you if you’d prefer.’

  Karen shook her head. ‘No, sir. There’s no need. You’ve got more important things to be getting on with back at the station, but I appreciate you giving me the time to do this.’

  ‘Do you want me to arrange a ride back to the station for you?’

  ‘No need. I have a friend who’ll give me a lift.’

  DI
Morgan hesitated, and Karen was almost sure he was going to change his mind and insist she return to the station with him. Then he nodded and slipped into the driver’s seat. ‘See you back at the station.’

  As he made a three-point turn, the car’s tyres crunching over gravel, Karen squared her shoulders and walked towards the farmhouse.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Nigel Palmer’s daughter opened the front door. She was a good six inches taller than Karen with a pale, thin, pinched face, and when she recognised Karen her features tightened.

  She shot a look over her shoulder and then turned back. ‘I thought all this was over.’

  As soon as she spoke, Karen remembered her name. Cathy. Cathy Palmer, the poor, put-upon farmer’s daughter.

  ‘Evening, Cathy. You don’t mind if I come in, do you?’

  Without waiting for an answer, Karen slid past Cathy and stepped into the hall. Striding forward, she crossed the flagstone floor of the hallway that led to the huge farmhouse kitchen.

  Beside a large open fireplace, sitting in a wooden rocking chair with a blanket over his knees was Nigel Palmer. A clear plastic loop of tubing ran beneath his nose and was linked to an upright oxygen canister behind the chair.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to have that canister so near to an open fire, Mr Palmer,’ Karen said.

  The old man turned his wizened face towards Karen. Like his daughter, he was tall. Though he sat hunched in the chair, Karen had seen him standing before and knew he was at least six foot four. He was very, very thin. Nigel Palmer had emphysema, and it appeared his condition had worsened since the last time she’d seen him.

  Nigel sneered at her. ‘Spare me your fake concern, officer.’ He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Shut the door, Cathy, you stupid girl! You’re letting in the cold.’

  ‘It is shut, Dad,’ Cathy said, stepping forward and then standing beside the large table in the centre of the kitchen. She clasped her hands together in front of her. ‘Can I get you a drink? A cup of tea?’ she asked, in an effort to be hospitable.

  ‘She won’t be staying long enough for that,’ Nigel Palmer said. ‘What is it you want?’

  Karen took a step back away from the crackling fire. It was stiflingly warm inside the kitchen. ‘Two girls went missing from Moore Lane Primary School this afternoon. As you know, the school backs on to your land and—’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. Our land ends before the wood.’

  ‘Well, your land is very close to the school, and we believe the children could have walked across your fields, perhaps sheltering or playing in one of your outbuildings.’

  Nigel Palmer’s face took on a nasty smile. ‘You mean, you think I’m involved.’ He cackled with laughter. ‘You just can’t let it go, can you. You blamed me for Amy’s disappearance, and now you’re trying to pin another crime on me as well. Honestly, how the hell do you expect me to have done anything in this state?’ He gestured at the oxygen tank behind him.

  ‘How awful,’ Cathy said. ‘Those poor girls. It’s so cold tonight. Do you think they wandered off and got lost or . . .’

  ‘We don’t know. That’s why we need you to check any outbuildings or ditches. There’s a full-scale search going on across the village and surrounding countryside. It’ll go on into the night, but it’s not easy in the dark.’

  ‘Typical police. Stating the obvious,’ Nigel Palmer wheezed as he turned away and stared into the fire, watching the flickering flames.

  ‘Is your brother about?’ Karen asked Cathy.

  ‘No, he’s been cutting back hedges over in the far fields today. He’ll have left the tractor in the top barn and headed for a drink after work, I would guess.’

  ‘What do you want him for anyway?’ Nigel Palmer said, stifling a cough. ‘Jasper’s got nowt to do with it. He’s been working all day.’

  Karen shrugged. ‘If he’s been working in the fields, he might have seen something.’

  ‘I’m sure if he had, then he’d have been in touch with the police, the good, law-abiding boy that he is.’ Nigel Palmer broke off into a coughing fit, and Karen wondered if it was genuine or whether he was laying it on thick for her benefit. It wasn’t unheard of for suspects to go to extreme lengths to avoid questioning. When Karen had been in uniform, a man had faked a fit to try and stop them searching his car. They’d had to call out paramedics to get him checked out before the search. His tactics only delayed the outcome, though. They’d discovered thirty individual wraps of heroin and crack in a plastic bag in his glove box.

  ‘You’ve not heard anything from Amy then?’ Karen asked. It was an empty question, one meant to prod and needle the old man to see if he had any conscience. The truth was, Karen had long given up hope that Amy Fisher was still alive.

  Amy Fisher had been renting one of the outbuildings on Palmers’ farm at the time of her disappearance. She’d used it as a studio, printing materials with vivid colours that she then used to make scarves and bags. There’d been a huge search of the farm after she went missing, and the lack of evidence tying Nigel Palmer to the teenager’s disappearance did nothing to persuade Karen he was innocent. The farm was the last place Amy was seen alive.

  She was convinced he lay at the centre of the mystery, and Karen wouldn’t let it go. She couldn’t.

  Cathy spoke up nervously. ‘No, we haven’t heard anything from Amy.’

  Karen bit down on the inside of her cheek and wondered if Cathy was as helpless as she appeared. It was uncharitable of her, but she couldn’t understand why anyone would choose to stay here with this evil man. Had she never wanted to do anything with her life? She cooked and cleaned and looked after her father only to be shouted at and belittled. Had years of emotional abuse ground her down and turned Cathy into a timid woman afraid of her own shadow?

  ‘It’s strange Amy didn’t keep in touch, Cathy. She’d been quite close to you, hadn’t she?’

  Cathy shot an anxious glance at her father and then lowered her gaze to the floor. ‘We chatted now and again, but we weren’t that close.’

  ‘I can see your father’s in no position to search the outbuildings himself. If you’re prepared to give me the keys, I can organise some uniforms to go over the buildings with a fine-tooth comb. We need to make sure the little girls aren’t trapped somewhere,’ Karen said, directing her gaze at the farmer’s daughter.

  ‘Over my dead body. You’re not getting anywhere near my buildings without a warrant. The state you left my place in last time was a disgrace,’ the old man shouted.

  Karen looked at him coldly. ‘You sound like a man with something to hide, Mr Palmer.’

  Nigel Palmer wiped the spittle away from the side of his mouth and gave a pathetic little cough. ‘No, love. I’m just a man who’s been screwed over by the police on more than one occasion.’

  ‘We can get a warrant, but it’ll look bad for you. No one else has asked for one. Everyone wants to cooperate and see the girls home safely.’

  Nigel Palmer narrowed his eyes. ‘Fine. You can have access to the outbuildings. I don’t see why I should let your lot trample through my home again, touching everything with their sticky fingers. But suit yourself – you police usually do.’

  ‘I’ll call Jasper,’ Cathy said as she walked back over to the kitchen counter, where a cheap mobile phone was charging. ‘He’ll want to help. I’m sure he can ask some of the lads at the pub to give him a hand searching too.’

  Karen nodded. ‘Thanks. I’d appreciate it. As you can imagine, the parents are very worried.’

  ‘How old are they?’ Nigel Palmer asked.

  Karen had been on her way out of the kitchen and turned back to face him.

  ‘Ten years old. Far too young to be out on their own on a night like this.’

  Nigel Palmer shuddered, and his eyes darted around the room as he frowned.

  ‘What is it?’ Karen asked. If she didn’t know better, she would have said Nigel Palmer looked afraid.

  ‘Nothing. I just wanted to know
how old they were, and while you’re here, tell us what they look like and what they’re wearing. Jasper will want to know that sort of thing if he’s out looking for them.’

  Karen stared at him for a long time before answering. Was Nigel Palmer hiding something?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cathy saw Karen out. Her face creased in confusion when she saw the empty driveway. ‘Didn’t you drive here?’

  Karen pulled her mobile out of her coat pocket. ‘I had a colleague drop me off.’

  ‘Are you walking back? Do you need a lift?’

  Karen shook her head and held up her phone. ‘Thanks, but I’m going to get a friend to pick me up.’

  Cathy nodded and was about to close the door when Karen called, ‘Keep an eye out for those girls, Cathy. Please.’

  Cathy lifted her head, and her eyes met Karen’s. ‘Of course.’

  The lights from the farmhouse were dim but illuminated the access road just enough to make out the potholes. Karen pulled up the address book on her phone. Scrolling through the contacts, she paused at the name Amethyst. Karen had nearly backed out of the first session when she’d learned the counsellor’s name. She’d suspected the office would be adorned with crystals and smell of incense and the therapy itself would be new-age mumbo jumbo, but the office had been decorated in shades of beige and white, and Amethyst had been very focused on evidence-based techniques.

  Karen hadn’t seen her since they’d finished cognitive behavioural therapy. The therapy had helped her take a step back before making decisions. It had given her the tools to separate her thoughts and actions from her feelings. After talking to Nigel Palmer, Karen thought she could use a top-up session. It had been a long time since she’d felt herself sinking back into that single-minded approach. It was too late now but maybe she’d call in the morning.

  Karen started walking towards the main road as she dialled Christine’s number.