Joint Enterprise (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 3)

by Oliver Tidy

  Before he was a quarter of the way through the list, Poisson realised he was weeping. The tears of sadness ran down his ugly cheeks and coursed freely onto his jacket. His voice wavered and he was forced to stop, breathe and collect himself. He had never expected himself to be so moved by the occasion he had manufactured and was alone at. He was suddenly so pleased that Dover CID had left him to his own devices. Such sentimental outpourings would have been difficult to witness and explain. He produced a handkerchief and wiped his face.

  Deeming it strangely appropriate, even though he was not a particularly religious man himself, when Poisson read out the one-hundred and ninety-third name he could not prevent himself, swept up in the emotion of the moment as he was, from adding the name of Paul Henry and asking that his sins might be forgiven and that his soul might be freed of the eternity of purgatory that, in life, the man, according to his wife, had been convinced he would be consigned to if the list of names had not been read out.

  His obligation fulfilled, Poisson collected himself, folded the paper and tucked it back in his jacket. He blew his nose on his handkerchief once more, dabbed at his tear-stained jacket and, as he stared out over the heaving grey mass of La Manche, felt a sense of tremendous well-being and goodness wash through his insides. Now, he would enjoy the castle.

  *

  The vehicles of Dover police – a pool car saloon, a painted patrol car and a liveried mini-bus complete with grills over the windows – bucked and jolted their occupants down the rutted track towards Manor Farm. Romney had to grit his teeth at the pain and discomfort such jarring brought him. Despite doing his utmost to suspend himself using his arms for support just above the seat all he succeeded in doing was providing a gap between his posterior – the source of his trouble – and the upholstery to be slammed shut by the erratic and unpredictable displays of physics like an unfastened shutter in a gale.

  ‘Do you have to drive so bloody fast?’ he said to Grimes.

  ‘We’ve got to stay in formation gov. I go any slower and all the fun’ll be over before we get there. We should have gone at the front not the back.’

  They plunged down another drop and Romney embarrassed himself with a yelp as he and the car’s mechanics were compressed.

  ‘You all right, gov?’ said Grimes, suspecting strongly that his DI wasn’t. Grimes was a detective after all and he’d noticed the little things; things like Romney’s cushions, the high frequency of his visits to the toilet, his little facial distortions when he lowered himself onto a hard seat or stood quickly. Grimes had a strong sense that there was something wrong with his governor’s back-side, but he didn’t know how to broach the subject. Perhaps he could help. He wished someone would because Grimes was also sure that Romney’s lowered tolerance threshold for just about everything was in large part due to his problem, whatever it might be.

  ‘I will be if you just try to avoid the big holes in this fucking track instead of aiming for them. Hang on, you want to go back? I think you missed one.’

  They arrived only seconds later than the lead vehicle. The uniformed officers were spilling out of the mini-bus. The element of surprise had been well and truly lost if anyone had happened to be looking out of a front facing window. And even if they hadn’t, the incessant frenzied barking of tethered dogs that filled the air seemed enough to wake the dead.

  It had taken the little convoy of law enforcement the best part of five minutes to negotiate their passage from the smooth asphalt of the public highway to the sweeping weed-infused gravel turning circle in front of the rambling and dilapidated house.

  The sergeant in charge of the uniforms struggled to make his instructions heard above the dogs. Officers peeled off to disappear around to the rear of the property. Romney and Grimes stood back to let the front-line troops do their stuff. Another officer, clearly chosen for his physique, approached the front door with the station’s battering ram and a manic grin. Colleagues waited behind him ready to stream into the building shouting and lashing out.

  The lead officer was on his second practice swing, building up some momentum, when the front door was opened by a woman made remarkable only by the cuts and bruises to her face. She was built slightly and radiated defeat. The man lowered his weapon with a palpable sense of disappointment. Romney stepped forward.

  ‘You’re too late,’ said the woman. ‘Someone beat you to it.’

  ‘Did they beat you to get it?’ said Romney, taking in her injuries.

  ‘Oh no. I did this to myself. I’m into self-harming in a big way. What do you think?’ Romney frowned at her and waited. She sighed, resigned to her position. ‘Do we have to go to the police station, or can we do it here?’ she said.

  ‘Are you inviting us in?’ said Romney.

  ‘Not all of you,’ she said. ‘You’re in charge, I suppose?’

  Romney showed her his warrant card. ‘Detective Inspector Romney.’

  ‘Well, Detective Inspector Romney, a thought suddenly occurs to me.’

  ‘What’s that then, Miss...?’

  ‘Jane Barnes. My thought is that you are here because you expect to be able to recover something that has been stolen. Right?’

  ‘And make arrests for a serious assault.’

  ‘Well, if whatever you think is here, isn’t, then you’ve got nothing to arrest anyone for. Right?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Romney. ‘Now, I’ll ask you to stand aside Ms Barnes and let my officers do their job. I’m exercising a search warrant. I have good reason to believe you are in possession of some stolen films. Is there anyone else in the house?’

  ‘My girlfriend. She’s in bed.’

  ‘Hurt?’

  ‘Drunk. Forgive the mess, but we had visitors last night.’ She stepped aside as the allocated officers moved in to begin what Romney strongly felt with energy-sapping disappointment was going to be a total waste of time.

  He followed her through to a big farmhouse kitchen. What he saw of the house on his way through indicated that Ms Barnes’ visitors had been most inconsiderate. Turned over furniture, smashed pictures and broken china littered the space. Romney motioned to a female PC to go with him. Ms Barnes pointed Romney towards the table and chairs. He remained standing.

  ‘What happened?’ he said.

  Ms Barnes leaned back against an antique dresser and folded her arms. The muffled sounds of large, heavy boots trampling around the upstairs thudded down to them with the low indeterminate vocals of the searchers.

  ‘First things first, Inspector Romney,’ said Ms Barnes. She pulled a packet of cigarettes out of her baggy cardigan pocket and stuck one in the corner of her mouth unlit. ‘You haven’t cautioned me, right?’ He raised his eyebrows at her for her confidence. ‘So anything I say to you now can’t be used against me?’ There was a pause. ‘I need you to confirm that if you want me to talk to you.’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  ‘Good. Then let’s talk in private.’ She looked across to where the female PC was standing.

  ‘Thank you, constable. You can go and help with the search,’ said Romney. She left and shut the door after her.

  Ms Barnes had found some matches and had her cigarette going. After his recent smoke with Poisson, Romney wanted one. Ms Barnes must have read the lingering look he gave hers and extended the pack towards him, which, only on professional grounds, he was obliged to refuse. But the exchange had lightened the tension that arose from the circumstances of their encounter.

  ‘So, what happened?’ said Romney.

  ‘This can be off the record, as the Yanks would say? Nothing we discuss here is admissible in any way?’ Romney indicated that was true. ‘The film was here, but it isn’t now. If you can believe the irony of it, we were robbed.’

  ‘Is that how you sustained your injuries?’

  ‘Yes. We had visitors last night. Three men wearing balaclavas. They weren’t as polite as you, Inspector, or as patient. Or as restrained. They wanted the film and they were, as you see, quite d
etermined to get it.’

  ‘So you were assaulted for it? Another irony wouldn’t you agree? Remember that a man at the castle was knocked unconscious in order that you could make your animal rights statement.’ Romney wasn’t being entirely sympathetic.

  With a casual dismissive wave of her cigarette hand that made Romney suddenly wonder at the film archivist’s part in events, she said, ‘He won’t press charges.’

  ‘Have you sought medical assistance?’

  ‘It’s not as bad as it looks,’ she said, but Romney could see that this was probably not true. It was more likely to be her disinclination to describe how she came by her cuts and bruises that kept her away from the hospital.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ he said.

  ‘It was late and it was dark. They must have parked down the drive because I didn’t hear a car approaching and neither did the dogs. But when the dogs did start making a fuss I came out to see what it was. They jumped me. I was here alone. They made it clear that they wanted the film and weren’t interested in my protestations that I didn’t have it.’ She looked intently at Romney. ‘I genuinely feared for my life. They were violent and most insistent.’

  ‘So I see. Any idea who they were?’

  ‘None at all. And I wouldn’t know any of them again. That’s not me being uncooperative, it’s the truth.’

  Romney sighed heavily. ‘Are we going to find anything of the film here?’

  She shook her head. ‘They took them all.’

  ‘Did they say anything that might help me find them?’

  Again she shook her head. ‘I might recognise a voice if I heard it again, but that’s about it.’

  ‘Then unless you want to confess to stealing the film from the castle using violence yourself, there’s nothing that I can charge you with. Why did you say that the man knocked unconscious at the castle wouldn’t press charges?’ She said nothing; just smoked and stared. ‘Why take the film in the first place? And who are the Animal Rights Enforcers?’

  ‘Do you know the sick film that that pervert is making? He’s glorifying animal abuse. Bestiality. With all the weirdoes in the world, it’ll probably turn into some kind of cult movie that will sanctify that kind of depraved behaviour for generations to come.’

  Romney thought her reaction might be a little over-dramatic. ‘I can accept there are some warped or just bored individuals out there who might participate in that sort of thing, but do you really believe there is some sleazy underbelly of society that is crying out for an excuse to have sexual relations with farm animals?’

  For answer, she held up one hand and counted off her fingers as she said, ‘Paedophilia, necrophilia, pseudonecrophilia, coprophilia, teratophilia...’ His blank look stopped her.

  ‘Just out of interest, what are the last two?’ he said.

  ‘Coprophilia is the fondness for other people’s shit. It’s a fetish. Teratophilia is when people are sexually aroused by deformed or monstrous people. And there’s acrotomophilia. Do you know that?’ Romney shook his head embarrassed by his naivety and feeling a little queasy at the images his imagination, unbidden, had conjured up for him. ‘Acrotomophilia refers to the sexual attraction to amputees. Would you agree that all of those are completely wrong, abnormal?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. But he was also thinking that simply having knowledge of these practices was stretching normal. He couldn’t help wondering how this woman, who could not have been out of her twenties for long, was such an authority on weird sex.

  ‘They are all sexual practices which are growing in popularity. And they’re growing in popularity because of the availability through various forms of media for people to engage and connect with them and other like-minded individuals. These things snowball, Inspector. So in answer to your question, yes, I for one worry very much about the effect that the cinematic aggrandisement of bestiality would have on an impressionable and bored society. It’s a big enough problem as it is.’

  ‘Is it?’ said Romney, unable to keep his surprise.

  ‘Yes. Try the Internet. It’s not unusual.’ Romney thought that he wouldn’t. It would be more than his job would be worth to be caught surfing the world-wide-web on his station computer for information on sheep-shagging. And who would ever believe him that he was simply doing some research? Pull the other one.

  ‘And the Animal Rights Enforcers?’

  She waved it away. ‘It’s just me and a few sympathisers. Nothing for the police to worry about. We’re not about to start a campaign of letter bombs or anything like that. I just made the name up. It was all about stopping this film.’

  ‘You’ve certainly put the wind up the director,’ said Romney, with some pleasure.

  ‘Crawford? Wanker. He has no idea of the Pandora’s box he prising the lid off and he doesn’t give a shit for the wider consequences of his stupid little film. He’s just after his awards.’

  ‘You sound like you know him well?’ said Romney. She caught herself then, realising she was in danger of betraying others perhaps. There was a timely tap on woodwork and a disappointed looking Grimes put his head around the door. ‘Anything?’ said Romney.

  ‘Nothing of the missing film, gov, but we did find this?’ he held up a little plastic bag with a substance in it. Ms Barnes groaned. Romney put out his hand for it and told Grimes to get everyone outside and back in the vehicles.

  When Grimes had gone, she said, ‘Are you gonna bust me for a little bit of weed?’

  Romney looked like he was giving it some serious thought. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I could, but I’m not going to. You look like you have enough problems right now. You want to tell me anymore about the film archivist up at the castle?’ She shook her head and in doing so confirmed something of Romney’s suspicions. It was enough. He didn’t want to badger her for it or blackmail her over the drugs. While he could think of occasions and individuals that he could happily have exploited by such a find, strangely, it didn’t seem appropriate in this instance. It would have made him feel shabby.

  The two liveried vehicles had already departed by the time Romney got back out in the fresh air. Grimes was trying to make friends with one of the tethered dogs. It looked like it would like nothing better than to rip the policeman’s throat out.

  ‘Sorry about your face,’ said Romney. ‘If it’s any consolation to you, I will find the people who did it.’

  With a hint of genuine appreciation for his sentiment, she said, ‘Very gallant and well intentioned I’m sure, Inspector, but you are forgetting one thing, perhaps?’

  ‘Which is what?’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly press charges, could I? Because then I’d have to come clean about the film and where would I be then? Deeper in the do-do. There’s one thing that you could promise me, though.’

  ‘What’s that then?’

  ‘If you do ever find out who did this to me and my property, don’t be as polite, patient and considerate with them as you have been with me.’

  When they were both sitting back in the car, Grimes said, ‘Are we not at least going to nick her for the weed, gov?’

  ‘And how do you think that would look?’ said Romney. ‘All that manpower and time just to make an arrest for possession of a bit of puff that would probably only result in a caution. I don’t need that attention. Better to come away empty-handed. Now, what you need to focus on is giving me a better ride out of here than you did coming in. Understood?’

  Grimes nodded seriously, stared down the length of the impossible task in front of him and realised his palms had begun to sweat.

  ***

  13

  Romney, Marsh, and Spicer sat around a couple of tables that had been pushed together in the CID meeting room. Hot drinks in mugs that didn’t match and a half-empty packet of biscuits occupied the middle ground. Grimes finally arrived for the little end of day conference.

  ‘What are you looking so pleased about?’ said Romney.

  ‘I think my system is finally getting back to normal.
I’m officially back on solids.’ He collapsed himself into the remaining chair and reached across for the biscuits. He came away with two and began a noisy crunch that distracted thought and that at least two others in the room found mildly irritating.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Romney. ‘You’ve been eating all day.’

  ‘I don’t think he means what goes in, sir,’ offered Marsh, with faint disgust.

  ‘Oh, blimey, spare us, will you?’ said Romney.

  ‘Sorry, gov. You asked.’

  Romney shook his head. ‘So, after a promising lead we are back to square one with the missing film. But, perhaps we can generate some questions that might lead to some answers that might get us a little further forward. Feel free to contribute.’ He paused and awaited their input. Grimes leaned forward and withdrew another biscuit from the pack, which then fell into three pieces as he was bringing it to his mouth. Romney watched him with disdain as he picked crumbs out of his jumper. Spicer chewed the end of his pencil and knitted his brow to give the impression of great and deep thought, but he remained silent.

  Marsh said, ‘How did whoever raided the farmhouse know the film was there? Why did the raiders want the film? What are they going to do with it?’

  ‘Good. Thank you. That’s somewhere to start,’ said Romney. ‘Given the timing of the raid, I would imagine that whoever it was found out who had the film the same way that we did. When I say who had it, I mean the Animal Rights Enforcers, not the exact geographical location. If they’d known that beforehand then presumably they would have snatched it earlier.’ He waited for any argument. There was none. ‘So, we must consider how they found out exactly who Animal Rights Enforcers are and where they are located. Claire Wright, the journalist, didn’t give me the impression she’d had anyone else asking about her sources.’

  ‘Why did the raiders want the film?’ repeated Marsh.

  ‘It’ll be worth something to Crawford and his production company to get it back won’t it?’ said Spicer. ‘Perhaps whoever took it has the intention of selling it back to him, claim some sort of reward, or just rip him off for it. That’ll depend on how badly he wants it back, I suppose.’