‘Take your day off. Get your head clear. Maybe turn your phone off and start again tomorrow. You’re not going to get anything sorted today — with your wife or with your case. You’ll be a lot more productive after a day away.’
‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘Tell me what you did, what you know and I’ll feed it back to Paul. He can pick up any loose ends. Don’t worry about Yarney or McGuiness — I’ll smooth that out somehow.’
‘What I did? Well, I got to speak to Yarney. He was holding a knife towards me for most of it but he gave me some stuff I can use. Assuming any of it is true. He told me some of the same that he told his handler. Some gang of robbers crossed over the border to do a job out in the rural. He reckons that one of the gang is into the cocaine in a big way. He might have worked himself up a bit of a debt. Anyway, he’d picked out Wingmore Farm as a place for them to score big. He picked it out because he knew there was money there — a hundred grand apparently. And he knew Stan by name.’
‘So it had to be someone close.’
‘Yarney doesn’t know how he knows him? Maybe he’s an old farmhand, or it’s word of mouth even.’
‘Word of mouth wouldn’t make sense. They’re down from another county.’
‘I know.’
‘And it has to be someone close. If you have a hundred grand under your mattress you’re not likely to be chatting about it over a cup of tea with your sweep-up boy, are you?’
‘No. That’s true.’
‘What’s this about a receptionist? A hotel?’
‘Yarney got to hear that the crewmember who tipped them off about Wingmore Farm was staying in a hotel. He didn’t stay with the rest of the group because he had a wife and family with him.’
‘A family? So a gang of robbers set to work in the next county over and one of them brings his missus? Does that sound right to you?’
‘Well, no. Not when you say it like that. And a kid apparently.’
‘A kid?’
‘Yeah. He reckons they were staying in a hotel almost opposite Dover train station. It looked to me like the Dovorian was our best bet. I figured they might still be there or that there might be something known about them we could use. Yarney didn’t know the room number, but I went to try one or two where the receptionist said there were couples with kids.’
‘The Dovorian? How old did Yarney say the kid was?’ Emily suddenly sounded animated.
‘I didn’t ask to be honest.’
‘What about at the hotel? Did they say how old those kids were?’
‘Jesus, Ryker, I didn’t ask that either. I’m really not functioning today. I’ll get someone to go back over what I’ve done.’
‘George, the Dovorian is spitting distance from the shootings in Dover. The shootings where a woman seen running away left her baby on the bonnet of a police car!’
George suddenly sat up. His mind clearing of the fog left by his frustration. ‘You think it’s the same girl!’
‘Well, of course I do! You need to sharpen up down there, George. This crew already has an issue with this lad. Then the job up at the farm doesn’t seem to have gone to plan. It’s not a giant leap to assume that it’s the same crew causing chaos at both locations, is it?’
‘No, Ryker, it isn’t at all. I’ll head back to Wingmore Farm. I’ll talk to Stan.’
‘What about going back into the hotel? Bottoming that out?’
George looked out of his window at the drab exterior of the Dovorian. ‘Nah, she already has issues with me. I’ll send uniform.’
‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay, George? You should still have your day off’
‘We’ll soon see, Ryker. And what would I do with a day off now? I am sorry, though, yeah?’
‘Just as well. I was just about to call you an arsehole again. I don’t even know why I answered.’
‘I’m glad you did.’
‘Keep in touch.’
Chapter 21
George turned into the drive of Wingmore Farm and saw the marked police car as he rounded the curve. The officer standing next to it reacted immediately, waving his arms as if he was instructing George to pass straight through. He looked agitated and urgent. George pulled up alongside him and whirred his window down.
‘You okay?’
‘He’s in the barn. Left at the house, sir. He’s still there — they’re working on him.’
‘Working on who? What’s going on?’
‘Are you here about Mr Wingmore?’
‘Well, yes, of course. What’s going on?’
‘He was found in the barn, sir. I had no idea he was going to do that. I’m waiting for an update, I didn’t know . . .’ The officer dropped his head and his whole body seemed to hang on its frame. George moved quickly away. He followed the curve of the drive round and the house came into view. He took the left fork in the track and passed the house. He could see the unmarked car Paul Bearn had been using and next to it was a first responder’s marked car and a full-sized ambulance. There was another marked police car further away. They all looked as if they had been parked hurriedly. George did the same and jogged into the barn.
He saw Stan straight away. He was lying on the floor on his back with two paramedics kneeling over him. A third stood by with a bag of clear fluid from which a tube trailed into Stan’s arm. Paul was over to the far right of the barn and a woman was turned into him, sobbing quietly. Paul acknowledged George with a look. George moved over to Stan. His mouth was open at an unnatural angle, a thick plastic tube with an orange top stuck out of it. Stan’s eyes were open but George could see they had no focus. A machine beeped and flashed next to his head and two wires trailed to where his shirt had been cut open to reveal his chest. His tie had been cut off and was lying beside him. His suit jacket had been pushed open. George looked up to where a wire noose still hung. It had been fashioned crudely, but it was obvious what it was. George was suddenly aware of Paul at his shoulder.
‘Jesus, Paul, what the hell happened?’
‘I found him strung up. I picked him up by the legs, his poor daughter had to help me out. I was next to useless with one arm. She cut the wire from around his neck. She must have found something to do it with. There was still some life there then, but I think they’ve lost him again. It’s not looking good.’
‘How long?’
‘I don’t know. It all happened in a blur. We’ve probably been here nearly half an hour now. I worked on him for a bit, best I could. Louise called 999. They must have been close — it didn’t seem long until they arrived.’
‘I should have predicted this. I should have read the signs.’
‘And done what? I’m here as his FLO. We sorted him out with a friendly face. There was nothing more we could have done. We can’t babysit him twenty-four hours a day. He knew his daughter was coming home today. I can’t understand why he would do it. Not now.’
George flitted around the interior of the barn. ‘We’re sure he did? There’s no chance—’
‘What, that they came back? I considered the same. But when I came in this morning the lad on scene preservation told me Stan had got here an hour ago. Said he’d walked up and said he was going to the barn to make a cup of tea. We’ve had both entrances covered and an extra officer at the house. There’s no way anyone else has been here.’
‘But why now? Like you said, his daughter’s here this morning. You’d cling on for another day, wouldn’t you?’
‘Grief, George . . . it’s a funny old thing.’
‘Poor old bastard. I really thought I could get him onside, get him to focus on helping us out. I thought if he had something to focus on then it would drag him through this. I was so wrong, Paul. I was so wrong.’
‘You can’t predict people pushed to the extremes of their emotions. This is just what happens. I’m not sure there was anything we could have done that would have had a different outcome.’
‘We need him, Paul. There have been some developments. It’s qui
te likely that he knows exactly who killed his wife.’
‘How?’
‘I have no idea right now. I’ll fill you in when I can.’
‘What about his daughter? Would she be able to help?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t suppose she’s in the right frame of mind to talk right now either. Let’s see how Stan gets on. He’s a tough old bastard, I reckon.’
‘That much is true.’
George looked over to where he could see one of Stan’s arms lying on the ground between the busy medics. His hand was palm up and fidgeting as the work on him continued. His skin was light grey and it looked as if it was made out of wax. George had seen that skin colour plenty of times before. Never on the living.
* * *
The man took hold of her and didn’t seem to want to let go. They stayed in the lift for just one floor then he pulled her out roughly onto the first-floor landing. He took hold of her hand and pulled it in close to his hip.
‘Behave!’ he hissed. She didn’t reply.
It was clear what he meant and his whole demeanour had changed. He was focussed and urgent. He pushed through the double doors at the end of the corridor and stopped at the landing where the stairs went down to the ground and up to the rest of the hotel. He stayed dead still; it was clear that he was listening intently and Jenny stayed silent too. She didn’t want to antagonise him. She didn’t know what he might do if the police officer suddenly came after them — not that she considered that might happen, not for one second. He was gone. He hadn’t even looked up in that lift. How could that be? They had used her name! She could accept they didn’t know where she was staying; they hadn’t booked into the hotel using their real names. Joseph never did. He always questioned why they needed to know who he was. He always insisted on paying by cash up front and would refuse to leave a card behind the desk. None of the hotels had stood their ground and refused to let them stay.
Jenny’s captor seemed happy that the stairwell was empty. He moved suddenly downwards, catching Jenny off balance, and she stumbled after him. He led her out of the same side door through which she had fled just forty-eight hours before with her four-month-old child clutched close to her chest. Her exit this time was much more gradual. The man was being careful; he gestured for her to stay still, then he stepped out onto the pavement. He stood still for almost a minute, took notice of passing cars, checked both directions. Then they were moving again. They turned left. The way was steep and Jenny had to lean into the gradient. The angle aggravated her sore hip and she had to slow down. The man was pulling her.
‘We need to keep going,’ he grunted.
‘My legs hurt.’
‘You can rest soon. Not now.’
A few more paces and they turned left again and started on a road that ran parallel to the back of the hotel. The hotel itself was now concealed behind a row of tight terraced houses that were directly mirrored on the other side. At least this road was level. She started to recover: the pain in her leg had eased and she wasn’t so out of breath. She took in her surroundings, this time with a view to spotting any opportunities to run. Hell, she’d done it before. She considered for a second that she might be able to do it again. The man still had a hold of her arm and now he seemed to grip it even tighter, as though he could read her mind. There was an occasional gap in the houses on her right and she could see green trees and fields beyond, where the side of the valley continued. She saw flashes of steep scrubland, thick brambles and exposed chalk. Even if she did manage to get away from him and get into her stride, she didn’t think she would get far.
Any opportunity was quickly diminishing. The man stopped at the rear of a small box van. It had double doors on the back that pulled outwards.
‘Get in!’
Jenny peered around again. The street was quiet. The van was parked in front of a pub whose windows and door were boarded up and profanities sprayed across them. The rear compartment of the van looked completely empty.
‘Where do I sit?’
‘Sit on the floor. There’s a bag in there. When we stop, put it over your head.’
She had to crawl onto her knees to get in. Then the doors slammed behind her and she was enclosed in darkness. She felt for the side. The engine started and the van moved swiftly off. Jenny stumbled and sprawled onto her side. Her hand fell on something that felt like Hessian and she guessed it was the bag. She managed to pull herself to a sitting position with her back to the van’s side. The van lurched, and the back of her head bounced off the firm metal. She immediately leant forward and raised her hand to the back of her head; it stung with pain. Another sudden change of direction and she slid across the floor again. The engine revved hard and she felt them picking up speed. She could hear the roar of the road under the wheels. She curled up on her side in the darkness, made herself into a protective ball and sobbed into her hands.
* * *
They had signs of life. Enough for excited chatter between the medics and a quick transfer into the back of the ambulance. Stan’s daughter and Paul followed the stretcher. George could see in; he could see them both trying to stay out of the way as the crew still worked on Stanley. His daughter had appeared to George to be in a constant state of shock. He could understand it, of course, he wouldn’t wish her last twenty-four hours on anyone. He moved towards his own car and prayed for the umpteenth time that Stan was going to be okay. He just needed a few minutes with him lucid.
There was a welcome party for the ambulance when they arrived: a white coat and two navy blue uniforms. They swept through automatic doors on a wheeled stretcher, each holding a corner. George followed them until they pushed through to the intensive care unit. Someone was waiting to direct Stan’s daughter and Paul into a side room. It was all well-choreographed. George moved to the door and raised his palm to push it open and follow them in so that he could talk to the daughter and find out what she might know. He hesitated. He stopped at the door, his palm flat on the slim panel of frosted glass. He stepped back, back out into the corridor and turned away. He heard the door open from behind him.
‘Are you not coming in, George? The daughter said she wants to talk to you. She might be able to fill in the gaps in case Stan can’t.’
‘Paul, can you talk to her? We just need a good list of associates, anyone he might have a grievance with, anyone who might know about any money he had at the farm, whether she knows about any money. That sort of thing.’
‘You okay, George?’ Paul looked immediately unsure. ‘I told her who you were. I said you’re running the investigation. I think she’s expecting you to go in and talk to her. At least introduce yourself.’
‘I can’t, Paul.’
‘You’re not okay. Like I said, George, you can’t go beating yourself up—’
‘It’s not that. I just can’t, Paul. You’ve got it covered. You’re a good detective.’
‘And you’re running the investigation. And a better one.’
George took a second. ‘Maybe he wasn’t telling me everything, Paul. I’ve played it back in my mind, when he was talking to me back at the house, when I was taking his statement. Maybe he was holding back. Maybe I even knew it at the time but I didn’t pull him up on it.’
‘He’d just had a terrible thing happen to him. You have to let these people go a bit. He was still shook up, confused—’
George was shaking his head aggressively. ‘What if he knew he was going to do this? Do what he did, right from the start? Maybe he was hiding that. I see through people, Paul, I always do. When people have more to tell me, I know, I’m good at it. Jesus, I’ve made a career out of it. I didn’t push him on it because I knew he was struggling and I didn’t think I could do anything about it. I ignored it, Paul. I let him down because I didn’t have the energy to sit and listen.’ George rubbed at his face. He felt he was battling a breakdown. He wanted to give in — to his frustration, to his helplessness, to everything. ‘He phoned me. This morning. I ignored it, Paul. What if he
wanted to be talked out of it? What if he just needed to know someone was there for him?’ George lifted his head and shut his eyes. Suddenly he felt a shove in his chest. He stumbled backwards and opened his eyes as he was pushed through a toilet door. Paul Bearn was forceful in his ear.
‘Listen, George, we can’t be doing this here. These people have expectations. They don’t see past the badge. We don’t get to have feelings in front of these people. We don’t get to have family troubles. We don’t get to be weak or upset and we don’t ever let people down. Pull yourself together, sir. This is what we’re here for.’
George’s head shook slowly from side to side. He took a deep breath. He brushed past Paul and tugged the door so hard it smacked off the wall behind him. He took a moment. The door to the family room was almost directly over the corridor. He walked in to be met by a pair of watery eyes. Louise stood ringing her hands. It looked like she had been pacing the room.
‘You must be George Elms,’ she said. She managed a weak smile.
‘I am, yes.’
‘And you’re going to need to talk to me?’
George exchanged glances with Paul. ‘I am, yes. Do you think you’re up to it?’
‘I don’t know if I can help much. I have no idea what’s been going on. I speak to my mum a lot. I mean . . . I did. Once a week on the weekend when I could get the time zones right. I feel like I have a lot of questions for you.’
George did his best to look reassuring. He sat down on one of the high backed chairs and Louise took her cue to do the same, perching on the edge of one. George had seen her date of birth; he knew she was fifty-three. She looked a lot younger. She had black hair that was long and straightened. She wore a trouser suit and flat shoes. She pushed slim hands together over an expensive-looking bag. A diamond wedding ring dazzled in the strip lighting. Her expression was expectant. George had met a lot of people under the sort of pressures she was under and in similar circumstances. She was carrying herself well.
‘You can start then. What do you need to know?’
THEN SHE RAN an absolutely gripping crime thriller with a massive twist Page 18
