Turn to Dust

by Amphlett, Rachel

  ‘Answer for the purposes of the recording, please, Helen,’ said Kay.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Gavin. ‘Take another look.’

  ‘I don’t know him.’

  The detective constable reached into the folder and selected a fourth photograph. ‘Do you recognise this tattoo?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Really? Here’s another image of it. Looks similar, doesn’t it?’ said Gavin. He leaned forward and tapped it with his finger. ‘This photograph was taken in your slaughterhouse three hours ago. It’s on the wall, behind the shelving units. What’s it doing there?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen it before.’

  ‘I’ll bet if you had, you’d have had it removed, wouldn’t you?’

  Helen said nothing.

  ‘Who’s in charge of restocking the shelves, Helen? You, or one of your workers?’ said Kay.

  She shrugged. ‘The workers. That’s what they’re paid for.’

  ‘Are we talking about the part-timers you have on your payroll, or someone else?’ Kay leaned back and folded her arms. ‘Because someone moved the bags after our last search on Monday, didn’t they? Did someone hope that we’d come back, and that we’d notice?’

  Helen swallowed, but held her tongue.

  Gavin turned another photograph around to face Helen. ‘The writing is different under this tattoo in your slaughterhouse. Can you read out what it says?’

  The woman glared at him, then at her solicitor, who gestured to her to answer the question.

  ‘It says “help me”,’ she said, her tone petulant.

  ‘Who might have wanted help?’ said Gavin. ‘Why would someone carve that into the wall?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why were the shelves empty today?’ said Kay.

  ‘There’s a new delivery of food coming this afternoon,’ said Helen. ‘We need to rotate the stock so the older food pellets get used first so they don’t rot. The new sacks get placed under the old stock, that’s all.’

  ‘And why was the work abandoned in such a way that this drawing was exposed?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You’ve provided us with details of the part-time workers you employ, but looking at your payroll it seems that you’re extremely generous with their pay compared with other farms in the area. Why would that be?’

  ‘It’s difficult work. It’s hard to find good people,’ said Helen. ‘We pay them well in the hope that they’ll stay. We haven’t had anyone quit in four years, so that shows we’re doing something right.’

  Gavin pulled a sheaf of witness statements from the folder and ran his eyes down the text. ‘Not one of them has a bad word to say about you or your husband. Are you paying them to keep quiet about your other workers?’

  ‘What other workers?’

  Kay clasped her hands on the table. ‘Helen, we’ve spoken with similar agricultural businesses and we’re of the opinion that the number of workers you legally employ isn’t enough to keep up with the supply levels you’ve been maintaining for the past three years. You’d need at least another half a dozen full-time people to manage the battery farm on top of those you employ in the slaughterhouse. Where are those other workers?’

  ‘I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. My employees are incredibly hard-working and diligent, that’s all.’

  Gavin turned to Kay and raised an eyebrow. ‘Bet they’re having to work even harder, now two of the unpaid workers are dead.’

  ‘Exactly my thoughts, DC Piper. And in hellish conditions.’ Kay turned back to Helen. ‘Who killed Shelley? You, or Adrian?’

  ‘I didn’t kill anyone!’

  The woman’s sudden outburst took Kay by surprise, and she leaned back. ‘Where is your husband?’

  ‘I told the policeman at the house – he went into Tonbridge. He had to go to the post office.’

  ‘Helen, local police went to the post office. They haven’t seen your husband. They didn’t recognise his photograph at all. Where is he?’

  Helen dropped her head and bit at the corner of her thumbnail. ‘I don’t know.’

  Chapter Fifty

  Laura eyed the man on the other side of the table, and wondered why someone with such success in life would become caught up in such a heinous scheme as enslaving defenceless and vulnerable people.

  Carys sat beside her, chin in hand while she nonchalantly flicked through Hugh Ditchens’ original statement as the man sat opposite her, a trickle of sweat dribbling down the side of his face.

  They had started the interview recording a few minutes before, and after reciting the formal caution Laura had fallen silent, expecting her colleague to start the questioning.

  She worried at first that Carys had perhaps lost track of time, but then realised the more experienced detective was making Ditchens wait.

  So, instead, she watched with fascination as the farmer first shifted in his seat, then cleared his throat, and finally looked to his solicitor for help.

  ‘Detective Miles, if you’ve got something to say to my client, then please do.’ The legal representative glared at them both. ‘He’s a busy man.’

  Carys finally lifted her gaze from the witness statement and smiled. ‘Yes, he has been busy, hasn’t he?’

  A few more moments passed while she jotted down some notes, and Laura bit the inside of her cheek as she glanced across and realised her colleague was writing her shopping list for the evening.

  ‘Detective Hanway, do you have those aerial photographs please?’ she said eventually.

  ‘Here.’ Laura slipped her hand into the manila folder under her elbow and picked out two clean copies of the photographs that she’d printed out for the interview.

  None of the mark-ups used during the investigation were visible, and so when Carys placed them in front of Ditchens and his solicitor, the two men had a clear view of the farmer’s property and the surrounding countryside.

  ‘Do you own a light aircraft, Mr Ditchens?’

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his forehead. ‘No, no, I don’t. I told you that when you asked me the other day.’

  ‘This isn’t a test, Mr Ditchens. If you feel the need to change your previous statement, now is the time.’

  ‘I don’t own a light aircraft.’

  ‘Do you have a pilot’s licence?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you aware of any private airfields in the area?’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  Carys pushed the aerial photographs closer to the farmer, and indicated the wide track leading from his land to that belonging to the Peverells. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘I told you. It’s an old drover’s track. It acts as a firebreak these days, and helps me avoid cross-pollination with the tree varieties.’

  ‘Again, Mr Ditchens, I’ll advise you that you can change your previous answers to my questions if you wish.’

  Laura watched as the man’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

  An aura of desperation hung in the air around him as his jaw worked, and she wondered what truths he was grappling with.

  She held her breath as he opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind with a slight shake of his head.

  ‘Can I have the photographs taken at the Peverells’ property earlier today, please, DC Hanway?’ said Carys.

  ‘Of course.’ Pulling the series of six images from the folder, Laura laid them on top of the aerial photographs and waited.

  ‘For the purposes of the recording, we are showing Mr Ditchens photographs taken on the ground at his property and at Helen and Adrian Peverell’s farm,’ said Carys, her voice clear and steady. ‘Specifically, these images show the track leading from their property to yours, a measurement taken of the width of that track depicted with a tape measure, and a third photograph that shows deep indentations in the ground at the far end – on Mr Ditchens’ land – of what appear to be wheel ruts. Any idea what might have
caused these markings, Mr Ditchens?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘But they’re on your land. Surely you would want to know what caused them. There’s quite a lot of damage to the ground there, isn’t there? Didn’t you tell us that you were worried about fly-tippers?’

  He didn’t respond.

  Carys picked up a close-up photograph that had been taken of the trees at the side of the track. ‘What caused this damage to your trees, Mr Ditchens?’

  The farmer frowned. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t seen that before.’

  ‘What? Don’t you check the trees in your orchard on a regular basis? Surely if some of your crops were damaged, you’d want to find out who did it?’

  Misery swept across the farmer’s eyes and he ran a hand over his mouth before speaking. ‘Look, I just didn’t want to cause a fuss, that’s all.’

  ‘Cause a fuss?’ said Carys, her expression incredulous. ‘We’re dealing with two brutal murders, Mr Ditchens. And at the present time, you’re a suspect in those murders.’

  ‘But I had nothing to do with that man’s death.’ His face paled. ‘Who else is dead?’

  Laura shoved another photograph across the table to him without waiting for a cue from Carys. ‘Shelley Yates. Twenty-five. Strangled, before she was dumped in a skip in Maidstone. And then, her feet were cut off.’

  ‘Oh my God.’

  ‘Now, Mr Ditchens,’ said Carys. ‘Perhaps you would like to tell us what you know about a light aircraft using the track that goes through your orchard to take off and land?’

  He glanced at his solicitor, who nodded and gestured for him to continue, and then turned back to the two detectives, his whole demeanour that of a defeated man.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry about that woman, but I had nothing to do with her death – or the man who was found in Maitland’s field. The track in the orchard… you’re right, it is used occasionally as a landing strip for a light aircraft, but it’s not mine.’

  ‘Whose is it?’ said Carys.

  ‘Helen and Adrian’s.’ He shrugged, his mouth downturned. ‘Look, I didn’t want to get into trouble, that’s all. I tag along with them sometimes.’

  ‘Tag along with them to where?’ said Laura, her curiosity piqued.

  ‘Well, mostly to France. They’ve got friends with a vineyard over there, so – and this is only once or twice a year, mind – we fly over and stock up on wine,’ said Ditchens, his face miserable. His gaze moved to the table and he picked at a dent in the veneer with his fingernail. ‘We – I – sometimes bring over cigarettes or tobacco for my employees. You know, to thank them. It’s the same with the wine. Some of it I keep, some of it I might sell on. I think Helen and Adrian might do the same. We don’t mean any harm by it. It’s just a bit of a jolly, to be honest.’

  Carys held up her hand to stop him. ‘Hang on. Are you telling us that all you use the aircraft for is to get from here to France to stock up on wine and tobacco every now and again? And am I right in presuming that the reason you’ve been lying to us is because you’ve been doing so without reporting the duty tax on excess purchases when you get back here?’

  ‘I told them we’d get caught if we weren’t careful.’

  ‘Who’s the pilot?’

  ‘Helen, of course.’ He smiled. ‘Adrian doesn’t have the patience – he’s all brawn and muscle, that one.’

  ‘Mr Ditchens, you should have told us this when we first interviewed you,’ said Carys, unable to keep the frustration from her voice. ‘You should have told us the truth.’

  ‘I realise that now, and I’m so sorry. I just didn’t want to get them into trouble,’ said Ditchens. ‘They’re such a lovely couple. So hard working.’

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Kay shoved open the door so hard the handle bounced off the plasterboard, and both Helen Peverell and her solicitor jumped in their seats.

  She dropped her collection of manila folders onto the table, clenching her teeth as Gavin started the recording equipment and provided the required verbal confirmation that they were continuing the previous interview.

  ‘Where’s the aircraft, Helen?’

  The woman kept her hands flat on the table, but her eyes widened. ‘What?’

  ‘The light aircraft you use to fly to France a few times a year. Where is it? It’s not in any of the outbuildings on your farm – that much is certain given the number of searches we’ve carried out in the past few days, so where the hell is it?’

  ‘I don’t––’

  ‘Don’t, Helen.’ Kay took a deep breath to maintain her calm, and then exhaled. ‘Enough lies. Did you kill Ethan Archer?’

  ‘No––’

  ‘Did you tie his feet together, and then push him out of the aircraft while he was still alive?’

  Helen’s pallor turned a sickly shade of grey, but she remained silent.

  ‘What about Shelley? Whose idea was it to hack off her feet?’

  Blinking, Helen gripped the edge of the table, and then looked at her solicitor.

  ‘The whole truth, Helen,’ said Kay. ‘Now.’

  The woman swallowed. ‘It was Adrian’s idea.’

  ‘To do what?’

  ‘To kill Ethan.’

  Hearing Gavin’s sharp intake of breath at the admission, Kay sat back in her seat and folded her arms, relief coursing through her as she studied the woman. ‘All right, Helen. Let’s hear it. All of it.’

  ‘It… it wasn’t meant to end up this way. When we first bought the farm and did our research into the rabbits, it seemed so simple. Hardly anyone was doing it in the south of England – farming them for pet food, I mean. A lot of pet food companies were importing the dead rabbits in bulk from France, or Belgium. They don’t have such stringent controls over there about how the rabbits are housed. Then, the political climate changed, and there were rumblings about lack of supply and delays at the ports. Can I have a drink of water?’

  Kay waited while Gavin went to the door and signalled to a uniformed constable outside.

  Moments later, he returned with two plastic cups and placed them in front of Helen and her solicitor, who, Kay noted, drained his water in three gulps before returning to his note taking.

  Helen took a sip, and clasped her cup between her hands, her gaze remaining on the photograph of Ethan’s prone body.

  ‘Carry on,’ said Kay.

  ‘I saw a gap in the market, and said so to Adrian. We positioned ourselves as a better alternative to the pet food companies, pointing out that we wouldn’t be affected by anything that was going on politically and that we could guarantee an uninterrupted supply. I mean, you’ve heard the term “breeding like rabbits”, right?’

  Neither Kay nor Gavin smiled.

  ‘Anyway, within six months we were struggling. We couldn’t afford to pay for more workers – we had four people helping us, but we’d agreed to some stupid terms when we first negotiated the supply contracts because we wanted to give the customers a reason to change to us, and so they wouldn’t even think of paying us until at least ninety days had passed.’ She moved the cup to her lips with a shaking hand, then changed her mind and lowered it to the table once more, water slopping over her fingers. ‘That’s when Adrian said we could get cheap labour. When I asked him how, he said we could get homeless people to come and work for us in return for a roof over their head and free food.’

  ‘How very noble of you,’ said Kay, unable to keep the sarcasm from her voice. ‘Take the homeless off the streets, and turn them into modern-day slaves.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that!’ Helen’s face fell. ‘Not at the beginning. I really did think we were doing them a favour. Then we got busier, and Adrian said we had to keep them, that we could turn a bigger profit if we found some more. It was his idea to pay more to the four employees we had in return for their silence. They could work part-time on a full-time wage, as long as they didn’t tell anyone. Well, they weren’t going to, were they? They had it easy, too.’

  ‘What
went wrong?’

  Helen snorted. ‘Everything. The customers renegotiated the contracts, we had to supply half as much meat again, and – I don’t know – Adrian took it really badly. He started hitting the people we were housing––’

  ‘The slaves, you mean,’ said Gavin.

  ‘He said that we could never risk them leaving, and that if anyone found out how we’d been treating them for the past three years, we’d be in a lot of trouble.’ Helen pushed the water away. ‘He said that the only way to make sure that happened was to make them too scared to want to try to escape. He would beat anyone who tried to get away, and make the others watch.’

  ‘What about you, Helen? Did you ever try to escape?’

  Kay watched as the woman bit her lip, then closed her eyes and gave a slight nod.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Only once.’

  ‘What did Adrian do?’

  Helen opened her eyes, and it was then that Kay saw she was terrified.

  ‘What did Adrian do to you, Helen?’

  ‘I can’t – he’ll kill me.’

  ‘Helen, he can’t get to you in here. What did he do?’

  The woman’s shoulders heaved as tears spilled over her cheeks. ‘He held a knife to my throat. One of the boning blades you saw in the slaughterhouse. He said he’d skin me alive if I tried to leave him, or if I tried to tell anyone about the people that we kept there.’

  Kay gave her a moment to compose herself, and waited while she blew her nose.

  ‘When did you learn to fly?’

  ‘In my early twenties – before I met Adrian.’ A watery smile crossed her lips. ‘I’d wanted to learn to fly since I was a teenager, so my parents paid for lessons on my twenty-first birthday.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In Shropshire, where I grew up.’

  ‘Are you allowed to fly at night?’

  Helen shook her head, then remembered the recording equipment. ‘No.’

  ‘So, what happened the night Ethan Archer was murdered?’

  ‘Adrian burst into the kitchen at about ten o’clock on the Friday night in a hell of a temper. He said there had been a breakout, and one of the workers had escaped. Said she’d disappeared up the lane before he could stop her, but that he’d caught the bloke who had helped her. Then, he said he was going to teach them a lesson that they wouldn’t forget.’