by Andy Maslen
‘Which one?’
‘JJ. He said he knew the police were coming to arrest me and he was going to get to me first. He said they were going to punish me for Tommy. I thought it was them.’
It made sense to Ford, and once again he found himself facing the uncomfortable truth that someone was tipping off the Bolters.
‘How did you ever meet Tommy?’
She smiled weakly. ‘Not exactly my type, was he? We met in a club. He asked if I wanted to do a line with him. We got talking and I liked him. He was different. It just went from there.’ Her eyes fluttered. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so tired. I need to sleep.’
‘Sleep,’ Ford said. ‘I’ll come and see you again.’
He stepped out of the room and turned left, heading back towards the exit. And his heart stopped.
Filling the narrow space between the green-painted walls, JJ Bolter was striding towards him.
He stopped a pace away from Ford. His dark eyes were black.
‘She down there, is she?’ he asked.
‘Turn around, JJ,’ Ford said.
‘Let me through, or you’ll regret it.’
‘I can’t. I know you’ve got one of my team in your pocket, but this ends now. She’s unconscious. When she comes to, I’m arresting her for murder.’
JJ shook his head. ‘Murder’s right. That’s why I’m here. She’s going to pay.’
‘She’s not the one you want. She didn’t kill Tommy.’
‘Then who did?’
‘I can’t tell you that.’
‘Fuck you!’ JJ said. He pushed Ford hard in the chest and went to move past him.
This time, Ford wasn’t prepared to give JJ any slack. At the wake he’d been drowning in grief and vodka. Now he was bent on murder.
Ford staggered as if the shove had unbalanced him, then drove an elbow up into JJ’s solar plexus. The bigger man’s breath left him, in a convulsive gasp. As JJ doubled over, Ford pushed down hard on the back of his head, sending him sprawling to the floor. Ford straddled his prone form, and grabbed his wrists. He yanked them round and slapped on a pair of cuffs.
Two nurses came round the corner and saw them struggling.
‘Hey! What are you doing?’ one shouted.
‘Police!’ Ford yelled. ‘Get security.’
They ran off. Ford turned back to JJ, who was writhing and bucking beneath him.
He bunched his right fist and pushed a knuckle into the pressure point inside the angle of JJ’s jaw, on the right side.
‘That’s enough!’ he barked.
Whether from the pain or the realisation he’d lost, JJ lay still. Ford climbed off him and stood. JJ managed to get himself to his feet, at which point Ford turned him to face the wall.
‘Bastard!’ JJ grunted, pushing back against Ford’s restraining hands. ‘I’ll get you for this.’
‘Shut up,’ Ford said. ‘You used your Get Out of Jail Free card at Tommy’s wake. Double when Rye threatened my boy. I ought to arrest you for assaulting a police officer. But frankly, I’ve got better things to do with my time. So I’m going to have you escorted off the premises. I’ll personally keep you informed of what happens as far as Tommy’s murder goes. But stay clear of me and my officers.’ He paused. ‘And my family. Clear?’
JJ said nothing.
‘I said, are we clear?’ Ford shouted, just as a pair of burly security guards ran up to him.
‘Fine,’ JJ muttered. ‘But you better make sure they get what’s coming to them, Ford. Or me and Rye will.’
‘I’ll do my job,’ Ford said. ‘If you’ll let me. How did you get up here?’
‘Drove, didn’t I?’
‘Where’s your car?’
‘Lay-by near the entrance.’
Ford turned to the two security guards. ‘Take him out to the main road. He won’t be coming back.’
Ford called Bourne Hill, then stayed outside Lucy’s door until two tall, broad-shouldered uniformed constables arrived.
Ford made his wishes known in plain, unvarnished language. ‘Anyone comes to this door who isn’t wearing an NHS badge, you turn them round. If they won’t go, show them your taser and tell them again. If that doesn’t work, you immobilise them, cuff them and call me. Use force as appropriate to restrain and/or subdue them.’
‘What if they’re family, sir?’ Mark asked.
‘No exceptions. No, wait. Lady Baverstock’s OK. But get photo ID.’
Later that day, Hannah brought Ford a raft of good news. The DNA results from the blood and hair found in Joe Hibberd’s Land Rover had come back. The profile from the blood sample matched Tommy Bolter’s, so they could place his remains inside the vehicle. NDNAD had no match for the hair, but Ford was sure it would match Lord Baverstock’s.
The lab had also confirmed that the blood in the barrel of the Remington .22 belonged to Owen.
According to Lucy, JJ had warned her the police were coming. That meant his source was very close to the investigation. Ford’s suspicions, which had been quiet recently, flared up again.
The firearms team? No way an AFO would want to give a suspect the chance to arm themselves. Had Mick been lying to him all along? Or was it that little toad, Peterson? It would all have to wait. He had a murder suspect to interview.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Ford stared at the man he now knew had murdered Tommy Bolter in cold blood. The lawyer, Rowbotham, looked composed and elegant in another understated but clearly expensive suit.
Lucy Martival had confirmed his suspicions, but Coco had been right: what her stepdaughter had told Ford while under sedation would never make it into court; his recording would be inadmissible.
A lawyer would simply argue she’d been under the influence of a powerful narcotic, possessing neither the capacity to consent to the interview nor the ability to distinguish fact from drug-induced fantasy.
He needed to find a way to get Philip Martival himself to admit it.
Ford nodded to Jools, who switched on the tape recorder.
‘Philip Martival, you have been arrested on suspicion of murder,’ Ford said, looking straight at him. ‘You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’
Martival nodded.
‘For the tape, please?’ Ford said.
Martival lifted a hand and spoke behind it to his lawyer, who listened while keeping his gaze fixed on Ford. Rowbotham nodded.
‘My client will be exercising the right of which you have just reminded him. He will not be saying anything.’ A beat. ‘At all.’
‘For the tape, the suspect, Philip Martival, also known as Lord Baverstock, nodded,’ Ford said, ‘indicating that he understood the caution delivered to him.’
Ford had suspected Martival would pull precisely this trick. He’d rely on his solicitor to keep the interview as short as possible, preferring to take his chances in court with, no doubt, an even more expensive barrister to argue his case.
But Ford had one, devastating card in his hand. He knew Lucy had nearly died trying to evade arrest. And that she’d confessed in the hospital. Her father did not. Ford felt the moral weight of it as he tried to decide when and how to play it. He consulted his conscience, then his detective’s brain.
He felt for the father sitting before him. But he also had a job to do: securing justice for the two murdered men. But which option would yield the confession he wanted? Playing the card now, or waiting? He decided to wait. There was plenty of other evidence he could lay before Martival.
‘We found a human hair stuck to some blood in the load bay of Joe Hibberd’s Land Rover,’ he said. ‘The blood belonged to Tommy Bolter. When we compare the DNA from the hair to the sample you provided on being booked in, I think they’ll be a perfect match. Do you want to tell me how your hair got stuck to Tommy Bolter’s blood?’
Martival folded his arms across his che
st and stared at Ford.
‘My client has asserted his right to silence, Detective Inspector,’ Rowbotham said. ‘I do not believe he intends to answer any of your questions. If you have any hard evidence against my client, I suggest you present it now or release him under investigation.’
Ford shook his head. ‘There is other evidence that leads straight back to you, Philip. Wouldn’t it be better to talk now and make a clean breast of it? Judges tend to look favourably on people who admit their wrongdoing.’
Martival’s mouth stayed shut, his bloodless lips a rebuke to Ford.
‘You have Joe Hibberd in custody, yes?’ Rowbotham asked.
‘Yes.’
‘He has already confessed to both murders,’ the lawyer said with a wintry smile.
Ford ignored him.
‘Philip, have you got money worries? Is that why you applied for planning permission to develop your land? Lucy asked me if I was a banker the first time I came to see you. Is that what you were doing in London? Begging for money to keep your estate afloat?’
Ford saw instantly that he’d found his way through Martival’s armour. The man’s left eye twitched and his lips tightened still further. Ford could see he desperately wanted to rebut the charges or at least answer the insinuation Ford had just made.
‘No comment.’
Ford nodded as if in sympathetic understanding. But with ‘no comment’, Martival had broken his vow of silence. Time to turn up the temperature.
‘Owen Long was murdered while making a video on your land. In it, he poured scorn on your development plans and the greed he says lies behind them. We have that video.’ He saw Martival’s eyes widen fractionally. It was a satisfying moment. He’d caught the man out, wrongfooted him. ‘You destroyed his GoPro. But you forgot about the Cloud. I didn’t. His camera uploaded everything automatically. I watched your daughter, Lucy Martival, shoot Owen Long dead. Did she come to you for help? Did you dispose of the body?’
Martival’s lips twitched.
Ford tried again. ‘Did you shoot Tommy Bolter with your Parker-Hale Safari Deluxe rifle because he was blackmailing Lucy?’
Martival maintained his silence. Ford sighed. Rowbotham obviously took it as an indication that Ford had no further questions, because he began gathering his papers.
‘Wait!’ Ford said sharply.
Rowbotham stopped, eyebrows raised. ‘We’ve established that my client has no intention of answering any of your questions.’
Ford laid his card down.
‘I’m afraid I have some bad news for you, Philip,’ he said, ignoring the lawyer. ‘I went out with a team to arrest Lucy while you were driving home. She tried to escape on a horse and it threw her. She suffered a head injury and is currently in a private room at Salisbury District Hospital.’
The lawyer’s mouth tightened and his eyes slid sideways to his client, then resumed their steady gaze at Ford. Jesus, the man was a cold one! And what of Martival? The man who had so far maintained the haughty air of someone far above the concerns of ordinary folk? How would he react?
While he waited for Martival to respond, Ford analysed his features, his muscle tone, his skin colour and his posture. He hid the shock well, but not completely. The pink drained from his cheeks. The tiny muscles around his eyes tightened, drawing back the skin and revealing more of the whites. A tremor passed across his face from lips to forehead, like wind rippling wheat in a field. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.
He leaned forward. ‘Say again?’ he croaked.
‘Your daughter tried to evade arrest. She mounted a horse, the black one called Woodstock, I believe. It threw her and she landed awkwardly. We called an ambulance and she was taken directly to A&E. She’s not in any danger now, but I believe it was touch-and-go for a while.’
Martival gripped the edges of his chair, whitening his knuckles. Ford saw his chest heaving.
‘Threw her, how?’ he asked.
That was interesting. No demand to be taken to see her or horrified enquiries as to her injuries. Shock? Or a need to keep a lid on his emotions lest he reveal more than he ought to?
‘The horse had no saddle, just a bridle. It reared up at a police dog. Lucy just fell off.’
‘Lucy is an accomplished horsewoman,’ Martival said, frowning. ‘She’s ridden for her country, goddammit! Has my wife been informed?’
‘She’s with Lucy now.’ Ford thought of something that might prise open Martival’s oyster shell of a conscience. A sharp little knife with a wicked edge. ‘I’ve also assigned two men to guard her room.’
‘Two men? What on earth for? Is she in some sort of danger?’
Ford readied his blade. ‘She may be, I’m afraid.’ Slid it home. ‘The brothers of the man you shot are bent on revenge. They threatened Lucy’s life.’
‘You’ve got to have her moved then, Ford! Get her home where we can protect her!’
Ford withdrew his knife. It had done its job.
‘You’re admitting it, then?’
‘What?’ Martival sat back.
His lawyer leaned over and whispered in his ear. Ford watched the way Martival’s eyes changed. Resignation replaced surprise. He slumped and exhaled slowly.
Ford recognised the signs. He’d seen them before. The moment when the weight of an interviewee’s lies became too much and the flimsy structure collapsed in on itself.
‘I just told you that the brothers of the man you shot are trying to hurt Lucy. You didn’t deny you’d killed him.’
Philip sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face, from forehead to chin. Ford waited. Once a suspect had made the internal decision to confess, the interviewer’s best weapon was silence.
‘Do you know your Marcus Aurelius, Inspector?’ he asked, finally.
‘Can’t say I do. We didn’t study Latin at my school.’
‘I memorised some of his words as a young officer. “Here is a rule to remember in future, when anything tempts you to feel bitter: not ‘This is misfortune’, but ‘To bear this worthily is good fortune’.”’
‘Is that you telling me you’re ready to confess?’
‘Lucy told me she’d shot a man dead and had him in the back of Joe’s Land Rover. I don’t think she meant to kill him. Just to frighten him. She said it was an accident.’
‘Did Joe know she had his vehicle?’
‘No. He leaves the keys in the ignition. The children have always borrowed it for driving on the estate. He has access to other vehicles so it wasn’t a problem for his work. They’ve always rather liked it. Call it “the Camel”.’
‘What happened next?’ Ford asked.
‘Well, I asked her who, obviously. And she said an out-of-towner making a nuisance of himself with a camera. I’ve looked him up, you know,’ he said. ‘One of those bloody environmentalists who live in the city but think they know all about the countryside. Self-appointed guardians of the land, as ignorant of rural life as I am of what they serve at fashionable Islington dinner parties.’
‘That doesn’t make him fair game, though, does it? It doesn’t give you and your family the right to take the law into your own hands?’
Martival glared at him. ‘You talk a lot about the law, Inspector. But there are things that run deeper than the law. Since the twelfth century, the Martival family has stewarded Alverchalke. Stewarded, do you hear? I am merely the latest in a long line of servants.’
‘Servants,’ Ford repeated, not believing what he was hearing.
‘Yes, servants. And do you know whom I serve? I serve my family. I serve my forebears,’ he said. ‘I serve the generations to come. I serve the very many people who depend for their livelihoods on the estate I look after. And I do all this uncomplainingly while fools like Long pontificate in front of their stupid little video cameras about Gaia.’
Martival sat back, breathing heavily. Ford caught Rowbotham’s disapproving glance at his client.
‘You’re forgetting something,’ Ford said. ‘In your mind,
you were acting as a servant when you and your daughter committed murder. But then you practically ordered Joe Hibberd to take the blame. Hardly the act of a servant, was it?’
‘Joe owed me.’
‘Because of Helmand.’
Martival nodded. ‘And afterwards. He struggled with life on civvy street. I’m sure you’ve met men like him. Straight out of one uniform and into another. I dare say those chaps pointing Heckler & Kochs at me in my car were ex-army.’
‘Who dumped the body?’
‘I did, with Joe’s help.’
‘Where are his things now? The GoPro, his phone, wallet?’
‘Burned, ground into powder and buried. Along with Bolter’s.’
‘Did you do anything before you threw him in the Ebble?’
‘Clever question. You’re testing me. Yes. Before I dumped him in the water, I used a knife to puncture his lungs and vital organs to prevent the body floating.’
‘Where is Owen’s car? And Tommy’s truck?’
‘Old barn about five miles due west of the manor house. Corrugated iron roof. Double doors at the rear. The vehicles are inside, under tarpaulins.’
‘What happened when Tommy Bolter made his blackmail threat?’ Ford asked.
‘Lucy came and told me. I had no choice but to kill him.’
‘You didn’t even consider paying him off?’
‘No. I did not. He’d only come back for more. And as you seem to have surmised, I don’t happen to have a great deal of spare cash at the moment.’
‘What happened next?’
‘Lucy drove out to the woods in her little BMW 4x4. Parked at the meeting place. Then that greedy little bastard arrived. Cocky as all get-out, strolling up to Lucy as if they were at a garden party. She should never have become’ – Martival shuddered – ‘intimate with him. But that’s Lucy. She’s always been a wild one, from the moment she entered this world. Screamed her little lungs out.’
‘And then?’ Ford prompted.
Martival closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘As we agreed, she put the holdall on the ground between them. Told Bolter she’d padlocked it and gave him the combination. She stepped back out of harm’s way and I shot him through his ear.’
