Sheldon turned to Christina and smiled an
‘The buzz about it being Billy Privett has reached headquarters,’ Lowther said.
‘What do headquarters say?’
‘They want to send FMIT over today.’
Sheldon closed his eyes for a moment. The Force Major Incident Team had taken over the Alice Kenyon investigation. Some people had said that he’d become too involved in the case, but he shouldn’t have been punished for it. He could have caught her killer, if he had just been given more time.
‘I thought they were too busy?’ Sheldon said, after a few seconds. Sweat popped onto his lip.
‘They are, but it looks like they have spotted the press exposure on this one and want the limelight.’
Sheldon raised an eyebrow. He knew how it went, that FMIT would take over all the murder investigations in Lancashire if it was possible, but they had limited resources, like every department. So they picked the bigger cases, the ones that were the most complex, or attracted the most attention. When the Alice Kenyon case had first started, it was just a student found drowned in a pool, and at the wrong end of the county. Oulton was left to fend for itself in most things, and the local chiefs liked it that way, but sometimes things got a little too big, and in Alice’s case, the press clamour made them ask for more help. The big city boys had been glad to help out.
‘I can do this,’ Sheldon said, although he surprised himself that he had voiced his thoughts.
Lowther nodded, uncertain. ‘It’s not always up to us, sir.’
A door opened further along, and Chief Inspector Dixon appeared in the corridor. She was once the rising star of the force, but she was pushed out to Oulton and her career stalled as she got used to the quieter life. Perhaps that had been the intention of the top brass.
She was going outside for a cigarette, the lighter and the gold of the packet visible in her hand, but then she faltered when she saw Christina.
Sheldon glanced across to Christina, whose smile had turned into a smirk. The Chief stopped in the corridor for a few seconds, her eyes towards the floor, and then she turned away and went back into her office, the door clicking closed behind her.
‘And I got a message from the reporter, Jim Kelly,’ Lowther said. ‘He’s gone back to work, but he said that he’s going to write his story about,’ and then he paused as he noticed Christina listening. He leaned forward and whispered, ‘About what was delivered to his office this morning.’
Sheldon closed his eyes. It was the same old problem, that there wasn’t much they can do to stop press reporting until they had a suspect charged and before the court. They got agreements sometimes to hold things back, but Sheldon guessed that Jim Kelly wanted to squeeze every bit of publicity out of the case. Sheldon’s fingers trembled and so he clenched his fist to stop it.
‘Sir?’ It was Lowther.
Sheldon opened his eyes. A bead of sweat trickled down his nose. ‘I’ll speak to Kelly,’ he said, and then took Christina into a side room.
As they crossed the field in front of the cottage, their bags bulging with food, Arni was waiting nonchalantly in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb. John knew it was an act. Arni’s jaw was clenched and the veins in his arms showed his tension.
Arni stepped forward as they got closer and held out his arms. Gemma and Dawn passed over their rucksacks, and Arni’s lips were pursed as he looked through them. Dawn was trembling next to John, and so he turned to nod and smile, but she didn’t respond.
Arni pointed at John and then towards the van. ‘It needs cleaning out,’ he said. ‘And there is some mesh near the barn. Cover the cottage windows with it. We need to be ready.’
‘What for?’ John said.
Arni glowered. ‘You’ll find out soon enough. Until then, you don’t need to know.’ And then he went back into the house.
Once Arni was out of earshot, Gemma said, ‘I’ll help you with the van.’
John smiled. ‘Thank you.’ He knew the rhythm of the group now. Arni was the enforcer, Henry the inspiration. ‘I’ll sort out the mesh.’
He went to the side of the house to find what he needed as Gemma went to get a bucket. He approached one of the farm outbuildings where he had seen the wire mesh rolled up earlier, leaning against a wall. John picked up the roll but then stopped to peer into the shadows of the outbuilding. There was a large sliding door that ran on rusty rollers, and it had been left ajar. As he looked, he saw a metal barrel, just like the one Arni had unloaded earlier.
John looked around to check that no one was watching, and then stepped inside.
It was cold and dark and smelled of oil and old machinery. His shoes scraped on grit, and so he walked slowly, anxious not to betray his presence.
John looked at the barrel. There was nothing written on the outside, but as he got closer he saw that it wasn’t welded shut but had a lid.
He looked around to check that he was still alone, and then he lifted it slowly and peered inside. It contained white crystals, the barrel half full.
He heard voices, and so he dropped the lid and went back outside. It was the Elams collecting eggs. Jennifer looked up and waved. He waved back, and then went to pick up the mesh. Gemma appeared behind him, dragging a hosepipe to the van. He smiled at her as she filled the bucket with water and then clambered into the back.
Dawn was sitting down outside, watching them, absent-mindedly throwing stones like a bored child.
John thought about the barrel as he watched Gemma spray at the floor of the van, her boots loud in the confined space as they scraped on the dirt and the grit. Water started to stream out, like dark rust, staining the courtyard.
Gemma had been there on the first night, when he’d been brought blindfolded to the farmhouse. Someone had sat him in a chair and then tied his hands to the back. John remembered his nerves, his breaths fast, his tongue flicking over his lips to remove the sweat, the creaks of his chair audible above the sounds of people around him.
He had seen the light come on, bright even through the blindfold, so that he had moved his head around, more nervous as he tried to work out what was going on. There had been hands on him. Soft hands, feminine hands, running up his chest, his legs, his groin, touching him. People were laughing, young women giggling. It was a tease, a joke, but the powerlessness turned him on.
Then fingers had tugged at the small knots at the back of his head and the blindfold was loosened.
The glare from the light had been bright, and so he squinted and turned away. As the room had come slowly into view, all he could see were smiling faces. It had been carefree, but mixed with the flush of arousal, the glint of excitement that something new was happening. He thought then that there didn’t seem to be many men, that it had been mainly young women, some little more than late teens. His eyes had moved frantically from one to the other, checking for hostility, or hatred or danger, some sign that he had read everything wrong, but there were none. They wore the same look of contentment they had worn when they had visited him at his own house.
Then he had seen him for the first time. Henry.
John heard him before he saw him. There was a rustle behind the lamp, the crossing of legs, a cough. Then Henry commanded everyone to sit down, his voice quiet, but it had held everyone’s attention, because they all did just that, sitting cross-legged on the floor. John had known that Henry was their leader, because everyone else had talked about him so much, but that was the moment when John knew exactly how much Henry led, and how much they followed.
Henry had leaned forward into the beam from the lamp, so that it cast a halo around his hair. It was wild, long and unkempt, and dark strands against the brightness of the light made it fan out.
‘I’m Henry,’ he said.
