The Piggy Farmer (The Barrington Patch Book 3), Emmy Ellis [electric book reader txt] 📗

but stared out of the window at them clutching Pyrex dishes full of food. She’d been unable to summon the energy to listen to their condolences all over again and had phoned Lenny to ask him to put a stop to the visits and the flowers. It was all too much.

Today she had a meeting, one she’d asked for in private, with those three detectives, the ones who led the case, useless prats that they were. DCI Robin Gorley, DC Simon Knight, and DS Lisa Codderidge. Bob Holworth was going to be there, too, seeing as he was a beat officer, supposedly with his twig-like finger on the pulse of the community, although he turned a blind eye to everything because of Lenny. Joe wasn’t aware of what she was doing—she didn’t need him smoothing things over, accepting everything the police had to say, nodding, saying, “Thank you for all you’ve done.”

And what was that then? Nowt much as far as she was concerned. Officers had gone over Joe’s land and Sculptor’s Field, canvassed the residents, but other than that…

It wasn’t enough.

Part of her thought Joe was amenable for a quiet life, or maybe coping with grief was enough for him to deal with at the minute, and owt more was too…extra. He was probably holding on by the skin of his teeth, although he hid it well for her sake, God bless him. She could understand why he acted that way, but for her own peace of mind, she needed to know once and for all whether everything had been done that could be done—but she knew that answer already: it hadn’t, not in her mind anyroad.

The lie in place—“I’m going to the market, Joe. I need some fresh air and time by myself. No, please don’t come with me…”—she parked in town behind the high street and walked towards the nearby police station. She imagined they’d be dreading her arrival, moaning amongst themselves about having to put up with some snivelling woman who couldn’t let things go. The Family Liaison Officer, Dina Corsa, had been the only one who’d seemed to give a proper shit, staying with Lou and Joe while their horrific new life played out, from the snatch right up until a week after the funeral—but her being there was more to do with watching them, to see if owt slipped and their guilt became apparent.

It was usually the parents, Dina had said, without tact, but Lou preferred honesty.

“Not that I think it’s you, mind.” Dina had massaged her temples—it must be headache-inducing having to observe people so closely. “But I have to stay here because of that line of enquiry. You’re good people, I can see that, but those are the rules, and I apologise if it’s obvious I’m listening in. I’m not meant to tell you this sort of thing, by the way.”

Well, it was a good job Lou hadn’t taken offence at that, wasn’t it. She’d seen enough programmes on the box that showed a behind-the-scenes look at how the police worked. She remembered thinking they wouldn’t find a speck of evidence against her and Joe: “You carry on and do your job, Dina, but you won’t see or hear owt incriminating from us.”

She sighed, blotting out the memories.

Along the path that had a shortcut branching off it into town, people gave her funny looks—some who might think Lou and Joe had something to do with the kidnap and murder, others clearly at a loss, not knowing what to do or say:

“Do I smile at her? No, that’d be disrespectful.”

“Do I ask how she is? No, because I don’t want her going on and on then crying; I can’t deal with that, got too many of my own problems to deal with.”

Really, though? The biggest problem you could ever have was dying yourself or someone you loved carked it, but she got it, she did. She’d avoided grieving people herself in the past, unable to express her condolences without feeling fake or inappropriate. Like the flowers, platitudes were a waste of time. Nowt made death any better.

Unless it was murder for justice.

But maybe knowing the man in the back of the van had been caught…that would go some way to easing things a bit, to calming her tumultuous mind. Lenny had already killed The Mechanic, the man who’d wielded the gun, but she’d keep her mouth shut about that.

She entered the station, approaching the desk, telling the sergeant behind it who she was and why she was there, a stream of words she’d rather not have uttered, but they were necessary all the same. To be honest, talking was a chore now.

Being a human trying to move on while emotionally stuck in place wore her out.

He gave her a sympathetic glance, his top lip hidden beneath a wiry, ginger-tipped moustache, the roots brown, and buzzed her through, his directions on where to go leaving her mind as quickly as they’d entered it. She only ever retained information that was important these days, and all of it was to do with Jess.

The sergeant must have phoned through. DCI Gorley appeared in a doorway on the right, hanging out of the room, balanced on one foot as if he gripped the inside jamb, swinging there, a child in a man’s forty-something body. Hardly appropriate or respectful behaviour, was it, but she’d let it slide no matter how much it poked at her nerves.

In the room, the other male officers sat on a sofa, the woman on one of two armchairs. Lou had been in here before, the ‘soft’ interview room, one that was supposed to put people at ease and fool them into thinking they weren’t being interrogated. Comfort, Gorley had said last time: “So you don’t feel overwhelmed with a table-and-chair setting, and we have video recording us instead of