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

She wondered whether they’d be recording this today, whether they’d indulge her with the idea of catching her out. Whether her name was below the word SUSPECT? on their incident room whiteboard, never mind that Dina would have passed on her expert opinion, proclaiming them innocent.

“Please, take a seat.” Gorley pointed to the spare chair.

Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood to be polite and shake her hand today, and the other officers weren’t inclined to use their manners either, remaining on their arses instead of standing when she’d walked in.

Lou couldn’t help but feel the seat left for her was so she could be seen from all angles, her responses scrutinised, her body language interpreted to fill whatever mould they wanted it to fit in. Well, they could study her all they liked, she hadn’t killed her daughter, so they could piss off on that one.

She sat, regardless of her stubborn nature urging her to insist she’d stand, thanks, and placed her handbag on her lap. They’d probably see that as her putting a barrier between herself and them, some kind of psychological nonsense, but no, she just didn’t want it on the floor. Who knew how many germs it’d pick up there. She had to ensure her home was free of dirt for when Jess returned from Cornwall.

“How can we help you today?” Gorley sat beside Bob on the sofa. He crossed his legs and laced his fingers, cuddling his knee with them, his shiny-shoed foot swinging.

“The man in the back of the van.” Lou stared at him. “Or woman. They still haven’t been found. Why not?”

Gorley winced at her directness and cleared his throat, his cheeks going rosy. “Ah, see, here’s the thing…”

DS Lisa Codderidge leant forward in the chair opposite, hands curled over the ends of the arms. “Please know we didn’t want this to happen.” She gestured to herself then DC Simon Knight.

Gorley glared at her, his nostrils flaring.

It reminded Lou of the pigs on the farm.

“I’ll handle this, thank you.” Gorley appeared uncomfortable, either annoyed at Codderidge or bracing himself for what he had to say. Was bad news on the way? “Jess’ case has been closed for the time being.”

Blood pulsed in Lou’s ears, and the room seemed to spin. Disorientated for a moment, she blinked. “What?” She hadn’t said it breathily, on a gasp, a mother at the beginning of a long road who just wanted to curl up and die, but more in anger, a blunt delivery through clenched teeth.

“We will still be looking out for Rear Van Man, and of course the one who had the gun, but as of today, the team has been disbanded. The clues we have to go on—the people involved, the white van, the shotgun—that’s all we have, nowt else. There were no traces on Jess or her clothing to lead us to whoever took her. I’m sorry.”

“So she’s only just been put in the ground and already you’re giving up?” Lou couldn’t believe this. Didn’t her daughter matter? Now she was buried, the case was being buried, too?

“As I said, we will still be active—well, I will be; Simon, Lisa, Dina, and Bob will need to return to normal duty—but I assure you, if I find owt, you’ll be the first to know.” Gorley swallowed.

“What’s your reasoning behind this?” she asked. “I’ve heard about cases being active for years. Why is Jess’ so different?”

Gorley smiled as though he’d armed himself with this information previous to the meeting and was well able to fob her off. “With so little clues to go on, the search of your husband’s land and Sculptor’s Field bringing up absolutely nowt regarding a perpetrator, despite the body being left by The Beast… We have no van sightings other than Joe following it as far as he could, then it disappeared on the Barrington, as you know. No discarded shotgun, boilersuit, balaclava, or the brown gloves from Rear Van Man, no witnesses coming forward saying they saw someone on the field placing Jess there. We’re chasing ghosts.”

“You’re washing your hands of it, you mean.” Lou had a hard time remaining in her chair. She gripped the top of her bag, the contents hard against her fingertips—the back of her brush, perhaps, the can of Coke she’d brought in case her throat went dry.

Codderidge wasn’t successful in hiding a smirk; was she glad Lou had sniped at her boss? But was it really the best time to chalk up slights? Was it appropriate? No, it bloody well wasn’t. Lou was offended by it. Wanted to leap up and hurt the woman: Don’t you dare sully the meeting about my daughter with your stupid, stupid one-upmanship, you fucking bitch!

Codderidge maybe sensed Lou’s animosity and straightened her treacherous face into something more respectful. “Despite not being on the case any longer, myself, and Simon especially, will be keeping our eyes and ears open. There must be something out there for us to find.”

My thoughts exactly, although I still don’t trust you, woman. Why haven’t you found it already? You’ve had long enough. Too busy shagging your colleague, I’ll bet.

“Um, that’s not what the superintendent wants,” Gorley butted in, hand held up to stop Codderidge from talking. “We’ve unfortunately had our orders.”

So had someone else made the call? Was Gorley only passing information on and the decision was nowt to do with him? She’d heard of ‘don’t shoot the messenger’, of course she had, but right this second, if she had a gun, she’d fire all six bullets into his bastard face.

Lou rose, unable to stand these people any longer, their presence, their breathing, their everything. Yet she stared at each officer in turn, wanting to gauge where they stood on this, the tiny root of revenge grasping in the darkest corner of her mind, a