Land Rites (Detective Ford), Andy Maslen [best way to read ebooks .txt] 📗

‘He used to use his phone, but I bought him a GoPro last Christmas.’

Ford went online. A few minutes later he had his answer. The latest models had a feature that allowed users to upload their footage automatically to the Cloud. Had Owen’s caution extended to keeping a Cloud backup of his raw footage?

He checked his emails. Just one, from Hannah.

The meta-data from the photo Gwyneth Pearce gave you tells us Tommy took it at 11.12 a.m. on Thursday 29th April.

I intend to try enhancing the image. Tommy had an eight-megapixel camera in his phone and there was plenty of light.

He took a mouthful of coffee and grimaced. Cold. He finished it anyway and dabbed up the last remaining crumbs of the flapjacks. Questions were arriving faster than he could process them. Had the killer moved the body to deflect suspicion away from Lord Baverstock and on to Adlam?

That’s what it looked like. And that meant the two murders were definitely linked to the Baverstock family. And Owen had mentioned ‘an armed gamekeeper’ – Joe Hibberd.

After the last CCTV picture, Owen’s car had vanished. Had the killer shot him, realised that this far from the city he must have come in a car, found it, and driven it away? It must be parked somewhere well hidden. Ford wanted it badly: it would have the killer’s DNA all over it. He made a note to get Jan searching farms and outbuildings. What if he burned it out? He added lay-bys and known dump sites for joyriders.

Mick popped his head round the door, breaking his concentration. ‘Morning.’

‘Morning,’ Ford said. ‘What time did you leave last night?’

‘Late,’ Mick said, then took a huge slurp of coffee. ‘Nice shiner you’ve got there.’

Ford sighed. ‘Mick, I can’t have you waltzing in late when the rest are burning the candle at both ends.’

Mick shook his head, then winced. ‘It’s not what it looks like. I had a few drinks with Rye and JJ, sure, then a few more with some of the others. And,’ he said, then paused dramatically, ‘I found something out, didn’t I?’

‘What?’

‘I got talking to one of Tommy’s mates last night after you left. Tommy boasted to him about some money-making scheme that was going to make his hare-coursing exploits look like a Saturday job. Said it was going to make him rich.’

‘I heard the same story from his girlfriend. Did he have any idea at all what Tommy meant?’

Mick put the tip of his index finger on his chin. ‘I never thought to ask him,’ he said in a goofy voice. ‘Of course I bloody asked him! I may not be a DI like you, but I can, just about, do the job. Despite what Olly thinks.’

‘And?’

‘He wouldn’t say. I got the feeling he was angling for some cash, or a favour.’

Wondering how much Mick had had to drink before he questioned his informant, Ford pushed on. ‘Did you get a name?’

‘Connor Dowdell.’

‘Let’s have a chat with him, then.’

Mick threw back the last of his coffee. He pressed his free hand to his temple. ‘You haven’t got any paracetamol, have you? Or a Nurofen Express?’

Shaking his head, Ford reached into a drawer, rummaged among the busted staplers and rubber bands and found a squashed packet of painkillers. He tossed it over to Mick.

‘Thanks,’ Mick said, pressing three tablets out of their blisters and swallowing them with a grimace. ‘This one’s a bastard.’

‘How are things at home?’ Ford asked before he could escape.

Mick rubbed a hand over his scalp. ‘Kirsty’s trying to clean me out. She wants the house outright, plus a car and child support for the girls. Which I don’t begrudge, by the way,’ he said. ‘But she’s got a job, Henry! At the council. It pays better than mine, for God’s sake.’

‘That’s why you’ve got a lawyer,’ Ford said. ‘Listen, I meant what I said the other day. If you need time off, you can have it. But if you’re here, I need you to bring your A game. You did well, finding this Dowdell guy. But spending half the night in The White Lion boozing with the Bolter clan and their hangers-on?’ He shrugged. ‘It’s not a great look.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ An edge crept into Mick’s voice. It sounded aggressive, but with Mick, as with so many people, it often masked its opposite.

‘Sit down.’

Mick dragged out a chair and slumped into it, massaging his temples. ‘What, you going to give me the headmaster’s talk about the demon drink?’

‘I think somebody on the team’s giving JJ information about the investigation.’

Mick reared back, bloodshot eyes wide. ‘And you think it’s me? Just because I was at that dump of a school with him? Christ, H, what the fuck?’

‘Is it?’

‘No! No, it isn’t. Why would you think that?’

Ford leaned forward, putting both elbows on the desk. Had he gone too far? He didn’t want to alienate his most experienced DS over an unfounded suspicion. But was it unfounded? Really?

One more try.

‘Look, Kirsty’s after you for money and she’s using the girls to get to you. I understand you’re desperate to hold on to them.’ He paused and inhaled. ‘So desperate you might need additional funds for your lawyer—’

Mick jumped to his feet. His eyes were blazing. ‘And you think I’m taking brown envelopes from JJ Bolter? Is that it? You think I’m bent?’

The last thing Ford wanted was a shouting match in earshot of the rest of the team. He stayed sitting. Trying to keep the stakes low enough to manage.

‘I didn’t say that.’

‘No, but you implied it.’

‘Sit down, Mick. Please. I’m sorry, OK? I shouldn’t have said it.’

Mick folded himself into the chair again, but he looked ready to leave at any moment, back straight, hands gripping the armrests.

‘I do need money,’ he said, his voice an urgent murmur. ‘But I’ve borrowed it from my dad, OK? So what if I’m closer than most to JJ? That’s my superpower. I know all the local villains and