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

the corpse. Tommy had been murdered in cold blood, coolly dismembered and disposed of down a deep hole in the ground. The shift in attitude to killing didn’t feel right.

So, assume two shooters.

Given the two deaths were linked, the two shooters also had to be linked. Shooter one killed Owen and, on being blackmailed, told shooter two. Shooter two took over and murdered and disposed of Tommy. Given the differences in MO, this felt like the most likely scenario.

If it were true, it would resolve a secondary niggle Ford had been uncomfortable about. The sort of person who could accidentally kill someone close up with a rifle didn’t feel like the sort of person who could kill someone with a sniper shot. One sounded like a leisure shooter out of their depth. The other, something altogether more professional.

Assassins being short on the ground in Wiltshire, he leaned towards the idea that shooter two was a soldier. Either serving. Or former.

Like Joe Hibberd.

Or Lord Baverstock.

The switch from .22 to .308 had to be about effective range. A .22 was a vermin gun. Useful at close range. On small targets. The irony was, if Owen had been shot at long range, he could well have survived.

Tommy’s killer had used a .308 ballistic tip. A long-range round, as George had confirmed at Tommy’s PM. A round you’d choose to take down a deer, or a man.

Ford did a quick internet search. British soldiers in Afghanistan had used sniper rifles chambered for the 7.62mm round, which was effectively the same as the .308. The maximum effective range was around the thousand-metre mark. He performed a rapid calculation and discovered to his horror it yielded a circle of 3.14 square kilometres.

No. Combing that much ground looking for a sniper nest would swallow up too many people on a search. And they’d probably never find it. Even if they did, the chances of it yielding anything useful in the way of forensics were slim.

Forget forensics for now. This was about pursuing the family he was increasingly sure lay behind both murders.

First thing the next morning, Ford called Alverchalke Manor. He wanted Lord Baverstock to feel a little heat. And to confirm the possibility that one of his offspring could have shot and killed Owen Long.

Because that was where Ford had got to overnight. No way would an experienced former soldier allow himself to be bested in a tussle over a rifle and end up accidentally shooting his opponent. It would have been deliberate or not at all.

Lord Baverstock himself answered. ‘Alverchalke.’

‘Good morning, Lord Baverstock, it’s Inspector Ford here. I hope you can help. I need to identify anybody who was out and about on the land you own opposite Pentridge Down nature reserve on the morning of Thursday, the twenty-ninth of April.’

‘That’s close by the rearing field. Joe would have been the only chap up there. It’s strictly private. Can I ask what this is all about?’

‘And when you say “Joe”, you’re talking about Joe Hibberd, your gamekeeper?’

‘Yes. But I fail to see—’

‘Nobody else? Stephen? Or Lucy?’

He could hear Lord Baverstock’s breathing. Pictured the man struggling to remain calm. Either from suppressed anger at what he no doubt thought of as an unwarranted intrusion, or because he was guilty.

‘Not as far as I’m aware. Why do you ask?’

‘Do your children have access to your gun safe?’

‘Of course they bloody do! Have done since they were in their teens. Again, why?’

‘Is it possible either Lucy or Stephen was up near the rearing field shooting between nine a.m. on Thursday April the twenty-ninth and the same time the following day? With or without your knowledge?’

The silence stretched out to five seconds.

‘Lord Baverstock?’

‘It’s possible. As it is that almost anybody else in my employ was out there. Was there anything else, Inspector?’

This was the first of Lord Baverstock’s questions Ford answered. His lips curved as he spoke. ‘Not at the moment. Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.’

Ford ended the call just as Jan placed a mug of tea and a home-made chocolate muffin on the desk in front of him.

‘Eat that,’ she said. ‘You’re wasting away.’

Ford bit into the muffin and smiled. A great detective and a superb baker.

Olly came into his office.

‘Stephen Martival sent through all the stuff about his movements. It all checks out. I’ve got CCTV from The Beckford Arms, copies of the bill, statements from waiters. He was there with his mum till about eleven thirty.’

‘What about his trip to London?’

‘Got CCTV and statements from his colleagues. But it’s not complete, is it, guv? He could still have done it. Just at night.’

Ford shook his head. ‘No, it’s not completely out of the question. The man acts like a bloody psychopath, but I just didn’t get a killer vibe off him.’

Olly was still standing in front of the desk, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

‘What is it?’ Ford asked, impatient to be on to the next stage of his pursuit of Lord Baverstock.

‘I spoke to the GoPro people, too, guv. Got the runaround. They bounced me from marketing to corporate communications, then HR, finance and finally, guess where?’

‘Legal?’

Olly screwed up his face. ‘In very helpful language they informed me they couldn’t help. They have a strict data privacy policy and can’t do anything without written authorisation from the account holder.’

‘But he’s dead!’

‘I know. And I did explain. They said in that case they’d need written authorisation from the executors of his will.’

Ford sighed. Lawyers. ‘Get on to Ruth Long. And be tactful, yes?’

‘Of course,’ Olly said, looking affronted.

Ford went down to Forensics. Hannah was at her desk, sitting in a pool of yellowish light cast by the incandescent bulbs she’d used to replace the neon tubes overhead.

‘Any joy with cracking Owen’s GoPro password?’ he asked her.

‘No. No joy at all. Not even a little moment of bliss. But I’ll keep trying.’

Had it been anyone else, Ford would have asked if they’d tried permutations of the elements from the PC’s main