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

at Ford. ‘In total, I should say somewhere between ten and fifteen.’

Ford made a note. Even if Hibberd turned out to be innocent, that wasn’t such a huge pool to get through.

‘Joe Hibberd served under you in the army, I believe,’ he said. ‘As a sniper?’

Lord Baverstock frowned. Clipped off another brown-edged bloom. ‘Yes, he did. Bloody good sergeant, too.’

‘He owes you his life.’

‘I don’t know about that.’

‘The people who dish out gallantry medals seem to think so.’

‘Have you been researching my past?’

‘It’s a matter of public record.’

Lord Baverstock sighed. ‘In the heat of battle, Inspector, you do what you have to. A couple of my lads were in trouble. I did what I could. It’s the training.’

‘He’d go a long way to protect you, wouldn’t he?’

‘You’d have to ask him that.’

‘Owen Long was trying to halt the development on your land.’ He paused. ‘That would have cost you a small fortune.’

Frowning, Lord Baverstock laid the secateurs on top of the short thorny lengths of rose stems piled in the wheelbarrow. He removed the gloves and mopped his forehead with a spotless white handkerchief he drew from a pocket. He folded it into squares and replaced it.

‘I rather resent your insinuation, Inspector,’ he said in a quiet, level voice. ‘But I understand you have a job to do. I think it would be better for both of us if you were to confine your questions to these dreadful murders.’

Ford nodded, readying himself. He planned to ask Lord Baverstock if he’d asked Joe to murder Tommy Bolter. That was conspiracy to murder. He’d be admitting to a crime carrying a life sentence.

It wasn’t so much the answer that interested Ford. It would be a no, he knew that. It was the manner in which it was delivered. He hoped Hannah was paying close attention. Then he admonished himself. Of course she would be! It was the only kind of attention she knew how to pay.

Ford registered his increased pulse and sweating palms. He fought down the urge to wipe them on his thighs.

He inhaled. ‘Just one more question. Did you ever talk to Joe Hibberd about wanting Tommy Bolter dead?’

Lord Baverstock’s face changed in an instant. Gone was the smile. In its place a wild-eyed look of utter astonishment. ‘Sorry. Say again?’

‘Did you ask Joe Hibberd to shoot Tommy Bolter for you? You’ve ordered him to kill in the past; why not now?’

Lord Baverstock took a step towards Ford. His face had paled and he’d clenched his fists. Ford fought the urge to back away.

‘Have you ever served your country, Inspector?’ Lord Baverstock asked, in a quiet voice. Ford saw a muscle firing in his cheek.

‘It’s what I’m doing right now.’

‘We could debate that. I meant in the armed forces.’

‘No.’

‘If by ordering people to kill, you mean have I led men into battle, then I plead guilty. I have closed with the enemy with rifle, bayonet and grenade. The infantry’s mission. Did you know that?’

‘No,’ Ford said.

‘I have zipped men, or what was left of them, into body bags. I have held the hands of boys barely out of their teens while they cried for their mothers. Legs missing, half their faces shot off, guts spilling out,’ he said, maintaining a level tone, which was all the more disturbing for its lack of emotion.

‘None of which—’

‘Hold! I haven’t finished. I ordered nobody to kill anybody,’ Lord Baverstock hissed through gritted teeth. ‘I am done with death, do you hear? Done with it!’ The muscle in his cheek was firing twice a second. ‘I saw enough death in the army to last me a lifetime. I thought I’d left it behind when I received my honourable discharge. Then Sasha contracted that vile, disgusting disease. Tell me, do you know what MND does to a body?’

Ford hadn’t expected this turn in the conversation. He shook his head. ‘I don’t.’

‘It’s a cruel thing, Ford. All Sasha had in front of her was years of unremitting, worsening and incurable pain. She didn’t want that. She asked me to take her to Libertas. I take it you’ve heard of that?’

Ford felt a sudden flash of hostility and no way of reining it in.

‘One of those death clinics the Swiss are so hot on,’ he said.

Lord Baverstock sneered at him. ‘Put it like that if you wish. I don’t care. I begged Sasha to reconsider. But she was as strong-willed as she was beautiful. I accompanied her because I loved her,’ he said. ‘It was a risk, but one I was willing to take for her.’

‘You were willing to take her to her death, you mean.’

Lord Baverstock’s face darkened. ‘I beg your pardon?’

Ford could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Beside him, he sensed Hannah stiffening. He wasn’t sure whose buttons were being pressed anymore. ‘How long did the doctors give her?’

‘I don’t see how that’s any of your damn business. I thought we were discussing Joe Hibberd’s role in Bolter’s murder.’

Ford couldn’t help himself. He felt tears pricking at his eyes. ‘Five years? Ten?’

Lord Baverstock stared at Ford. Finally, he spoke with what seemed to Ford like genuine compassion. ‘I’m sorry, but I have no interest in prolonging this conversation. I assume you are suffering from some sort of work-related stress,’ he said. ‘PTSD, most likely. They tell me it’s common among police officers nowadays. My advice to you is to get yourself to the MO, or police surgeon, or whatever you chaps have these days. Get yourself signed off for a couple of weeks. See somebody about it. No shame in it.’

He picked up the secateurs, turned away and, with a trembling hand, resumed dead-heading the roses.

As they drove away, Ford put his phone on speaker and called a friendly magistrate he knew. He really wanted the .22 rifles from Lord Baverstock’s gun safe. With them in his possession he could get Hannah running forensic ballistics tests – the works. After he’d explained, the magistrate readily agreed to provide a