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

question. He stared at the copy of Hibberd’s suicide note. It read more like preparation for a temporary insanity defence in court.

He called the team together and filled them in on his current thinking, and allocated tasks designed to prove Hibberd wasn’t their man, from checking local CCTV to tracing any card payments he might have made at the relevant times.

Before she left for Trowbridge to examine Joe’s Land Rover at HQ, Hannah confirmed that the CSIs had recovered every knife from Hibberd’s cottage with a blade longer than three inches. And they’d found no traces of blood on any of them. Nor of bleach, which forensically aware killers often used to clean their weapons. No saws with the right type of teeth anywhere on the property. Nothing that would match the tool marks George had found on Tommy’s skeleton.

Ford leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He had too many questions and not enough answers. A JJ Bolter-shaped shadow hanging over the investigation wasn’t helping either. He got up and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair.

Crossing Major Crimes, he called out to Jools, ‘I’m going for a walk. I need to think. Call me if you need me. And can you track down Gwyneth Pearce’s sister? Ask her to confirm Joe’s story about them being in a relationship.’

As Ford walked through the Cathedral Close, a broad area of landscaped lawns swarming with tourists, his phone rang. Unknown caller.

‘Who is this?’

‘It’s Connor Dowdell. You said if I remembered something helpful to call you, right?’

‘Do you have something?’

‘I might.’

Ford had no difficulty decoding the verbal signal. Dowdell had information. And he wanted something in exchange.

‘And what might you remember, exactly?’

‘Something about one of Tommy’s associates.’

‘Such as?’

‘There’s something I want to ask you first.’

‘Go on.’

‘I’ve got a court case coming up. I thought maybe you could put in a good word for me ’cause I helped you in a murder investigation.’

‘Send me the details. I’ll see what I can do. No promises, mind.’

‘Fair play.’

‘Tell me.’

‘You know Gwynnie? I said she was one of Tommy’s girls, didn’t I? What do them sheikhs have?’

‘A harem?’

‘Yeah, that. Well, one of the girls Tommy had in his little har-reem was that posh bit who lives on the Alverchalke estate.’

Ford’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You mean Lucy Martival?’

‘Likes a bit of rough, that’s what I heard. Plus, Tommy weren’t a bad-looking lad.’

‘And when you say you “heard”, who told you?’

‘Tommy, of course! Who else? Girls used to love his curly hair. He told me she used to like pulling it when they were doing it.’

His mind processing this startling piece of intelligence at high speed, Ford thanked Dowdell and repeated his promise to look at the upcoming court case.

Could it be true? Could a high-born woman like Lucy Martival – correction, the Honourable Lucy Martival – see anything in a little scrote like Tommy Bolter? No. Never. Not in a million years. Tommy had been boasting. Fantasising. And then Ford’s brain switched gears. No? Never? A million years? Come on, Ford, think the unthinkable!

He called Jools. ‘I need to ask you about what women find sexy.’

‘Okaay. Is this going to be weird?’

He smiled. ‘Do you think Lucy Martival could fancy Tommy Bolter?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘Enough to shag him? Is it conceivable?’

‘Anything’s conceivable. Lady Chatterley had a thing for her gardener, didn’t she? But Tommy Bolter? Even if Lucy did fancy a bit of rough, there’s rough and then there’s the Bolters.’

‘OK, thanks, Jools. I’ll let you get on with Gwyneth.’

Ford got back to Bourne Hill and a virtually empty Major Crimes. Jools emerged from the kitchen with two mugs of coffee. She saw Ford.

‘You want one, guv? Kettle’s just boiled.’

‘Please, Jools. Then bring it into my office, would you?’

‘I spoke to Tess Pearce while you were out,’ Jools said as she sat and gave Ford his coffee. ‘She confirmed she’s been going out with Joe Hibberd for three months. Looks like Gwyneth was telling porkies.’

‘Actually, I think Gwyneth holds the key.’

‘To what?’

He pushed his doubts aside. The news that he’d arrested Joe Hibberd would find its way back to JJ, then hopefully he’d relent in his threats to harm Sam. ‘To bringing in Lord Baverstock. I want to arrest His bloody Lordship, but Sandy will have a fit if I don’t have bulletproof grounds. Never mind the PCC, she’ll have my arse in a sling all on her own.’

‘How does Gwyneth fit in?’

‘She was waiting for Tommy in his pickup when he witnessed Owen get shot,’ Ford said. ‘I pushed her about whether Tommy said he recognised or knew the killer. She insisted he said “knew”. Originally, I thought it would have been Hibberd, because of their run-ins. Now I’m not so sure.’

‘You think with the right handling, she could tell us more?’ Jools asked.

‘She said Tommy wouldn’t tell her the killer’s name. But what if he let some other detail slip? Something we could use to identify him?’

‘You want us to ask her to come in?’

Ford shook his head. He’d already dismissed this option. ‘I get the feeling Bourne Hill would make Gwyneth nervous. Can you track her down and find somewhere neutral to talk? And she’s worried about JJ and Rye. Do what you can to reassure her that we’ll keep her name out of it.’

With Jools off to talk to Gwyneth, Ford returned, reluctantly, to updating his policy book. A necessary piece of arse-covering every lead investigator and SIO had to contend with, but one that took up a huge amount of time he would have preferred to spend pursuing suspects.

He pulled up Tommy’s record. And looked at the mugshot. Although Tommy didn’t look his best in the photo – who did? – he had a twinkle in his eye and a crooked grin Ford supposed women could easily find attractive.

If Dowdell was telling the truth, the case had just taken on a new dimension. If.

He decided to solicit another female opinion.

Twenty minutes later,