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

low, threatening tone that Owen must surely have detected.

But still he stood his ground. ‘Why? What are you going to do? Shoot me? I bear you no ill will.’

Jesus, the old boy had balls the size of grapefruit to keep answering back to a clearly angry landowner with a loaded gun.

‘No? Well, that’s just as well, isn’t it? I’m going to tell you one last time. Get. Off. This. Land.’

With each of the final four words, Lucy prodded Owen in the sternum with the rifle’s muzzle. Where any sane person would have backed away, hands out in surrender or supplication, Owen went forward. He grabbed the barrel and tried to wrench it from Lucy’s grip. They scuffled, and Ford watched, mesmerised, as the rifle swung wildly from left to right, and jerked up and down as Owen and Lucy fought for control.

The dogs were barking properly now. Owen screamed as one sank its teeth into his left buttock.

The report as the rifle went off surprised Ford. Little more than the crack of a cheap firework. He rewound the video and slowed it down. He saw, in agonising detail, the final few seconds of Owen Long’s life.

The rifle, swinging about between the two combatants, dropped by six inches as Lucy tried to pull it down and out of Owen’s hands. Ford could see Lucy’s right index finger on the trigger.

Owen yanked the gun upwards. The slow motion changed the sharp crack to a drawn-out boom as the .22 went off, then Owen’s head snapped back and he toppled sideways, blood flowing from a neat black hole under his jaw.

Lucy stood, looking at him, eyes wide, her left hand clamped over her mouth.

Ford reset the playback to normal speed. The dogs were running in circles, barking, darting over to Owen’s body then back again.

She turned and ran, crying ‘Heel!’ as she fled.

Ford wiped a hand across his lips and took a few deep breaths. The video spooled on, a still image accompanied by the rustle of wind blowing across the mic. Owen lay partially in shot, the edge of the screen cutting him off at the knees.

And then, supplying the final piece of the puzzle, Tommy strolled into shot and looked down at Owen.

‘Silly old bugger!’ he said with a hint of a smirk. Then he turned and ran, exiting from the left side of the screen.

Ford went to stop the video, then took his finger off the mouse, wanting more.

Sure enough, after five minutes, he heard the roar of a diesel engine. A familiar sage-green Land Rover raced up the field then lurched to a stop. Lucy jumped out, slamming the door to keep the dogs inside.

Ford rolled his neck to ease the tension that had built as he watched. Lucy squatted down and got her hands under Owen’s armpits before dragging him to the vehicle and manoeuvring him up and into the load bay.

She closed the tailgate, then glanced straight at Ford with a frown. His pulse bumped in his throat and then he understood: she’d spotted the GoPro for the first time, and realised it was still filming.

She marched over until she filled the screen. Her right arm shot out, so close Ford could see the individual checks of her shirt. Then the screen went black. He asked one of the CSIs for a flash drive and copied the file over.

In Major Crimes, he called Jan and told her to bring the entire search team back from Alverchalke Manor. ‘Tell them we’ve got everything we need. And be especially polite to Lady B,’ he added. ‘Apologise for causing any distress.’

Next he sent a group text to the team.

Get back to BH now. URGENT

Sandy looked up as he entered her office. She frowned.

‘What’s up?’

‘Lucy Martival killed Owen. It’s on video.’

Her eyes popped wide. ‘What?’

‘Owen’s GoPro had an automatic upload to the Cloud. I cracked the password. I just watched the footage he shot at Alverchalke. We have to redo the arrest strategy.’

‘Too bloody right. What’s your take on Lucy?’

‘Even if she killed Owen by accident, she won’t want to spend the rest of her life in prison.’

‘High flight risk, even if not a high fight risk?’

‘Yup. Although, from a risk-assessment point of view, she also has access to weapons. And she’s already killed once with a firearm.’

‘I thought you impounded the family’s guns?’

‘The ones in the gun safe, yes. There could be others. In the house, outbuildings, stashed in a horse trough, who knows?’

‘Good point. So, simultaneous on father and daughter?’

‘Exactly. We take Lucy at home with a contain and call-out, and her father in a hard stop.’

‘He told me he’s leaving London at midday.’

Ford performed a quick calculation. ‘He told you he’s leaving his club at noon, right?’

Sandy nodded.

‘Right. Say forty-five minutes from his club to the M3, then he leaves for the A303 around thirty minutes after that. Allowing fifteen minutes to select the best place for the stop, we could do it at 1.30 p.m.’

‘Right, get going. I’ll call Gordon and update him. We’ll need a second firearms team.’

Ford played the video for the team in the sugar cube. They watched in silence, apart from a collective gasp at eleven minutes and seventeen seconds. Ford let the film play out until Lucy reached out towards them all and stopped the GoPro from recording.

He put Mick in with Sandy in the control centre, and Jan and Olly with the AFOs on the hard stop. Jools would accompany him to Alverchalke Manor on the Lucy arrest.

Over the next thirty minutes, Ford sent a covert team into action at Alverchalke Manor to establish that Lucy was at home. He called the Met control room again.

He felt excitement in the pit of his stomach – like playing live for the first time. But he also had every senior investigator’s fear whenever firearms were involved. Guns meant bullets. And bullets meant the potential for an almighty screw-up. Best case, dead suspects. Worst case, dead members of the public.

Not