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

The lawyer’s mouth tightened and his eyes slid sideways to his client, then resumed their steady gaze at Ford. Jesus, the man was a cold one! And what of Martival? The man who had so far maintained the haughty air of someone far above the concerns of ordinary folk? How would he react?

While he waited for Martival to respond, Ford analysed his features, his muscle tone, his skin colour and his posture. He hid the shock well, but not completely. The pink drained from his cheeks. The tiny muscles around his eyes tightened, drawing back the skin and revealing more of the whites. A tremor passed across his face from lips to forehead, like wind rippling wheat in a field. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

He leaned forward. ‘Say again?’ he croaked.

‘Your daughter tried to evade arrest. She mounted a horse, the black one called Woodstock, I believe. It threw her and she landed awkwardly. We called an ambulance and she was taken directly to A&E. She’s not in any danger now, but I believe it was touch-and-go for a while.’

Martival gripped the edges of his chair, whitening his knuckles. Ford saw his chest heaving.

‘Threw her, how?’ he asked.

That was interesting. No demand to be taken to see her or horrified enquiries as to her injuries. Shock? Or a need to keep a lid on his emotions lest he reveal more than he ought to?

‘The horse had no saddle, just a bridle. It reared up at a police dog. Lucy just fell off.’

‘Lucy is an accomplished horsewoman,’ Martival said, frowning. ‘She’s ridden for her country, goddammit! Has my wife been informed?’

‘She’s with Lucy now.’ Ford thought of something that might prise open Martival’s oyster shell of a conscience. A sharp little knife with a wicked edge. ‘I’ve also assigned two men to guard her room.’

‘Two men? What on earth for? Is she in some sort of danger?’

Ford readied his blade. ‘She may be, I’m afraid.’ Slid it home. ‘The brothers of the man you shot are bent on revenge. They threatened Lucy’s life.’

‘You’ve got to have her moved then, Ford! Get her home where we can protect her!’

Ford withdrew his knife. It had done its job.

‘You’re admitting it, then?’

‘What?’ Martival sat back.

His lawyer leaned over and whispered in his ear. Ford watched the way Martival’s eyes changed. Resignation replaced surprise. He slumped and exhaled slowly.

Ford recognised the signs. He’d seen them before. The moment when the weight of an interviewee’s lies became too much and the flimsy structure collapsed in on itself.

‘I just told you that the brothers of the man you shot are trying to hurt Lucy. You didn’t deny you’d killed him.’

Philip sighed heavily and ran a hand over his face, from forehead to chin. Ford waited. Once a suspect had made the internal decision to confess, the interviewer’s best weapon was silence.

‘Do you know your Marcus Aurelius, Inspector?’ he asked, finally.

‘Can’t say I do. We didn’t study Latin at my school.’

‘I memorised some of his words as a young officer. “Here is a rule to remember in future, when anything tempts you to feel bitter: not ‘This is misfortune’, but ‘To bear this worthily is good fortune’.”’

‘Is that you telling me you’re ready to confess?’

‘Lucy told me she’d shot a man dead and had him in the back of Joe’s Land Rover. I don’t think she meant to kill him. Just to frighten him. She said it was an accident.’

‘Did Joe know she had his vehicle?’

‘No. He leaves the keys in the ignition. The children have always borrowed it for driving on the estate. He has access to other vehicles so it wasn’t a problem for his work. They’ve always rather liked it. Call it “the Camel”.’

‘What happened next?’ Ford asked.

‘Well, I asked her who, obviously. And she said an out-of-towner making a nuisance of himself with a camera. I’ve looked him up, you know,’ he said. ‘One of those bloody environmentalists who live in the city but think they know all about the countryside. Self-appointed guardians of the land, as ignorant of rural life as I am of what they serve at fashionable Islington dinner parties.’

‘That doesn’t make him fair game, though, does it? It doesn’t give you and your family the right to take the law into your own hands?’

Martival glared at him. ‘You talk a lot about the law, Inspector. But there are things that run deeper than the law. Since the twelfth century, the Martival family has stewarded Alverchalke. Stewarded, do you hear? I am merely the latest in a long line of servants.’

‘Servants,’ Ford repeated, not believing what he was hearing.

‘Yes, servants. And do you know whom I serve? I serve my family. I serve my forebears,’ he said. ‘I serve the generations to come. I serve the very many people who depend for their livelihoods on the estate I look after. And I do all this uncomplainingly while fools like Long pontificate in front of their stupid little video cameras about Gaia.’

Martival sat back, breathing heavily. Ford caught Rowbotham’s disapproving glance at his client.

‘You’re forgetting something,’ Ford said. ‘In your mind, you were acting as a servant when you and your daughter committed murder. But then you practically ordered Joe Hibberd to take the blame. Hardly the act of a servant, was it?’

‘Joe owed me.’

‘Because of Helmand.’

Martival nodded. ‘And afterwards. He struggled with life on civvy street. I’m sure you’ve met men like him. Straight out of one uniform and into another. I dare say those chaps pointing Heckler & Kochs at me in my car were ex-army.’

‘Who dumped the body?’

‘I did, with Joe’s help.’

‘Where are his things now? The GoPro, his phone, wallet?’

‘Burned, ground into powder and buried. Along with Bolter’s.’

‘Did you do anything before you threw him in the Ebble?’

‘Clever question. You’re testing me. Yes. Before I dumped him in the water, I used a knife to puncture his lungs and vital organs to prevent the body floating.’

‘Where is Owen’s car? And Tommy’s truck?’

‘Old