Cold Blood by Jane Heafield (great books to read txt) 📕

back to his car, parked in the turning circle on Arton Place, Lucas Turner was leaning against it. He still wore his coveralls, but a biker jacket had been added. The bike it accompanied was nearby with a helmet on the seat. This wasn’t going to be a scalding for laying his vehicle up in someone else’s spot.

‘Councillor Turner wants to talk to you,’ the young man said. ‘Follow me, please.’

Councillor Turner? A strange way for the kid to refer to his father. Intrigued, Bennet knew he would go and see what the top-dog Key wanted. But he wouldn’t make it too easy for this kid. Given what Bennet had recently learned, all respect for Richard Turner and his kin had departed. He opened his door. ‘I have a prior engagement, I’m afraid.’

A look of surprise came over Lucas’s face. Then annoyance, suggesting a threat was imminent. But then he seemed to realise he was dealing with a policeman, or a Loper who didn’t have to follow the rules, or maybe just a bigger, stronger guy. ‘It won’t take long. Please. My father is a parish councillor.’

It sounded like he wanted Bennet to be impressed, but his narrowed eyes gave his words a sinister sheen, as if ‘parish councillor’ was slang for mafia hitman. Eager to go, but not eager to please, Bennet checked his watch and hummed and hawed. ‘I guess I have a few minutes spare. Lead on.’

Bennet followed the bike out of Arton Place and down another side street closer to the centre. Two turns later, Lucas pulled up at the end of another cul-de-sac. It was much like the others Bennet had seen, except instead of two houses at the end, there was just a single large one. It was fifty feet behind an eight-feet-high brick wall that curved around half the entire turning circle. The high walls ran down each side, suggesting an enclosed plot, and he could see a fair splash of land behind the home. A sign by the large iron gates advertised Turner’s – Veterinary Surgeon. Bennet had expected Turner to have a lavish domain, but not this large, and not slap bang in the middle of a typical residential street.

Lucas Turner rode onto the pavement and stopped at an intercom by the gates. Bennet didn’t catch what he said, but it was a handful of words at best and he didn’t await a reply. He turned to Bennet, said, ‘Don’t lie to him, okay? He’ll know,’ and off he blew, far too fast down the road. Bennet watched the gates automatically swing open.

A driveway bearing a flashy Mercedes G-class four-by-four, led to the large porch, and the front door was ajar: another invitation. But Bennet stood his ground out on the road. Two minutes later the door fully opened and Councillor Turner stood on the threshold, dressed in the same suit as before but now without his jacket and with his sleeves rolled up.

Bennet waited. He’d gotten the impression that Turner had barked orders from behind a large, imposing desk and had waited there to receive his guest like a king. It wasn’t going to go down that easy.

After at least thirty seconds standing on the threshold, Turner realised he was going to have to give a little more. He made the long walk to the gates, braving the cold. ‘You could have come in, you know, detective. That’s why I opened the gate.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I felt it was rude to just enter your home. I waited to be invited in.’

‘Well, that was my invitation to – oh, it doesn’t matter. So, I hope my son was polite to you. He’s not a fan of strangers.’

‘He barely said a word. Maybe still smarting because I told him off years ago for trying to steal cars.’

‘I believe he told me about that misunderstanding. He was making sure they were locked.’

Bennet kept a straight face. ‘My mistake. So, you want a word with me?’

‘Yes. Let’s walk.’

Turner snapped his fingers, as if calling a dog. It made Bennet eager for a fight.

18

They strolled down the driveway, then Bennet veered onto the grass and alongside the house. Turner didn’t look comfortable in the cold, but made no objection.

They went around the back, where Bennet saw a long extension to the house in white plastic and glass. The daylight made it hard to see much beyond the giant windows, more so because a security light above the back door of the main house had flicked on at their presence. But he made out a reception area and there was another sign for Turner’s vet surgery on the door. The backyard was oval and large and pretty bare apart from a wooden building at the far end. Stables, by the look of it, although it looked unused as such; there was no equestrian gear and the area out front was spotless, no straw or horse poo or churned mud in sight. The retaining wall lay before a ring of high trees that gave additional privacy.

‘This is a nice set-up,’ Bennet said. ‘Vet work must pay well.’

‘Well, I do it part-time now, just weekends. My time is mostly taken up with my civic duties.’

The councillor had basically just admitted he made less money than Bennet had assumed, but elaborated no further. Turner was probably financing himself by milking various well-off widows and divorcees in this commune and others.

Turner stopped. He looked cold but trying to hide it. Maybe he’d sussed that Bennet had angled away from the house specifically to keep him uncomfortable.

‘I understand you’re here about some visitors we had to the village. So this isn’t about what I believe Sally’s mother spoke to you about?’

‘What would that be?’

‘Sally Jenkins, the ten-year-old girl who went missing. Terrible thing. So you’re not investigating that?’

At least this guy had the decency to refer to her by name. And he was the first person not to shove an alibi for that long-ago night in Bennet’s face. ‘No,