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

are you coming or what? I want these people arrested and charged and made to pay.’

Now that Bennet had the director’s real name and an email address he could use, he didn’t care to stay in Lampton. The film crew had a motorhome, which meant they were gone, and his entire day here had been a waste. He wanted to email Overeem, right now, and then drive home fast, right now. But he was intrigued by Crabtree’s claim. He didn’t know much about Francis Overeem or the others, but he knew Lorraine. Or had. And the Lorraine he’d known wasn’t the sort to smash up a building.

Unless there was good cause.

‘Did you know what they were filming?’ Bennet asked.

‘I only dealt with one man, a black man, him that gave me that card. He knocked on my door and paid cash and I handed a key and that was it. But I heard the gossip after that. News soon got round. We have our ways of knowing about people who come here. You can’t hide anything here.’

‘I know. Lampton has a hive mind. So people would have heard that you had the film crew staying at your ranch. And they didn’t like it. The Keys ordered you to kick them out, didn’t they? Is that why the crew trashed your ranch?’

Crabtree had been pacing in anger, eyes down as if seeking something new to stomp into the mud. He now stopped and stared at Bennet. ‘Sir, no one orders me to do anything. I was one of those Keys once, you know?’

Bennet recalled hotelier Gemma’s story about disability thwarting her chances of Key status. ‘And when your wife died, you got ejected.’

Crabtree’s expression confirmed it. ‘I didn’t care what they were filming. I don’t care what their documentary does for this village. I don’t live in there, I live out here. I would have been okay with them staying for however long they wanted. But I didn’t want my Elise’s ranch being on the TV, not connected to that missing girl thing. I didn’t want morbid Lopers coming round. So I asked them to leave. Nice and polite. And when I came back to check later that night, oh, they’d gone. Gone and destroyed the place, the bastards.’

‘Why didn’t you call the police?’

‘I’ve had my fill of people in there. No more guests, no cops. Cops won’t do anything, anyway. I don’t want anyone else traipsing around my Elise’s place. I’m going to put it right and then lock it up and leave it, like I should have done in the first place.’

‘But you want to show me?’

‘Only cos you’re here right now, and I heard you’re after that crew. I don’t know what they did to get South Yorkshire cops coming all the way here for them, but now you can add thousands of pounds of vandalism. So I hope you’re serious about arresting them. Now let’s go.’

27

Crabtree said his Land Rover needed a starter motor and that Liam’s Pathfinder would get stuck, so both men rode in the loader. It was half a mile and the land was indeed rugged, but the Pathfinder could have made it because they followed a clear rutted track created by the loader on some prior day.

As they rode, Crabtree gave him the tale. He had built his wife, Elise, a ranch for when she had episodes and needed space. He didn’t elaborate on these ‘episodes’, but hinted that they required Elise to be away from people. To rekindle the love they’d shared as teenagers fifty years ago, Elise had wanted them to dump modern amenities like the car and the TV and the phone. So they walked everywhere, and they spent time reading together or playing cards, and when an episode forced them apart, they tried to develop a retro communications system between the ranch and the farmhouse. Carrier pigeon, but it died. Morse code, but Crabtree could never get the hang of it.

Elise had died at home while Crabtree was out shopping. Neither did he explain what caused her death, except to say it wasn’t quick. There was enough time and coherence for her to have picked up the phone and called for help. Except Crabtree, upon her wishes, had ripped the phone out of the farmhouse. She was found in her car, engine running, having tried to drive for help.

After her death, Crabtree had kept the ranch pristine and untouched, but in the last year or so had outfitted it to cater to families and made it available to rent. Big mistake. Never again.

The final part of the journey was in silence, except for the tractor’s engine. They turned around a collection of man-high rocks and the ranch came into view, sitting all alone out here in a shallow valley, perhaps three hundred metres away. Two minutes later, the tractor pulled up. The loader’s tracks ran to an area out front of the ranch where the grass and mud had been churned into chilled solid micro mountain ranges and valleys, clearly the result of the loader performing manoeuvres.

The ranch was single-storey, all old logs painted brown. Nursery-rhyme quaint. Very much the kind of place someone would honour his wife with. And the sort tourists would love to rent. But never again.

Liam hopped off the loader and watched Crabtree slowly dismount. The farmer stared at his own ranch, as if fearful. His mouth moved silently. Liam thought he got the word sorry. Did the farmer believe bringing a visitor here would offend his wife’s soul or something? Days after strangers had stayed at the place? Strange.

Crabtree found a key amongst a set and walked to the door. He took a deep breath before inserting the key. Liam noticed that the handle and lock were heavy-duty, and shiny as only the brand new can be. Another deep breath, then the farmer pushed open the door.

Immediately the emptiness hit Bennet. Like that cold aura you get upon entering your own home after