The Piggy Farmer (The Barrington Patch Book 3) by Emmy Ellis (smart books to read .TXT) 📕

not Francis? That was a turn up for the books and no mistake, but Doreen was well glad about it. For this young woman to confide in her, well, it meant she trusted her, didn’t it? That they were friends?

Or is this a test?

That threw cold water on her chuffed-as-fuck fire, and Doreen sobered. “You know you can talk to me and I won’t blab, don’t you? By killing Karen, I proved I’m with you, and I still am. Nowt will pass my lips, whatever you have to tell me. I’m not stupid enough to repeat what you say, unless you tell me to say it. Come on, get it out. What’s the matter, duck?”

Cassie chewed on her bottom lip for a few seconds, tension radiating off her. “How much do you trust Lou?”

Christ, Doreen hadn’t expected that. “She’s champion, she is. Kept her mouth shut about certain things for years. We did something together then kept apart as much as we could, made out we’d gone in different directions in life so no one would suspect owt. Never once have I had any reason to doubt her.”

Cassie sighed. Seemed to battle with whether to confess whatever was on her mind. “She killed Mr Plod after we’d done Karen over. I got home, and she had him in her fucking boot. She ran over him at the factory. His head popped and everything, bits of brain coming out.”

Doreen’s legs went all funny at the thought of that, plus… Oh, for the love of God. Lou had gone through with her mad idea after all. Why now, after all these years? She’d promised Doreen she wouldn’t kill another person, said she’d behave, especially as Doreen had quizzed her about Superintendent Black. He’d fallen into the canal, well suss, and Lou had sworn it wasn’t her pushing him in. Doreen had other ideas about that, but Lou had persisted with her story: Black had got drunk in The Donny, celebrating the end of a case, and wandered too close to the edge.

What the hell was she playing at?

“Um…right.” Doreen staggered over to a chair and sat. She waved at the kettle. “Can you…? Flippin’ ’eck, I feel sick.”

Cassie poured steaming water into the cups, Doreen sucking in lungfuls of air to stop hyperventilating, telling herself she’d known this would happen, despite Lou’s assurances, so why was she surprised?

Because she promised, and I thought she meant it.

Cassie sniffed. “That’s not all. She got me and Mam roped into killing DCI Gorley. Well, ex-DCI, but you know what I mean. We went to see him this morning, and she used this thing on him she’d made. Wood with loads of nails sticking out. She stabbed his arm, cheek, and neck with it. I set fire to his shed on the allotment.”

“Oh heck, Melinda, his wife, she won’t keep her mouth shut if you’re thinking of sending her one of them anonymous letters Lenny used to post to people after he’d offed someone. She’s got a gob on her and then some. No matter whether you threaten her with disappearing, she’ll shout it to the rooftops. She’ll think Gorley’s old colleagues will keep her safe from you.”

Cassie poured milk. “I’m not contacting her. These copper deaths won’t be publicly down to me, and that’s why I’m here—along with talking about it to you, because Mam keeps telling me I have to stay strong, I needed to tell someone this is getting to me. How can I stay strong all the time? I’ve dealt with loads since Dad died, one thing after another, all big, all a lot to handle. I need you to write something in The Life, us being upset about the pig deaths, making it clear it isn’t a Grafton job but not saying that outright.”

Cassie finished making the drinks and brought them over. She passed Doreen hers and sat, sighing for so long Doreen had half a mind to brace herself for the girl passing out. Thankfully, Cassie was all right, so Doreen reached over and patted her hand.

“Lou told me about her plans years ago.” Doreen’s mind skipped back to a night in the pub, where they’d always said hello in passing but continued to keep their distance.

A short while after they’d broken the law, Doreen had moved out of their shared house, back to her childhood home, unable to stand what she’d done, what Lou had done. They’d been young, just eighteen and starting out alone, and it had all gone so horribly wrong.

“A couple of weeks after Jess was buried, we had a chat. I’d gone to the toilet in The Donny,” she said, “and Lou was in there, a bit pissed up. Weaving, slurring, that sort of thing. She says to me, ‘Dor, I’m going to be the piggy farmer’. And I thought that was well odd, seeing as she already was, what with Handel. Anyroad, she says, ‘I’m going to kill them, all those who didn’t save my Jess.’ I told her not to, that messing with the police wasn’t a good idea, and in the end, she swore to me she wouldn’t. Then Superintendent Black drowned, and it just seemed too much of a coincidence for it not to have been her.”

“Well, it must have got too much for her, because she followed Bob to the factory and ran him over on our property, for God’s sake. Then she got Mam involved to get rid of the patrol car—close to the bloody squat.”

“What’s up with that?”

“Because I have Jason bastard Shepherd in there, haven’t I. Got him to meet me last night after you’d gone home. I wanted him to admit he’s been plotting to drug me and Mam, take over the patch. He didn’t, so I shot him in the leg with my nail gun.”

“Oh my sodding days.” Doreen flapped a hand in front