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

Bennet clenched his jaw as Lorraine and the film crew were hounded out of the pub.

He was really pissed off. He’d suspected the crew had been ostracised from the village, but seeing it on tape made it real. They had come to highlight an old abduction case, to remind the public in the hope of a breakthrough, and the entire village had taken offence. And made it known. Idiots. It explained why Overeem had gone straight to the Panorama to check out. And, later, Crabtree had ordered them to leave his property. Bennet would have probably trashed the place if he’d experienced such hate.

32

Downstairs, Bennet slapped the curtain aside. The landlord, Jonesy, was right before him, his back to Liam as he cleaned the till with a small towel. He turned.

‘Find what you need? Only looked at Sunday, didn’t you?’

Liam ignored him and passed through the bar hatch. He went to the framed picture of the staff and jabbed Barmaid Vicky’s photo. ‘Get me her phone number.’

Jonesy pulled his mobile and recited it. Bennet typed it into his own phone.

‘That it, we done?’ Jonesy said.

‘Everyone in this village is an idiot. You included.’

Jonesy threw his towel on the bar hard enough to make a slapping noise. ‘Police or not, you’re now barred. Well done, because I’ve never barred anyone in my life. Maybe you should just not come back to Lampton at all.’

‘Don’t you need the Keys to make that judgement?’

Back in his Pathfinder, in the secret car park, Bennet called a number and, despite the early hour, it was answered quickly.

‘Vicky, from the Lion? My name–’

‘Jake? I told you I wasn’t interested. And it’s like the crack of dawn.’

Yet it sounded like she was in the midst of a party. Oh, to be young and wild. ‘Not Jake. Maybe Jake got the message. Detective Chief Inspector Bennet, South Yorkshire police. You were working in the Lion last Sunday night, Jan 19th.’

A pause as she yelled at people behind her to keep the racket down. ‘Yes. Why?’

‘Lopers who upped and offed. Four members of a film crew. They got kicked out.’

‘Yes. But not by me. Mr Jonesy runs the place, so he–’

‘I know it wasn’t you. Keep calm. I saw the CCTV of that night and you spoke to one of them, a black man. His name is Francis Overeem. Was he looking for someone?’

‘I’m not sure. I don’t know. Who?’

‘You tell me. He looked around, spoke to you, then you looked around and shook your head and checked your watch.’

‘Oh, yes. No, he was asking if we would get busier, that was it.’

‘For sure? You’d need to check the time for that? Because it looked to me like he asked you if a certain someone was in, and then you had a look and said this person wasn’t there.’

‘No, nothing like that. I think the time thing was to see if we’d reached our peak yet. And they didn’t stay long. So what have they done?’

‘Keep this phone nearby, Vicky…’

‘London. Vicky Anna London. Look, am I in trouble or something?’

‘Another officer will call you, and they’ll want to visit, so stay where you are and talk to the officer when he calls.’

Bennet deflected more questions and hung up. He then sent another of his team a text with Vicky’s name and number and details of her less-than-convincing answers, and an order to perform a follow-up, face-to-face interview. After that, he set out on the job that had brought him to this neck of the woods.

Because now he had a good idea where the film crew might have stayed on Monday night.

33

During his calls to various hotels, he’d found one just a couple of miles from Lampton whose name now popped back into his head. Name: the Arrow Hotel. In his blog, Overeem had mentioned training for something called the Arrow Climb. Coincidence? Not to a copper.

The website listed the Arrow as a small pub/hotel, dog and family friendly, with great food, four-star average reviews, and thirty years in the Good Beer Guide. It was on a cliff overlooking Lake Stanton and had once been home to the Stanton family, whoever they were. There was a rumour that marauders had tried to scale the cliff wall by firing arrows and using them like a ladder; today, iron arrows had replaced them and an extravaganza saw visitors attempt to make the climb for a hefty cash prize – only those who’d a room at the Arrow Hotel, of course. The three-day event had been hosted once a month for fifteen years, and there had been ‘NO FATALITIES YET!!’ Liam had never heard of it during his residency in Lampton. Ten years ago it would have been something he’d have given a shot.

The last Arrow Climb had been Saturday, Sunday and Monday. If Overeem had been planning to enter the competition, it would explain why he’d stayed at the Panorama on Sunday but scheduled an appointment at the Winding Wheel in Chesterfield for Tuesday. Monday night: a room at the Arrow Hotel.

Lake Stanton had been created by a quarry company forty years ago, but part of the land adjacent had recently been purchased by a large supermarket chain that was hoping to open a giant store within the next few years. Locals were arguing against it at the moment, so there wasn’t much movement. Before everything stalled, the supermarket had re-tarmacked an old road along the western side of the lake for their construction traffic. Google Maps showed Bennet a track running between the new service road and Benders Road at a location north-east of Lampton. That sliver of the world belonged to Ronald Crabtree, and now it all made sense.

From the ranch, Overeem’s CaraHome could have reached Benders and found the unnamed track, then the service road by the lake. At whose northern end lay the Arrow Hotel. Barely four miles.

So, Bennet would go to the Arrow Hotel. With luck, Overeem was still there or staff