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

Bennet waited. He knew what came next would either kill or promote his mission. ‘Liam, I’m going to downgrade the missing person’s–’

‘I don’t think–’

‘Stop, Liam. Just listen. I’ll downgrade it and say the high-risk designation happened by error. But I’ll dedicate some resources to this. Okay? Including you. For today only though. Given your connection to Lorraine, I don’t think your head would be on the job anyway. So, the rest of the day. And that’s it.’

‘Thank you.’

Hunter hung up. Bennet got his mind back on track. He was about to drive on when he spotted a man in the garden centre, coming his way. He had wild long hair and, somehow in winter, a deep tan. When Liam put his window down, the guy yelled a hello and then put his gloved fingers to his temples, as if thinking. Then he pointed at Liam.

‘Early and eager. You look like a water-feature man to me.’

Liam shook his head. ‘You get much business out here?’

Anders pointed at his flash Audi, which made Liam laugh. ‘Exclusively no riff-raff.’

That explained why Liam had seen no signs advertising the shop: you came here if you knew where it was and had the intention to part with cash. Not that it would ever draw much custom; it was probably this man’s pet project of a retiree rather than a legitimate business.

‘Seen anyone in the last couple of days in a white motorhome? Probably Monday. Four people. A big black guy with them. And a blonde woman in her early forties?’

Anders lost his smile as he realised there was no sale to be had here. ‘No. Anyone comes this way, they’re probably coming here. Until that sodding supermarket’s up and running. I tell you, if they have a garden section, I’m gonna kick off, and no one wants to see me kick off.’

‘That Audi’ll have to go back. Hey, why is this road full of holes?’

‘Oh, that’s the Stanton Beast, ain’t it?’

Anders had a grin on his face, like someone eager to be asked to explain his shocking statement. ‘Of course, silly me,’ Liam said, and crushed the accelerator.

35

At the end of the lake, the service road turned right then arced left, all of it a sharp climb to meet a small roundabout at the front of the Arrow Hotel. The building looked as if it had once been a stately home. Three storeys, a turret at each front corner, and tall windows. A high, ancient stone wall blocked the view of the ground floor and front garden; the sliding gate across the driveway was a solid panel just as impenetrable.

As he took the exit towards the hotel, Bennet saw a traffic camera on the roundabout. Its bright-green casing pegged it as a Highways England Automatic Number Plate Recognition camera. He hoped that wasn’t a bad omen. He pulled up by an intercom and pressed the button. He expected to have to state his business, but this was a hotel, not a secret government installation: the gate immediately started to withdraw.

The driveway split a mown lawn with parking area with bays outlined with white paint. Bennet drew to a stop in the turning circle before arched oak main doors, which were wide open. A sign reckoned the proprietors were absolutely thrilled to have him here. Bennet reckoned they’d soon change their minds.

All doors bar one in the dim foyer were shut. That one put him in what looked like a pub lounge. Mostly empty, apart from a barman and a couple of early-starters in suits drinking tea and working on laptops, and a technician fixing a fruit machine. There was a mammoth corkboard with some darts tournament scores, and leaflets promoting local events, and a BARRED list with two photos of young men on it. At the back, long windows offered a tremendous view of the sweeping Peak District landscape.

Beside the corkboard was a recessed reception like a ticket booth. An old guy sat there, cleaning the room-key fobs. He looked too old to be the receptionist Liam had spoken to earlier; probably a manager. Liam approached the window. On the counter was a register, just like at the Panorama, and he got a good look at recent guests’ names before the old guy spotted him and flipped the book shut. Four rooms currently taken, and seven used since Sunday.

‘That’s private, I’m afraid,’ the man said, standing. His badge said: TONY. He had a stoop that shortened him about ten inches, lush brown hair and perfect white teeth, both obviously fake. Liam pulled his warrant card. It felt like a breath of fresh air.

The old man gave a smile and a salute and flipped open the register. It took Bennet just a blink to note no name of Overeem or Dark Saint or Donald Ducke. And no Cross or Taylor, in case Lorraine had made the booking. Didn’t mean the film crew wasn’t here, or hadn’t been.

Bennet shut the book and showed his phone. First a screenshot of Overeem from his blog, then a photo of Lorraine from a Facebook album.

‘These two might have been here on Monday. I believe the male was interested in your Arrow Climb.’

Bennet swiped back and forth between the two photos, giving Tony a good look at both. And he took a long look, as if really trying to help. He even leaned closer and squinted and furrowed his eyebrows in thought. Ultimately, though, he shook his head.

‘I remember all the pretty girls, and I don’t recall that blonde girl, and we had no black people in that night. Or any night I remember in the last few weeks.’

‘How about your CCTV of Monday? Can I see that?’

‘Can’t say no to the law. We’ve got a camera on the car park. But I’ll save you some time. Me and my girls run this place and I don’t take days off. Been every night for months, and I can promise you them two didn’t come in.’

Bennet had suspected this. DC Hooper