Land Rites (Detective Ford) by Andy Maslen (best ereader for manga TXT) 📕

‘Sorry. I was in the toilet.’

Ford grimaced. ‘Next time, eh? I’m leaving now, Mick. Take care, yes?’

Jaw throbbing, Ford pulled on the handbrake and climbed out of the Discovery on to his own drive. He glanced in the wing mirror to see a purplish bruise spreading over his cheekbone. He limped up to the front door and let himself in.

He called out to Sam, who came hurtling down the stairs, his face creased with concern.

‘Are you OK, Dad? I saw on Twitter there was a fight at the pub for Tommy Bolter’s wake. It said a policeman was involved.’

Ford accepted his son’s fierce, brief hug. ‘Watch the face,’ he said with a lopsided grin. ‘I’m fine. Mick and I went to the wake. Tommy’s brother, JJ, had too much to drink. He lost his temper and hit me.’

Sam looked outraged. ‘You should have arrested him.’

‘I could have arrested him. But it wouldn’t have served any purpose. He’s just lost his little brother. I let it go.’

‘You shouldn’t have,’ Sam said, gently prodding Ford’s bruise and making him flinch. ‘Mick’s a big bloke. You should have got him to beat JJ up.’

‘We need JJ and Rye on our side.’

‘And assaulting a detective inspector is part of that, is it?’

Sam rarely used Ford’s title, so he knew how seriously his son was taking it. Then he saw why. Beneath the adolescent bravado, Sam was down to one parent. He could be as wilful, stroppy and uncooperative as any teenager, but he had a vulnerable side he only occasionally let Ford see.

He realised that Sam’s insistence on going on the climbing trip with school was him forcing himself to face his fears. Even as Ford tried to avoid facing his own.

‘I’ll be fine. Call it an occupational hazard. How about we go out for tea tonight?’

Sam’s face relaxed and he smiled. ‘Burgers?’

‘Biggest they have.’

‘Cool.’

As Sam climbed into the passenger seat beside him, already running through the menu on his phone, Ford’s feelings of anxiety redoubled. What if JJ wasn’t just making idle threats? Ford doubted he’d actually hurt a teenage boy just to get at a cop who’d failed to catch his brother’s killer. But what if . . . what if . . . what if . . .

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Ford settled down to review the last few videos on Owen Long’s vlog. Just as he’d pressed ‘Play’ on the first one, Jan entered his office carrying a mug of coffee and a plastic box. She unsnapped the lid and placed two flapjacks beside his elbow on a paper plate.

‘Here you go, Henry,’ she said, putting the mug beside them. ‘Cranberry and chocolate chip. You have to eat.’

‘Thanks, Jan. Have you seen Mick this morning?’

She shook her head. ‘You know Kirsty wants a divorce?’

‘Yes.’

‘Maybe it’s to do with that.’

Ford nodded, wondering if it was Kirsty keeping Mick from his duties, or JJ Bolter. He bit into the flapjack. Delicious. Chewy and sweet with a sharp tang from the cranberries.

The videos were a bit samey, and after a while he tired of Owen’s arm-waving histrionics about Gaia and the planet. The man’s passion shone through, but Ford wished he’d taken a chill pill occasionally.

He turned to the written posts and began reading. Most of them had either no comments or just a few breathless compliments from followers.

You are a modern-day prophet, Owen! I could watch you all day (and I actually have!!) Gaia is blessed to have you as her saviour. Your love is so inspiring and powerful. Namaste!

EcoGirl999

Keep speaking truth to power. The church’s loss is the planet’s gain. I stand with you.

RosieTheRioter

I literally CRIED after reading this. Why is nobody LISTENING to us? The CLIMATE APOCALYPSE is here and the FAT CATS and LANDOWNERS just laugh in our faces. This is OUR WORLD and they have set it on FIRE!!!

ExtinctlyRebelliousPete

After forty minutes of more of the same, he sat back. The flapjacks had set off a sharp pain in one of his back teeth and he probed it with his tongue, thinking he needed to visit the dentist and wondering when he’d find the time.

As for the vlog, Owen might have put a great deal of effort into making his films, but he was preaching to the choir.

Ford didn’t see the fans as the type to commit murder. But the people against whom Owen railed in his videos – now they were a different story.

He decided to watch one more video. He clicked the ‘Next’ button for a new page of titles and scrolled down. One caught his eye.

Avarice at Alverchalke

He pressed ‘Play’ and leaned forward to watch. In this video Owen sat at his desk, a bookshelf in the background. The intimate surroundings and his closeness to the camera made Ford feel a personal connection to the dead man.

For much of the first five minutes, Owen ranted against landed families in general, and what he called ‘their unfeeling rapacity, egotistical contempt for the environment and hubristic disregard for natural justice and the fundamental well-being of all living things’.

Bloody hell! Were they sure cause of death wasn’t swallowing a dictionary?

Then Owen said something that jerked Ford into full alertness.

‘That is why I intend to make a special video on Lord Baverstock’s own land. I have done my research. He plans to build one hundred and thirty new houses on pristine countryside. His motive? Pure and unalloyed greed. And he employs an armed gamekeeper to protect him. But please don’t worry for my safety. Gaia will keep me safe, as she always does.’ He placed his hands together in front of his forehead. ‘Namaste.’

Ford hit ‘Pause’. Bingo! This was the video they needed: the one that would prove he’d been trespassing on Lord Baverstock’s land when he was killed. But Owen had been murdered before he could upload it, and they didn’t have his camera.

A question occurred to him. He called Ruth Long.

‘Do you know what sort of camera Owen used to make his