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

had been made to all those Lorraine had slighted in her time here. It wasn’t much, but he hoped it was enough.

And it was done, so now he was done with this damn hellhole.

Actually, no. There was one more job to do.

44

No answer at Turner’s front door, so Bennet looked around the back, as any copper would. In the dusk, he saw light emanating from the former stable across the field. He started across the cold-hardened mud.

Without knocking, Bennet put his face to the glass in one of the stable doors. Just like Turner had said, the building was now a workspace, with carpet and wallpaper, but the stalls remained. Above the first was a sign that said REEVE – former home of the filly Sally Jenkins liked to ride. It was now an office.

But Turner was sitting at a desk in the other stall, formerly for B’fly, the Clydesdale Sally had dreamed of riding, and what Bennet saw there made him forget all about knocking. Turner’s back was to Bennet, so he turned the door handle quietly. The door was well oiled and opened without a sound. As he cautiously stepped inside, he heard the councillor speak.

‘Lana, stop right there.’

Bennet stepped closer. Turner’s desk was before a laptop and a curving bank of monitors, five columns of three, each with two camera feeds minimum, some with as many as eight. Atop the bank was a larger screen displaying the view from CAMERA 85. Bennet had seen streets he recognised, and the exterior of the Panorama, and the interior of Jenny’s sandwich shop, and so much more. The sirens scattered about the village weren’t just for audio: they had hidden cameras.

Camera 85 showed a typical street and a woman on the pavement with her dog, both staring up at the lens. The dog wore a coat and she wore a woollen hat. Turner spoke into a microphone by his laptop.

‘You left a stain, Lana. Get it up.’

As Bennet watched over Turner’s shoulder, the woman called Lana turned away and squatted on the pavement before a brown stain. In one hand she held a small plastic bag that she put down. Dog poo. She pulled disposable tissues from a pocket.

‘No, Lana,’ Turner said. ‘Use your hat.’

She obeyed without question. Bennet watched the middle-aged woman yank off the hat, spit on it, and scrub at a dog-poo stain on the concrete. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. This was worse than just spying on people.

Bennet took another step closer, but his foot creaked on a floorboard. He froze, but Turner hadn’t heard. Below him was a barely visible trapdoor. Another step put him two feet behind the councillor.

‘Hitler had a secret bunker too. He would have loved this bit of kit at the Wolf’s Lair.’

Turner almost jumped out of his seat at Bennet’s voice. ‘Bennet. How dare you just walk in here?’ he snapped as he hit a kill switch somewhere and the screens went black.

‘Now I know why certain people don’t want their CCTV fixed. You really do run this place, don’t you? Like your own little toy.’

Turner’s shock became outrage. His fists clenched as he stood. ‘You shouldn’t be here, Bennet. You were told to stay away. Get off my property and out of my village.’

So, Turner knew that DCS Sutton had ordered Bennet to go nowhere near the village during the investigation.

‘I’m going, Turner, right after I leave here. But I had to come. As you well know, my son’s mother was one of the four found dead in that lake. Tell your people whatever fantasy you want, blame aliens, blame the Illuminati, whatever. But you need to treat these victims with respect. Lorraine Cross once lived here. Don’t pretend she didn’t mean anything to the people who knew her.’

Turner gave him a long look, as if unsure there wasn’t a trick afoot. And he relaxed. ‘Okay. Whatever. Is that it? You can go now.’

‘No, one more thing,’ Bennet said as he turned to leave. ‘Let Sally Jenkins’ mother plant a goddamn tree for her daughter.’

45

On the way home, Bennet made a call to Hooper for an update on the Buttery Park stabbing. It had only been a couple of days, but it felt as if he’d been away from that investigation for weeks. Hooper at first was reluctant to talk. DCS Hunter had taken over the investigation and warned the team that they weren’t to contact Bennet while he was on leave. Bennet had to remind Hooper that he was still the man’s boss and the investigation was hardly eyes-only, top-secret. And when that didn’t work, he had to promise he’d not say a word to Hunter. After the call, Bennet sent a mass text to the main members of his team to explain that he was still available at the end of a phone if they needed advice.

From Hooper he learned of only one new development: the Turtons, parents of the murdered boy, Mick, had called the station to complain. Some thugs had been causing trouble: revving their car outside the parents’ house way past midnight, posting trash through the letterbox, and egging the windows. The Turtons wondered if it was to do with their son’s murder, as if they had done something wrong by seeking justice. They wanted to know if there were any suspects yet.

Bennet knew no one had told the parents that the police had indeed found a suspect, and arrested him, and then released him due to lack of evidence. He had no doubt Don The Man and his teenaged crew of thugs were behind the harassment of the Turtons, and it upset him deeply. Those vicious idiots had killed the couple’s son and were now causing them strife, and the police would do nothing about it because Don The Man was officially still innocent and egged windows weren’t a priority.

Bennet arrived home in time to take Joe swimming, but made an excuse why they couldn’t go. Instead, he told