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

be next to impossible. The only certainty the police had was that a tower in the grounds of the Arrow Hotel hadn’t registered the devices, which meant they hadn’t travelled with the owners to Stanton Lake. Not that this helped much.

Upon arrival at their destination, Bennet parked and heaved Joe onto his shoulders. He felt his age, or he felt Joe’s, and could only carry him halfway before his lower back turned to fire. Father and son walked the rest of the way. Because he thought the park itself was their destination, Joe didn’t ask where they were going as Bennet led him down a grassy hill. Soon, they arrived.

The thing Bennet wanted wasn’t where he’d expected. On a hunch, he looked at a nearby bin, which had overflowed and scattered some of its trash. He followed a trail of rubbish laid by the wind, and under a bush, near a pop bottle, he found it. It was sticky with a splash of sugary drink and a food stain.

‘What’s that?’ Joe said as Bennet wiped it clean. Bennet handed the laminated A5 sheet to his son. Joe read its words aloud. ‘To our loving son, Mick, taken away too soon. Rest in peace, and we will see you again. 03/10/2003 – 02/01/2020.’ He looked at his dad. ‘This Mick was sixteen. Was he killed here? Are you solving his murder?’

‘Yes. He was killed in this park. And yes, I’m trying to solve the crime.’

‘Do you know who did it?’

‘We have a good idea.’

‘Is he arrested?’

‘Was. We had to let him go.’

‘Why?’

‘Rules, Joe.’

‘I don’t get it. Even though it was him, you let him go?’

‘It was the right thing to do.’ It wasn’t lost on him that others, including Liz and Councillor Turner, had used that very same line. ‘According to the rule book.’

Joe handed the laminated dedication back. ‘Why was it in the bin?’

‘Rules, Joe. Always rules. It was stapled to the bench, but the parents had no permission to put it there. So, to some, taking it off was also the right thing to do. But not to the people who actually matter.’

Joe looked at the bench, at the existing bronze plaque there. ‘Why is Mick’s paper and not metal? Is he not as important?’

‘The boy’s parents don’t have much money. And no, to some he’s not important.’

‘Are you going to put it back?’

In answer, Bennet folded the sheet, put it in his pocket, and they left Buttery Park.

50

Around midday, Bennet got another update from Envoy Lady: the pathologist had finished the autopsies on all four victims found in the CaraHome, working virtually through the night. Of course they’d fast-tracked that, delaying some other post-mortem and making a poor someone with a dead soulmate wait for answers and justice.

All four had been smashed about the head and then their throats were opened, and post mortem had suffered massive blunt force trauma from head to toe, resulting in myriad fractures and breaks of various bones. Pushed for a guess as to the weapon used for the neck injuries, the pathologist had suggested a kind of hook knife, although there was tearing as well as slicing. When asked about the body trauma, she had surprised the investigators by comparing the injuries to those of a man who’d laid dead on her table two years ago. ‘That fellow was a rock climber and he fell three hundred feet, bouncing all the way.’

Intriguing. The Peak District had mountains. A search had begun. But there was another surprise in store.

Although the time of death was sometime Sunday evening or Monday morning, there was evidence the bodies had been moved afterwards, and only submerged in water since Tuesday evening. Also, they had been buried at some point before being transferred, along with soil, to the CaraHome. This was a shock to Bennet: he’d visited Lampton early on Tuesday, which meant the bodies had been dumped into Lake Stanton after he’d started making enquiries about the film crew. It meant that the bodies had been dug up sometime after Bennet had visited Lampton. It was possible his presence in Lampton had spooked the killer or killers and they’d made additional efforts to smother the crime.

Bennet hadn’t yet informed Patricia, his neighbour, of the horrible news, but when she banged on his door, he knew she knew. After hearing his tale, and offering her support if he needed it, she insisted on seeing Joe. Joe was eager and invited her into his room – and he shut the door. Bennet suspected his son might want to tell her things, perhaps his feelings, that he was uncomfortable sharing with his dad. Or the animosity in the boy that Bennet hadn’t discerned. Either way, it gave Bennet time for another task. In Birmingham.

The house was in an urban maze, but stood out from the others because of a large extension to the side and rear which more than doubled its size. Bennet parked by a high fence alongside. Through slats of wood, he saw into an expansive games room, where a five-year-old girl was zipping about on a hoverboard. Ian, Tessa’s father, was by the pool table, sorting through papers that covered the baize. Bennet knew the terrible news had been delivered; perhaps Ian was looking for life insurance papers, or an address for Lorraine’s mother.

God, he hadn’t considered Lorraine’s mother, cousins, aunties. Had they heard the news yet? His own father, living in the countryside down south, also deserved a phone call.

The little girl seemed happy, but it was harder for children to understand, wasn’t it? Or it was harder for adults to understand the mental processes of kids. Despite the smile on Tessa’s face, he felt for her. Through no fault of her own on this occasion, Lorraine had for the second time left a father alone with a child. Bennet had often wondered if she would return, if his remaining single was in preparation for such a day. But the father he watched knew that