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

been in contact with a lot of people, trying to track Bennet down. He wondered if the Derby cops were planning to trace his device. He wondered if anyone suspected he’d returned to Lampton. For the final time, he hoped.

He called Patricia. She answered with desperation in her voice: police had been to the house, looking for him. He told her to calm down. ‘I’m fine, don’t worry. I’ll explain everything later. I just want to let you know I’ll be back in about two hours. Is Joe awake?’

‘No. But he’s worried. I can wake him for you.’

Joe was worried. Father of the year. ‘No, I’ll wake him when I get back. If he wakes before, tell him I’m sorry I didn’t leave word. I’ll be back soon. Thank you and I’m sorry.’

After that call, he made one to Sutton. Past midnight, but the superintendent answered immediately. He was worked up and Bennet had to cut him short.

‘I’ll explain everything later. Right now you’ve got something bigger than a rogue detective to deal with. I’m going to send you an audio file. Get your people ready for a bunch of raids.’ Bennet listed the names of the Keys, plus Crabtree and Turner’s son, Lucas. ‘The Keys should be at home. I’ll get Turner. You’ll have to find his son. Crabtree is waiting at his home, dressed and ready to go to the station. He’ll show you where he buried the bodies. There should be some treasure there still.’

‘Bennet, what the hell is going on?’

‘You’ll know after you listen to the audio file. I’ll email it now.’

‘Again, detective, where are you? And I don’t want you going near Richard Turner until I know what’s going on.’

‘I’ll see you at Crabtree’s farm. Here comes the file.’

Bennet hung up, emailed the file, then separated the components of his phone again. He’d broken so many orders and rules recently, and one more wasn’t going to matter.

58

Screen 13: the video feed from the lamp post outside the car park of the Panorama, showing forty metres of the dark main road. Parked directly in the foreground were two cars, nose to nose and connected by jump leads. Four teenagers present, one in each driver’s seat, two watching.

Screen 72: the turning circle of Arton Place. Quiet at this time of night, with a scattering of bedroom lights on and just a single living room illuminated.

Screen 46: the camera in the centre of the Well, showing various establishments, including the Red Lion. The pub was the only place open. People moved past the window periodically and two women were smoking just outside the doorway.

Screen: 1: Turner’s house. The camera was on the far side of the street in order to capture his home, driveway and the road directly outside. This camera was all about security, not snooping. All the lights in the house were off.

Bennet turned his attention to the laptop, which had a portable speaker attached. When he stroked the mousepad, the screen saver vanished and, thankfully, there was no password security. He needed two minutes to work out the system and another to plug in and access a flash drive he’d gotten from Crabtree’s house. File loaded, play button pressed, he leaned back in Councillor Turner’s comfy desk chair to watch his work.

‘Minutes of the Lampton Keys’ additional semi-meeting, held in the chamber on Monday January 20th, at 0245…’

Screen 13: as the audio of the Key Addendum meeting washed across the four teenagers working on their cars, they looked up and round, directly at the camera. On their faces, pure shock. On the road behind them, an approaching car slowed. It stopped dead centre of its lane, and the driver’s door emitted a man in a McDonald’s uniform, probably heading home from a work shift. He stood by his door, staring at the camera.

‘…find the black man. He’s laying across my Elise’s kitchen table. He’s in shorts…’

Screen 72: like a machine starting up, lights appeared in bedroom windows all around the turning circle on Arton Place. Then hallway bulbs illuminated glass in front doors. One opened and a woman in a dressing gown stood on her doorstep. Across the way, a man exited his house, just in pants. Bedroom windows open. Hypnotised faces stared up at the camera and its speakers, as if at a hovering alien craft in the sky.

‘…let the world know what happened here, it kills our village…’

Screen 46: The Lion had emptied as if a fire drill had sounded. Nothing of the sort, of course. Recorded words from trusted village elders, admitting a ghastly crime and, far worse, a secret pact. Perhaps a dozen people milled outside the pub’s front door, in a puddle of light spilling from inside. Publican Jonesy was amongst them. They stared, they listened, and like all others they wore faces of disbelief.

‘…be considering. We have four bodies sitting out there. What about…’

Screen: 1: Turner’s front bedroom light clapped on. Bennet turned his chair from the bank of screens and stood. Beyond the open door of Turner’s stable workspace, across the black field where horses once galloped, the rear of the house remained dark. And then it didn’t. The kitchen light came on. The back door opened. A figure emerged at a run across the grass. Bennet heard Turner yell, ‘Who’s there? How dare you? Get out of my property. You’ll regret this.’

‘…as long as nobody outside this room speaks of it…’

Turner was in tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt, probably his preferred sleeping outfit, and his face was red from a panicked sprint. He stopped in the stable doorway, panting and angry, and wide-eyed upon recognising the man who’d infiltrated his ultra-sacrosanct realm.

‘You? You bastard. Turn that off, now.’

The councillor stepped forward, swinging an elbow to bash Bennet aside so he could reach his console, but Bennet grabbed the man’s arm, kicked out a leg, and slammed him face down on the carpet. Turner immediately tried to thrash free, but Bennet ground a knee hard into the