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

to provide a piece of the puzzle. Joe had shouldered the entire burden of guilt. He’d absolved Lord Baverstock and his family. And he’d forestalled any further police enquiries.

Ford thought the PTSD angle was a nice touch. It tapped into a strand of thinking that had moved in recent decades from the world of psychiatry to everyday conversation, TV shows and social media. Hell, Lord Baverstock had even suggested Ford had it.

Against that, he had to weigh the evidence. That’s why they’d arrested Hibberd in the first place, after all. In prime position, the bullet George had retrieved from Owen Long’s skull matched the one used by Hibberd to shoot a rabbit. Juries liked facts like that.

Then there was the circumstantial evidence. And Hibberd’s experience. Strike that. Combat experience. As a sniper. Add in a grudge against at least one of the victims.

Something else was bugging Ford, but he couldn’t drag it out of the dark long enough to scrutinise it. It would come. If he let it.

‘Penny for ’em?’ Mick asked.

‘Huh?’

‘You’ve been on autopilot for the last five minutes. Have you even registered a single thing I’ve said?’

‘Sorry, Mick, I was thinking about Hibberd’s note.’

‘Yeah. Result! CPS won’t give us any grief over this one.’

Ford had his doubts, but kept them to himself. ‘How’re things with you?’ he asked.

‘Me? Oh, just bloody peachy! She’s trying to turn the girls against me. Yesterday, I’m on the phone to Caitlin and she says, “Oh, Dad, Mum says you’re trying to wriggle out of child support.” Which is a complete lie! Not by Caitlin, she’s just repeating what bloody Kirsty told her.’

‘At least they’re still talking to you.’

‘Yeah, yeah. But it’s killing me. I mean, they weren’t at the cuddling stage anymore but, still, they used to give me a hug. Now Kirsty is pouring this, this poison into their ears. Drip, drip, drip! What if they start to believe her? I can’t lose my girls!’

Ford looked sideways. Mick’s eyes were glistening. He swiped a hand across them and then rubbed furiously at the stubble on his scalp. Ford spotted a lay-by coming up and braked hard, swerving off the road and bringing the Discovery to a scuffing halt.

‘Jesus! What did I say?’ Mick asked, removing his hands from the dashboard, where he’d been bracing himself.

‘Nothing. I mean, lots, but nothing bad. You said you wanted to keep working. I respect that. God knows, I need you. But if you feel things getting on top of you, come and see me. That’s an order.’

Mick sniffed, then cleared his throat. Without looking at Ford, he nodded. ‘Thanks. Means a lot.’

Ford knew Mick wouldn’t want to prolong the conversation. The DS wore his heart where it belonged, not on his sleeve. He’d built a persona as the hard man of Major Crimes, if not Bourne Hill, and it wouldn’t do to let people see his fragility. And Ford felt he needed to build bridges after practically accusing Mick of taking money from the Bolters.

And what of Ford himself? God only knew what would happen if people saw the sometimes precarious state of his own sanity.

He pushed the thought aside. Later. I’ve a murder suspect to interview.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The chatter in Major Crimes stilled as Ford and Mick walked in together. Olly and Jools hurried over.

‘Are you all right, guv?’ Jools asked, looking into Ford’s eyes with concern.

‘I’m fine, Jools.’

‘I listened in on the radio from here. They said he pointed a shotgun in your face.’

Ford smiled. ‘Not even close. I think the AFOs were disappointed they didn’t get to use their toys.’

‘When are you interviewing Hibberd, guv?’ Olly asked.

Ford checked his watch. ‘It’s ten past eight now. We booked him in at six thirty-five. The PACE clock started ticking then, so we’ve still got plenty of time, but I want to move fast, so as soon as his brief gets here.’

‘I just thought, with my degree in criminology, I could help you formulate the interview strategy.’

Out of Olly’s eyeline, Jools smirked. Ford caught the expression and frowned at her.

‘What did you have in mind, Olly?’ he asked.

‘I’ve prepared a dossier for you with some thoughts about profitable avenues for questioning to get him to open up. It’s on your desk.’

‘Thanks. I’ll read it now. And you know what?’

‘What, guv?’ Olly asked, the pleasure evident on his face.

Ford smiled. ‘I’d have more time for reading if I didn’t have to make myself a coffee.’

Jools grinned. ‘I’ll have white, no sugar, as you’re making, Ols.’

Ford left them to their bickering and retreated to his office to read Olly’s report.

It made for interesting reading. After receiving an honourable discharge from the army, Hibberd had found work in London as a nightclub bouncer – ‘door staff crew member’, his online CV read.

But after a fracas that ended with him cold-cocking a clubber, he’d moved up to Scotland, where he’d found work on a shooting estate owned by a Saudi billionaire. That had lasted for a year until he’d been caught stealing from guests and fired, though not prosecuted.

Hibberd had returned south and fetched up as his former commander’s gamekeeper, where he’d been ever since.

Ford finished the report, the rest of which concentrated on Hibberd’s background, and turned to Olly’s observations, all of which were couched in the sort of academic language that had Ford reaching for an imaginary red pen.

He mentally turned Olly’s highfalutin phrases into plain English. His least favourite was ‘Childhood spent in benefit-dependent community characterised by intersecting antisocial vectors.’ Ford translated that one as: ‘Grew up in a poor neighbourhood with lots of crime.’

Ford sighed, and shut the folder. Once you cut the fat, some decent stuff remained. But it showed merely that Olly had found out from lectures and books what it had taken Ford a couple of decades to figure out on the job. No more, no less.

Actually – yes, less. Because Olly hadn’t the life experience Ford had. Then a wicked voice in Ford’s head interrupted his train of