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

‘I don’t know. Leave? Leave this joint?’

‘So you think Mr Overeem basically said, “I have proof. Sit down and talk to me. I’ll be happy to leave this place”. As in, give me what I want and I’ll be out of your hair, right?’

Turner shrugged. ‘At a guess. I’ve never heard this Alt F4 thing before.’

‘Alt F4 is used on a computer to shut down the current window. It started as an online troll tool – so, a user in a forum might ask how to perform this or that action, and a joker will say it’s Alt F4, which will kick the user out of the website. I’m sure to some it’s a source of great mirth. But the term has evolved to become a buzzword meaning anything to do with stop, end, and, as you say, leave. Depends on the context. I’ll bet you’d love to Alt F4 this police station right now. I want you to Alt F4 the acting all innocent. If I was beating answers out of you and my partner saw the chief constable coming, he’d tell me to Alt F4.

‘So, like you say, it’s possible that Overeem’s use of “Alt F4 this joint” was an offered deal: Talk to me and I’ll be gone. But I don’t think so. I think it was a threat. As in, talk to me, because if you don’t, I’ll have no problem shutting down this village of yours.’

Turner said nothing.

The final piece of media was an audio file. This wasn’t from the rehearsal at the Crabtree ranch. It had been recorded, Bennet now knew, in a basement living room at the home of Sandra Gingham, where the Keys held their addendum gatherings. The recording was from the 0245 Monday meeting, at which Lampton’s finest chose to hide a quadruple murder from the world.

Turner heard his own voice:

‘The film crew said it themselves. Their slang term, what was it? When they were done, they’d “Alt F4 this joint”. Exit, in other words. So we pretend they did that. They exited.’

‘Mr Turner, you never saw the ranch rehearsal video. I think we established that. So when exactly did you hear the film crew say “Alt F4 this joint”?’

The councillor took a long time before answering. And his obvious disdain for the room around him and all its occupants was gone, replaced by worry. ‘I can’t remember. Maybe they said it to someone else and that person said it to me. Maybe I misspoke. I don’t know.’

Bennet put his phone on the table. ‘This is what I think happened. When the film crew couldn’t find you at the Lion, Overeem called you and wanted to meet. Perhaps he asked, or perhaps he threatened. You agreed to meet. Perhaps you were curious, perhaps you were scared. But the meet would not happen at the Panorama. Perhaps it was too busy, too open, too centre of your world; perhaps you knew there might be a call for carnage. So Overeem got his camera and folder and checked out of the hotel, and he went to the only other place they could use for the live show. The ranch. That’s how you knew where the film crew was staying.

‘You were led into the kitchen, and it was there that Overeem threatened to destroy your life. Maybe he told you he planned to wait until morning to expose you. Maybe he gave you a deadline for admitting your crime to the world. Either way, you left that ranch angry and scared and knowing you needed a plan. A few hours later, you had that plan. You got a weapon, you went back to that ranch a few hours later, and you broke in. Four beating hearts in that ranch had become five.

‘Francis Overeem, possibly working late, had fallen asleep at the kitchen table. John Crickmer was asleep on the living-room sofa. Betty Crute and Lorraine Cross were asleep in separate bedrooms. Four people, four separate rooms, all of them dead to the world. Perfect. With your weapon, you went from room to room. Five beating hearts became four, three, two, and one. And then you left. No beating hearts left. Your secret was safe.’

Turner said nothing. Bennet almost couldn’t, so thick was the anger in his throat.

‘Three of them never woke up. Maybe they never knew what hit them. One certainly did. Lorraine Cross. She woke and she fought back, but it did her no good.’

The only sound Turner made was the cracking of his fingers. His eyes were on the table.

‘But now you had four bodies, and your village was doomed anyway. Unless you could hide the crime. But you couldn’t clean the ranch and dispose of four bodies by yourself. So you call the Keys, and you convened for that 0147 meeting. Your plan was to arrange for people to visit that ranch under the pretence of evicting the crew. When the bodies were found, you called another meeting, at 0245, this time with the intent of getting help to hide the crime. Crabtree had to be part of it, of course, because it was his ranch and he had that big loader, perfect for digging holes.’

Still Turner didn’t speak.

‘But what of the accusation against you, councillor? What could this little film crew possibly have on you? This bunch of amateurs that was in town to tell the story of a ten-year-old tragedy? You were right after all.’

Turner looked up. ‘Right about what?’

‘About your people not lying to you. They all said they didn’t kill little Sally Jenkins. You knew that to be true.’

66

After a break for Turner to consult with his solicitor, they went again. This time, the solicitor sat by his client’s side in the interview room. Both men had worked on a prepared statement from Turner. The usual format was: suspect learns of damning new evidence, suspect retires to prepare a new statement, suspect’s edited statement conveniently gives