Dimly illuminated by a single watery bulb fixed to a telegraph pole in the yard the main structures of Spring Farm squatted in the wet darkness like black cattle depressed by the rain. I speed dialled the number for Mill House on Tim’s mobile while driving slowly up to the gate, peering into the gloom beyond. The dial tone snarled in my ear via the headset. I stopped. This didn’t feel right at all.
‘Hello?’ Annis’s voice in my ear.
A door opened in a concrete shed on the other side of the yard. Fryer’s farmhand shielded his eyes against the glare of the Landy’s light, looking puzzled.
‘I’m at Spring Farm,’ I said into the mobile.
‘Hello? Is that you, Chris?’ Annis spoke into my ear.
‘Keep going, follow the sign, don’t stop until you get there,’ came the impatient voice on the other mobile.
This was the wrong place. I hastily reversed back into the lane and drove on.
‘Did you say Spring Farm? Hello? All I can hear is noise now,’ Annis said in a faint voice, to Tim, presumably. Both mobiles started crackling as I drove deeper into the darkness of the valley, then reception died. How would I get my instructions now?
The answer stood at the turn to the narrow track on the left. A roughly made blank finger post had been rammed into the soft verge. It pointed forlornly down towards the ford of the Lam brook. This slippery track led to only one place: Grumpy Hollow. One way in, one way out.
I cranked the wheel over and plunged the ghostly signpost back into darkness as I followed its direction down towards the Hollow.
When I reached Gemma Stone’s herb farm I turned off both mobiles. I no longer needed them.
I had arrived.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I let the Land Rover crawl slowly down the slope to where Gemma’s old Volvo was parked. The narrow beam of my headlights picked out her car, with its hatch at the back wide open, the shepherd’s hut and the caravan in sharp, rain-glistened detail, while appearing to pour black ink over everything else. When I had brought the two cars nose to nose I killed the engine but left the lights on and cranked down the window. Earthy smells of dank vegetation rushed into the cab, replacing the oily fug thrown up by the engine. All I could hear was the thrumming of rain on the cab’s roof and the splashing and trickling all about. I got out into the mud and rain, pulled the blanket closer around me and approached the caravan. The door was wide open, a rectangle of blackness against the dirty white of the exterior.
‘That’s close enough,’ came the commanding voice from inside. ‘Stay right there.’
The surge of a powerful engine behind me made me turn around. Headlights on full beam dazzled me as I tried to make out what and who was approaching from behind. What eventually slowed and stopped close to the Land Rover was a black luxury van with wide tyres and permanent four-wheel drive. The engine stopped, the lights remained on, sending their beams deep into the plantation.
‘Who said you were allowed to wear a blanket?’ the voice from the caravan demanded as quiet returned. ‘Drop it!’
I let the blanket slide into the mud.
‘I see. Give us a twirl then, we all saw Die Hard.’
‘No, that’s all right, love, he hasn’t got anything squirrelled away up his backside,’ came the much-loathed voice of Detective Inspector Deeks from the side of the van. He coughed. ‘I’m glad I don’t have to speak in that stupid voice any more.’
Jill stepped out of the caravan, wearing a blue plastic rainproof and jeans with knee-high boots. She was holding a big lump of a revolver with both hands and gestured with it towards the Landy. ‘Go on, fetch the Rodin and stick it in the van.’
‘Watch where you’re pointing that gun, love, keep it on him.’ Deeks slid open the side door of the van.
To say that I felt exposed, cold and narked would sum it up neatly. ‘ Where’s Gem Stone, Deeks? What have you done with her?’
‘I’m all right, I’m in here.’ Gemma’s voice came muffled from inside the shepherd’s hut. ‘Sorry I couldn’t warn you, the bitch said she’d shoot you on the spot if I did.’
‘That’s okay then,’ I called back. I turned to the bitch in question. ‘Your son, Louis?’
‘There’s no such person, thank God.’
‘Jill’s not the least bit mumsy,’ Deeks said cheerfully. ‘Good at amateur dramatics, though. Go on, you heard what she said. Move the statue into the van.’
Jill gestured with the big revolver which seemed a little heavy for her. I stared at it hard.
Deeks noticed. ‘Looks familiar, doesn’t it? Stuff goes missing from police stations all the time, you know. Like your confiscated gun.’ Jill was pointing my own Webley at me. How annoying were these people?
‘You’ve given up on being a copper then? I’d heard you were bent but this is insane. You’ll never get away with it.’
‘That’s exactly what I’ll do, get away. Internal affairs have been sniffing about, I was warned by a loyal soul at Manvers Street. Time to get out, we thought, with a good starting capital. You’d be surprised what sterling still buys in some countries. Just a sec.’ Deeks tore a hole into the covering of the Rodin bundle and felt about until he had the envelope containing the Penny Black. ‘Carry on.’
I lifted the Rodin off the back and squelched across to the van. ‘You might find that the proceeds from this lot won’t go very far,’ I hinted.
‘That won’t matter much. I only wanted the stuff in Telfer’s safe because after we put his brother away he claimed to have video evidence he would use against me if he was ever arrested. Which was possible since I’d taken a bung from them more than once. I hate that arrogant shit so I came up with the idea of killing two birds with one stone, and you’re just as arrogant a shit as Telfer.’
The van was crammed full of boxes and one or two small pieces of antique furniture but there was just space for the Rodin near the door. I dropped it heavily into the van. ‘That haul disappeared into the night, presumably back to Telfer’s. So where’s your starting capital coming from?’
Jill waved the gun towards the shepherd’s hut. Deeks pulled an irritated face and took it from her, then pointed it firmly at me. ‘Go on, in the hut. Speed is of the essence, as they say. Amphetamines, Honeysett, is what they made at Lane End Farm, supplying Bristol and half the West Country. A nice little laboratory hidden among all those shipping containers. Only they’re a load of chemistry nerds, so Blackfield and I managed to rip them off to the tune of half a million each. Then I managed to rip Blackfield off, only he doesn’t know it yet, and now it’s time to go.’
Shivering and dripping, with Deeks prodding me from behind with my own revolver, I stumbled up the little steps and into the shepherd’s hut. Gemma, wearing nothing but black knickers and T-shirt, had been firmly tied with rope to the narrow armchair in the corner. Her black eye had turned a hellish shade of yellow now but I was glad to see there was no fresh evidence of violence on her face.
‘Take a seat, Honeysett,’ Deeks invited me.
I sat on the chair by the little table full of books. Jill squeezed into the overcrowded hut with a roll of nylon gardening twine and started by tying my hands behind me, then winding the thin but strong twine around me with an irritating grin on her face. ‘There you go, you can keep each other company for a while.’
Deeks growled. ‘Stop enjoying yourself and get on with it.’ There came a dull rumble, like distant thunder. ‘There goes the lab. Bit early. Time to go.’
‘Okay, I’m done.’ Jill ruffled my hair. ‘Nice knowing you.’
‘Just one thing,’ I asked. ‘Who killed the old guy, Albert?’
‘No time to chat, I’m afraid, that little woomph was the speed factory catching light.’ Deeks scooped up an armful of Gemma’s books. ‘You won’t need these any more.’
The moment the door was slammed shut, leaving us in semi-darkness, we both started trying to struggle out of our bindings. Jill really had enjoyed herself too much, the cord cut deeply into my chilled skin.