Tania Carver - Choked

‘Like a murderer coming up the drive?’ asked Jane.

‘Exactly that. And Adrian, it looks like someone’s either rented this place or was squatting here. Obviously rented would be best and easiest for us. Get on to that. Check rental agencies, find out who owns this place, who owns that caravan out there.’

Adrian nodded, making notes in his electronic notebook.

‘And something else.’ Mickey’s phone rang. He ignored it. He tried to continue speaking, but the phone was insistent. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’d better get that.’ He took it from his pocket, checked the display. Anni. Not now, he thought. Later. I’m working here.

But then so is she …

He looked up, aware of everyone watching him. Knew he had no choice. Pressed the answer button. Turned away from them.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Listen, I’m in the middle of—’

‘Yeah, I know,’ she said. ‘And I wouldn’t phone if it wasn’t important.’

‘Right.’

Just work colleagues again. No mention of the previous night.

‘I’ve been back to see the farmer’s wife at the service station, watched the CCTV footage again. I had an idea.’

Mickey waited.

‘And Marina, she’s sent us a message. That thrown-away wrapper. It had a postcode written on it.’

‘Brilliant. If you can—’

‘No, just listen. I put it into my sat nav, and guess where it came up with?’

‘No idea, tell me.’

‘Where you are now. After she left the garage, Marina was on her way to where you are … ’

Mickey let the phone slip away from his face. His heart was hammering; he felt numb. He turned back to the group, saw them all staring at him. Thought of the mattress in the living room. The rope tied to the door handle.

‘Shit … ’ he said. ‘Listen up. There was someone kept here against their will. And I think I’ve worked out who it was. Josephina. Marina and Phil’s kid … ’

DS Jessie James threw her head back, dry-swallowed two paracetamol. This was becoming a habit.

Just one quick drink, she had told herself. Just one. Then back home for her regular Saturday night in with Terry. Takeaway, maybe a DVD. Then Sunday they had planned a day out. A run out to Audley End, maybe, make the most of Terry’s National Trust membership. Dinner in some quaint country gastropub. She had told him she was on call, but neither of them thought she would be called in. But that was before she was handed this case.

So the previous night she had found herself dropping in to her neighbourhood pub on the way home. Just the one, she had said to herself. Just the one. A quick gin and tonic. Support the local economy, and all that. Maybe Terry would join her. They could make a night of it.

But of course he was at her house, DVD on the TV stand, takeaway menu in hand. Waiting for her. So she would just have the one. It went down so fast she barely noticed it. So she had another. And another. And when she arrived home, the house was dark, cold and empty.

So she had another drink.

She had noticed this pattern before when she was working on a case as big as this one. She would pull away from those closest to her, make excuses not to spend time with them. It was the only way she was capable of working. And it always involved alcohol. She was surprised Terry put up with it. She doubted he would for much longer.

DC Deepak Shah was looking out of the window. Away from the house, away from her. He had kept his eyes averted all the time she had sat there taking the tablets. He had made no comment, no judgement, but his lack of comment was judgement enough.

Jessie looked at him. He still had his eyes averted. ‘What?’

He stayed where he was. ‘I didn’t say anything. Ma’am.’

‘You didn’t have to,’ she said, running her tongue over her teeth. Feeling the bitter grit beneath. ‘I think we’ve worked together long enough for me to know when I’ve disappointed you in some way.’

He turned, looked at her. Slowly. ‘What you do in your free time has nothing to do with me. As long as you can still function when we’re working together, that’s fine. Ma’am.’ He looked away again.

Jessie kept staring straight ahead at the big front door of the Sloane house. Willing it to open.

The two of them had visited the Sloanes as their last call on their way home the previous night. As soon as Deepak had taken the call concerning ownership of the car left parked outside the destroyed cottage in Aldeburgh, the Sloane residence had jumped to the top of their list for investigation. They had pulled up in the early evening, gasping audibly. The house, situated in Playford, between Ipswich and Woodbridge, was a huge, imposing sixteenth-century hall.

Jessie had stood at the front gates, spoken to the intercom. The voice on the other end had tried to fob her off, but she had been insistent. The gates had opened and they had both walked up the drive past the gatehouse, over the footbridge to the door of the main hall, trying to pretend they weren’t overawed. They flashed their warrant cards, asked to speak to Michael Sloane and were told by the housekeeper that he was out and wouldn’t be back that night. They asked when he would return and were greeted with a shrug. They left a message asking him to call them and departed. The gates closed behind them.

That had been that.

And Jessie had spent the rest of the night hiding in a bottle.

Deepak, on the other hand, hadn’t been idle.

He had called in at the station, run a check on Michael Sloane. Found out that he ran one of the biggest industrial farming operations in the east of England, with trade and shipping links to Europe. A very wealthy man, a very well-connected businessman. They would have to tread carefully when they spoke to him.

‘Oh God, that’s all we need,’ Jessie had said, groaning. ‘Involving one of the Chief Constable’s golfing mates in this investigation. We’ll have to be careful how we handle this, Deepak, me old mate. Or you and me’ll be back in uniform working in Traffic.’

‘We don’t know that he knows the Chief Constable,’ Deepak had replied.

‘No, we don’t. But until we learn otherwise, let’s just assume.’

‘There was something else,’ Deepak said. ‘A couple of things, actually.’

Jessie waited.

‘I don’t know if you remember, but the Sloanes were involved in a huge case a few years back. Their father remarried and their new stepbrother took a shotgun to the whole family.’

‘Oh,’ said Jessie. ‘Those Sloanes.’

‘Indeed. Michael and his sister survived but needed a lot of patching up. They took over the family business, extended into Europe and became recluses at the same time.’

‘A sister and brother? Holed up in that house together? Weird.’

‘And there’s something else. Get this. Jeff Hibbert, our dead man from yesterday, was one of the chief gangmasters for Sloane’s Farms.’

Despite the headache, something prickled at the back of Jessie’s neck. ‘Oh. Now that’s interesting. A mystery man gives Hibbert’s address at the scene of a crime and then disappears. Hibbert is then found murdered. And Michael Sloane’s car is found at the scene of the first crime. Interesting … ’

They had cancelled their plans for Sunday and come to pay Michael Sloane another visit.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Jessie. ‘You know what was odd about last night?’

Deepak said he didn’t.

‘The housekeeper. She never asked why we were here. Two detectives rock up on your doorstep to speak to your boss. Never once did she ask what it was about. Don’t you think that’s strange?’

‘Maybe she didn’t think it was her place,’ Deepak said.

‘Or maybe we were expected,’ said Jessie.