Chapter Four
Chad’s eye twitched.
He could sense Josh staring at the side of his face, debating whether to break their silence. Josh tore the sleeve of his takeaway coffee, a few millimeters at a time. Chad shuddered, tightening his hands around the wheel, doing his best to block Josh out as he accelerated into an optimistic gap in traffic.
Chad winced at the car horn berating his driving skills.
“Well,” Josh said finally. “That was shit.”
Chad exhaled. “There was room.”
“Barely,” Josh sipped his coffee. “When you offered me a ride home, I thought I’d get there in one piece.”
“You will.”
“One unbroken piece.” Josh rested the coffee on his thigh. “But actually, I meant today was shit, not your driving.”
“We closed a case—”
“Yeah, but that was overshadowed by DI Poole’s visit and then you’ve been quiet ever since.” Josh resumed staring at the side of Chad’s face. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“Nothing.”
“I’d believe you if I couldn’t hear the gears of it turning … and breaking apart.”
Chad chewed his bottom lip.
“Come on, talk to me.”
“The last few months, I’ve done my best to block Vincent out,” Chad took a deep breath. “Tate, too, but I knew me and Vincent weren’t done. There was always going to be consequences for breaking my promise.”
“The guy is close to death—a month tops and he’s falling through the trapdoor to hell. He can’t do anything to you, Chad. If that was his best play to get you to see him, then he failed.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Chad flashed a glance in the mirror, hoping the pissed of motorist from earlier had gone, but his breath snagged in his throat when he spotted the red truck, two cars back from them.
“Hey, Josh … you see the red truck two behind us?”
Josh twisted in his seat. “Just about.”
“Think you can read the plate.”
Josh hummed. “Speed up a little.”
Chad slammed his foot down on the gas.
“Jesus, Chad!” Josh clutched his seatbelt.
“Have you got the plate?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Josh said, typing it into his phone. He relaxed back into his seat. “I got the plate, why do you want it?”
“I think … I think that truck has been following me.”
Josh’s jaw dropped open. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about it?”
“My therapist thought I was being paranoid, but there it is, following us.”
“I mean, it’s a red truck behind us … traveling the same direction.”
“Just call it in … and don’t flirt it up with Angel, I want to know who that truck belongs to this century.”
“You’re hilarious,” Josh said, holding his phone out, and pressing speaker. It only rang once. “Hey, Angel, it’s the devil here…”
“You are insufferable.” Chad muttered under his breath. He turned away to hide his smile. Angel had caught Josh’s eye when she transferred to Bardhum six months ago, but he’d never spoken to her one on one until after the whole being handcuffed to a bed by Olivia fiasco. Angel found it hilarious.
“I’ve got a plate that needs checking, you ready for it?”
“I’m always ready for you, my prince of darkness.” Angel purred.
Chad rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”
“Josh, are you on speaker?” Angel asked.
“No.” Josh replied, taking it off speaker and pressing the phone to his ear. “Registration F11 KEX.” He hummed looking at Chad. “So it’s insured and up to date on tax, great, and who’s the owner?”
Josh’s eyes widened. “Right.” He swallowed, “And her address?” He squeezed his coffee cup with his free hand, popping the lid clean off. “Thank you, Angel.”
He ended the call, and looked as if he was about to bite the phone.
“What is it?” Chad asked.
“That truck behind us belongs to Lucinda Hastings.”
“Hastings…”
“Yes, sister to Harriet,” Josh visibly gritted his teeth. “I mean it could be a coincidence…”
“We both know it’s not.” Chad turned into Josh’s road and pulled up beside his apartment. “What’s her address?”
“Nice try,” Josh smiled. “But you’re not going anywhere without me.”
“What?”
“You implied this woman is stalking you, and now you want to drive off to her farm to get murdered, well not on my watch.”
“She lives on a farm?”
“Damn,” Josh sighed. “I’m coming with you anyway.”
“Fine.” Chad said, swinging the car around to the sound of more car horns and yelled profanities.
“Fine,” Josh repeated. He glanced at his apartment out of the back window. “Just like that?”
“Yeah—”
“You’re not going to try to talk me out of it, you know, spare my life?”
Chad’s mouth twitched with a smile. “You want to join me getting murdered on her farm, then you can.”
Josh raised his eyebrow. “And I thought we were friends…”
****
As soon as they caught up with the red truck, their conversation died. Josh crushed his coffee cup and shoved it in the side of his door.
Chad didn’t even chastise him, too focused on the truck trundling along, leading them deeper into the countryside.
Josh broke the silence. “I don’t like this.”
“We’re fine.”
They passed a signpost for Hastings Farm. The truck pulled up in front of a row of cottages, beside another red truck, and there they were—the Toyota and the Ford.
Two trucks.
Chad spied a barn on the horizon, roof sunken and sides wrapped in coils of green ivy. A tractor chugged away in a field in the distance.
“Okay?” Josh asked softly.
Chad nodded, switching his focus back to the truck in front of them. The door opened, and a woman slid out and turned to face them. Her hair was more white than blonde, and she raised her hand to wave at them. Her coat slid down showing her skinny wrist. She was a small, thin woman, and the slight smile to her lips appeared strained.
“Is our potential murderer waving at us?” Josh asked.
“It appears so,” Chad said, opening his door.
The fields either side of them were green and yellow with long stalks swaying in the breeze. This farm—it was vibrant and active—it breathed life. His and Romeo’s farm was barren, dark where magpies roamed, and bodies lay buried in the mud.
Their farm was death.
“Chad,” Josh coughed. “You good?”
“Yep.” He nodded, and approached the woman, heart drumming in his chest. Josh walked a pace behind.
“Lucinda Hastings?” Chad asked.
A prang of sadness hit her face. She looked away. “I prefer Lucy. The only person who called me Lucinda was my mother.”
Chad nodded. “Lucy. You’ve been … following me.”
She chuckled softly, resting a hand against her truck. “That makes it sound so sinister.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No,” Her brow folded with deep lines. “I wanted to talk to you, but every time I saw you, I couldn’t bring myself to. Once I waited outside the station for two hours, and when you came out you were smiling, so carefree, and I didn’t want to ruin your day so I drove home, told myself to try again another day.”
“This has been going on for weeks.”
“I know,” Lucy said softly.
Chad glanced over his shoulder to Josh, puffed out, doing his best to look menacing.
“What did you want to talk about?” Chad asked.
Before Lucy could reply, her gaze skipped from Chad to over his shoulder—over Josh’s shoulder, too—fixing on a man heading down the slope of a field towards them. His boots squelched, and he wore a flat cap and navy gilet over a brown shirt. A shotgun rested casually against his shoulder, pointing at the sky, as he clutched the stock with one hand.
“Fuck.” Josh hissed, spinning around to face him. He spread his body wide, covering Chad.
The man trudging closer didn’t spare them a glance. His eyes were fixed to his boots as he strode through thick mud to get to them. When he got close enough, he lifted his head, before removing his cap to reveal a mane of black hair. He paused, and shot them a weary look.
Chad flashed his badge, then Josh did the same.
“Officers,” he said in greeting, before nodding to Lucy, “Ma, you okay?”
Lucy smiled. “I’m fine.”
The man whistled, and four dogs appeared on the horizon, two collies and two Labradors.
“Double fuck.” Josh shuffled backwards into Chad in full-on bodyguard mode.
The dogs ran down the slope each with a bird in their mouth. Their tails swished back and forth as they dropped the game at the man’s feet.
“This is Andrew, one of my sons. Mac is on the tractor in the field,” Lucy said, searching for him on the horizon, but he’d gone over the crest of the hill. “Sorry, where were we…”
“I wanted to know why you’ve been following me.” Chad reminded her.
Andrew sighed before gesturing to one of the cottages. “Let me put this away,” he lifted the gun, “then I’ll come over to yours, Ma, and make coffees while you talk.”
Lucy nodded, and Andrew strolled away. A whistle called the dogs with their spoils to his heels, and they followed him into one of the cottages.
There were five in a row each with a small, fenced garden out in the front. The one to the left looked the oldest with small windows and a low door. Paint had flaked from the door, and the small gate had a slat loose. The other cottages were built to look similar, in keeping with the cottage aesthetic, but the doors were bigger, and the windows were wider. Andrew disappeared into a modern one, not having to duck to get his six feet of height through the door frame.
“This way,” Lucy said, gesturing Chad towards her.
She went inside the middle cottage and held the door open for Chad and Josh. They removed their shoes and followed her into a snug living room. A fire crackled, and above it, photographs dotted the mantelpiece. Chad spotted Andrew with a brunette and a baby cradled in her arms. There was another man, too, with blond hair down to his shoulders, beaming at the camera.
“Mac,” Lucy said, pausing to stroke the photograph. She hovered her hand above one photo frame, not displayed like the others, but face down on the mantelpiece. Chad heard her swallow, then she passed it, sitting down on an oversized armchair.
She sunk down with a long sigh, then arranged a fluffy cushion. Her narrow fingers stroked through the strands.
Curiosity picked at Chad, leading him over to the faced down picture frame. “Can I?”
Lucy nodded and Chad propped it up. He already knew who’d be in that photograph. The quality didn’t match the other photographs, the colors were washed out, and a crease cut through the top, but there she was, Harriet Hastings, smiling brightly.
She was beautiful, with long glossy brown hair, and pretty dark eyes. Her smile pressed dimples into her cheeks.
“My older sister,” Lucy said softly. “Harriet. Please,” she gestured to the sofa opposite her chair, “sit down.”
Chad and Josh shared a look, then sat down on the sofa, moving the array of cushions to get comfortable. Josh’s knees pressed against the coffee table no matter how much he tried to shuffle back into the sofa. He opted for a side-saddle position, pointing his knees towards Chad’s legs.
Lucy continued to stroke her cushion, Chad searched and failed to find a conversation starter, leaving Josh to take the lead.
“What kind of farm are you?” he asked.
Lucy looked up. “My grandparents grew crops, wheat and rape seed mostly, and later my parents introduced the chickens … they wanted to add sheep. That’s what the barn on the hill was built for. Harriet was so looking forward to them, and to lambing—we both were, but…” she shook her head. “That never came to pass. Vincent Whitehall killed that dream, and now it’s just me and my sons who run the farm, barely breaking even each month.”
“I’m sorry,” Chad bit his lip. “About Harriet. Vincent Whitehall, he’s a—”
“A puppeteer.”
Chad frowned.
“Harriet’s bedroom is untouched in the next cottage. All her trinkets and clothes exactly as they were, except covered in thick dust. My mom, Eileen, never gave up hope of Harriet walking back through the front door and picking up where she’d left off. I’ve … I’ve not gone in there since my mom died six months ago. Now her room is gathering dust, too.”
The door slammed, and Chad shuffled to mask his jump. Andrew poked his head in the living room. He sifted his fingers through his hair, neatening the sweaty strands. “I’ll be along with the coffee in a minute.”
Lucy nodded. She closed her eyes and exhaled a long breath. Chad shared a look with Josh, then they waited. They waited for what felt like slow agonizing minutes for Lucy to reopen her eyes and speak. “I’m sorry, Chad, for following you. The truth is … I needed your help, but every time it came to asking for it, I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to involve you in this, but Vincent is pulling on the strings, and we’re just the puppets on the end of them.”
“The puppeteer.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve … visited Vincent?”
“No. He wrote to me. He knew … he knew how badly my mom wanted to find Harriet. He knew it plagued her every day, every thought. It tortured her, and I’m left wondering does it still torture her, even in death. Can she not find Harriet, if we can’t find her here?” Lucy wiped away a stray tear. “Four weeks ago, I got a letter from Vincent. He told me how he’s turned a corner, and he wants God to forgive him for his sins.” She chuckled darkly. “I don’t buy it, but he, and only he, knows the location of my sister, so I have no choice but to dance on these strings of his to find her.”
Andrew interrupted, placing a tray down on the table. A coffee pot steamed, and Chad greedily inhaled the scent. Andrew made their coffee—Lucy waved her hand dismissively when he asked her—then he made his own before perching on the arm of his mother’s chair.
“I would’ve preferred it were just me Vincent wanted to play his games with,” Lucy shook her head. “But there’s two others he wants involved. You and—
“James Poole.” Chad finished.
“Yes,” Lucy tightened her fist into the cushion on her lap. “James Poole.”
Josh knocked his foot into Chad’s ankle. They’d both noticed the change in Lucy at the name, the spike of something angry, but she blinked it away.
“James came to see me today and explained the situation,” Chad said, gaging Lucy’s reaction. Her expression stayed blank.
Andrew lifted his coffee, staring at Chad over the rim. “And you said?”
“I told him I was sorry, but I don’t want to be involved.”
Andrew lowered his cup. “You are joking, right?”
“I’m not—”
“You only have to go to Wiltknot, talk to Vincent a bit, and maybe drive him around—”
“Stop it,” Lucy snapped, she raised her hand to quiet her son. “Do not take this out on him.”
Chad slid to the edge of the sofa and found Lucy’s eyes. “If I truly believed Vincent would tell us where your sister is, I’d dance to whatever tune he wanted me to, but I don’t believe it. I don’t believe he’s changed and wants forgiveness, and you said yourself you don’t believe that either.”
“I don’t,” Lucy agreed. “My mom’s dying wish was to be reunited with Harriet. The space above her in her grave is for Harriet, and I know that if Vincent was serious about washing away his sins, he’d try to find Harriet with or without your or James’s help, but he won’t. But I have to leave that door open. If you’re the one that shuts it, then so be it, you save me from whatever Vincent has planned, but I can’t be the one to shut the door. I can’t do that to my mother,” she closed her eyes in a long blink before reopening them. They swam with tears. “Our mother.”
“It’s a game,” Chad shook his head. “That’s all it is to him, a game, and I’m not willing to play it because we have no idea what the rules to it are, and he’s the only one that knows how to win.”
“I understand.” The crease above her nose deepened. “I accept your decision.”
Chad slumped.
“How … how did James take it when you said no?” Lucy asked.
“He was angry at first, then he pretty much begged me to reconsider.”
Lucy snorted, averting her gaze. “That’s his guilty conscious.”
“Guilty—”
“It’s his fault.”
Chad blinked. It was his turn to clip Josh’s ankle with his foot. He knew hardly anything about Vincent Whitehall, but Josh at least had the advantage of watching his documentary.
“Why is it his fault?” Josh asked.
Lucy narrowed her eyes on him. “Do you know anything about my sister’s murder?”
Josh swallowed. “Only that Vincent wanted to keep her location to himself.”
“James let my sister go.” Lucy hissed.
Chad frowned. “Let her go. What does that mean?”
“He was with her that night.”
“With your … sister.”
“Yes. A twenty-eight-year-old married detective sergeant was with my seventeen-year-old sister. He gave her a warning for possession of an illegal substance or so he claims, then he let her go off in the dark on her own, knowing there was a serial killer preying on young women.”
Chad pinched his brow. “What do you mean ‘he claims’?”
“There was no written warning, no recordings back then. He claimed he searched Harriet, told her to get in the police car and gave her a verbal for a joint of marijuana before letting her go.” She laughed without humor. “James Poole is the last person to see my sister alive and he is a damn liar.”
Andrew set his coffee cup down and ran his hand up and down Lucy’s back.
“Calm down, Ma,”
“I’m not saying Harriet was a saint,” Lucy continued. “But she didn’t smoke marijuana. She hated the stuff. She wasn’t in his car getting a verbal warning, she was in there because that creep was obsessed with my sister.”
Chad flashed a glance at Josh, then back to Lucy.
“But you know how it is,” Lucy continued, “the police look after their own. At least they did back then. I’m hoping nowadays everyone is held accountable for their crimes equally, no special treatment because of a badge held in your pocket,” She darted dark eyes between Chad and Josh. “I’d like to think I can trust you.”
“You can.” Chad replied.
She hummed. “My dad reported James’s inappropriate behavior before Vincent killed her, but it was ignored, explained away.”
“What kind of inappropriate behavior?”
“Gifts. Letters. He would wait outside our school and drive her home, but I’d still beat them on the bus. Who knows where he took her and what they did. It went on for months. Our dad was furious, and confronted him, told him to back off, but James didn’t listen.”
“Is your dad…”
“Still alive, yes,” Lucy nodded. “He moved away soon after Vincent was caught, lives in Italy now. Him and my mother’s relationship broke down … he tried to convince her to sell up, move away, but she lived and breathed in the past, imagining Harriet would come back to her, the same girl that left her that morning. She wouldn’t accept she was truly gone, and my dad couldn’t take the grief. He wanted to sell up, move away, but my mother didn’t.”
“Does he know about Vincent?”
“No. If we can recover Harriet, then I’ll tell him, but this is between me, James, and Vincent.”
“And me,” Chad said softly.
“I know Vincent killed her, but as far as I’m concerned, James is just as guilty, and he knows it, too. I don’t know what happened in his car that night, but he knew throwing her out of it afterwards was dangerous. It was dark. It was a long walk home, there was a killer on the loose and she was unlucky enough to accept a lift from Vincent Whitehall.” She took a deep breath. “Rest easy, Chad. I won’t follow you again, and I’m not angry at you, I envy you.”
“Envy me?”
“That you have the strength to say no to him. I can’t, and it doesn’t look like James can either.”
“Thank you,” Chad pressed his lips in a grim line. “Thank you for understanding.”
He placed his coffee cup back on the table, and Josh did the same. They both got to their feet, blurting out the customary, “Thank you for your time,” then left, Chad at a quicker pace than Josh who caught his arm outside and yanked him to a stop.
“You okay?” Josh asked.
“Not really,” Chad replied, glancing back. “I feel like shit.”
“That’s how Vincent wants you to feel.” Josh released Chad’s arm. “Don’t let him mess with your head, Chad. He’s messing with hers, and he’s messing with James’s, and he’s trying to mess with you, but you’re not letting him.” Josh lightly punched Chad’s shoulder. “You’re not letting him.”
Chad shot Josh a wavering smile. “It feels like I am.”
“He can’t do a goddamn thing to you if you just keep him out of here,” Josh tapped his temple. “Keep him out of there, and you win.”
Chad snorted. “Since when did you get so wise, huh?”
“I’ve always been wise, you’ve just not wanted to listen until now. Come on.” Josh gave Chad an encouraging push towards the car. “I was supposed to be eating nachos in my boxers and watching … watching….”
Chad frowned. “Yes?”
Josh dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “I just need to be home, things to do, that’s all…”
“Porn,” Chad muttered. “You were so going to say porn.”