Chapter Thirty Three
S ophie had agreed to talk. That was step number one. What Tilly was worried about now was step number two, the actual talking part. What was she going to say? Her heart told her to keep it simple, her head told her to go into vast amounts of detail. She was torn between the two as she walked along the high street.
At the corner before the police station, a fancy black car slid into half a parking space by the curb. Tilly stopped. The car’s rear end was sticking out over the line. She waited to see if the driver was going to move, and when he didn’t, she changed direction and walked over.
As she approached, Dougie McKeefe got out of the driver’s seat. Tilly took a deep breath. People policing, she told herself. “Not the best parking job there, Dougie,” she said, proud of herself for keeping her cool and not being too formal.
Dougie looked down, swore, and got back in the car. He straightened up as Tilly waited, then got out again. “Better, constable?”
“Much,” she said with a grin. “Nice car, new is it?” She walked around the front. The tax sticker was there and valid.
“Well, that’s one of the advantages of having your old vehicle stolen, isn’t it?” Dougie said. “At least the insurance pays out and you can treat yourself to something new.”
Tilly raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think your insurance paid for all of this, did it?”
Dougie looked a little hang-dog. “Happen I had to put in a bit myself,” he agreed. “Is the parking alright now?”
Tilly looked up and down the street and then nodded. “Perfectly fine,” she said.
Dougie sighed in relief, bid her goodbye, and starting walking down the street toward the pub. Tilly watched him go, her brain ticking. Her eyes kept flicking back and forth between the car and Dougie as she thought.
The idea was brewing, getting bigger, stronger, but it was a full minute before she marched back to the police station and threw herself into the chair opposite Max’s desk.
“The thing that’s been bothering me is the shotgun,” she said.
Max looked up from his paperwork. “Morning, Tilly,” he said. “How are you?”
“Fine, fine,” she said. “But the shotgun.”
“What shotgun?”
“Dougie McKeefe’s,” she said.
Max pushed his chair back from the desk a little and crossed his arms. “You’ve lost me. You’re going to have to start from the beginning.”
“When Sophie, Jules, and Amelia got caught up at McKeefe’s farm, he pulled a shotgun on them.”
“He’s a farmer,” shrugged Max. “He’s probably always got one around, for foxes and the like.”
“But he knew they were people. In fact, he probably even knew it was Sophie, Jules, and Amelia, given he could hear them singing. But he still kept them locked up in a barn with a shotgun trained at them.”
Max narrowed his eyes. “Yes, he did.”
“But why?” pressed Tilly. “If he knew who they were, if he knew they were harmless and drunk, why keep them locked up like that?”
Max tapped his fingers on his desk. “Because… he didn’t want them loose around his farm.”
“Right,” said Tilly. “Which makes me think that there’s something at the farm that he didn’t want them seeing.” She leaned forward. “I’ve just seen McKeefe in a shiny new car. Definitely pricier than his insurance would pay for.”
“Alright,” Max said. “And what are we going to do about at this?”
Tilly thought for a moment, then nodded. “We need evidence, clearly. Getting a warrant based on a gut feeling is a practical impossibility. My guess would be that our best bet is surveillance.”
“Agreed,” Max said. He was already reaching for his phone. “I’ll collaborate with the surrounding forces and we’ll see what we can do.”
“I can—” Tilly started.
“No, you can’t,” Max interrupted. He paused, looking at her. “And why can’t you?”
She was about to lose her temper, about to tell Max that she wasn’t involved with Sophie anymore, that this had nothing to do with the Farmers anyway. Then she saw that his lips were twitching in a smile.
“Crap,” she said.
“You’ve already worked an extra shift this week,” said Max. “I don’t have the budget for the overtime, I’m afraid. But if it’s any consolation, you won’t have to sit in a cold car all night watching a dark farm.”
Tilly nodded. “Understood. You’ll keep me posted, though, right?”
“Of course I will,” Max said. “Let me get all this set up. I’ll have a brew if you’re making one.”
She heard him on the phone as she was making tea. She had no idea if he knew that Mila had told her about everything, and, she was ashamed to admit, she’d been so preoccupied with her own problems that she hadn’t had time to think about Mila’s.
Not that she was rolling in cash and could give it away to anyone who needed it. Still, though, a fresh pair of eyes might find a solution that Max and Mila hadn’t thought of yet.
“All done,” Max said as she bought tea to him and sat down again. He looked at her thoughtfully. “That was some quick thinking.”
“It was just… lucky,” she said. “I happened to be standing there when McKeefe was parking and once I saw him I started thinking about the gun again and, well, it all sort of started to make a bit of sense in my head.”
“We’ll have to wait for confirmation, of course,” said Max, picking up his cup. “But I think you could be on to something here. Good work.”
She felt herself blush. “Thanks.”
“That’s exactly the kind of thinking that gets you promoted,” Max said. He looked a bit sad at that. “I should know. I don’t think like that at all.”
Tilly was surprised. “You’re not saying you’re a bad officer, are you?” she asked. “Because you’re really not. You’re amazing. When I see you with people around here, how you communicate, solve problems, you’re brilliant at your job.”
He grinned. “We can’t all be high-flying detectives. And I’m just feeling a wee bit sorry for myself, that’s all.” He sighed. “No promotions in the near future for me, I’m afraid.”
“Oh,” Tilly said. “I’m, um, I’m sorry.”
His eyes twinkled. “I know that you know. You don’t have to walk on eggshells. Mila told me that she talked to you.” He drank some tea. “And it’ll all work out, I’m sure. It usually does. If need be, I’ll move Ag into one of the cells here. As long as she’s got a piano in with her, she’ll be alright.”
Tilly laughed. “I hope you’re kidding.”
“I very much am, don’t worry.” He looked back at his paperwork. “Alright, back to work. I’ll let you know as soon as I know something.”
She stood up. “Great, and, um, don’t forget—”
“That you’ve got the afternoon off tomorrow for your concert,” Max finished with a grin. “Billy would kill me if I forgot. Mila’s dying to hear you as well, not to mention Ag and Dash. They’ve really taken a shine to you.”
Tilly remembered again that she needed to plan what to say to Sophie. Her stomach clenched. She only had one shot at this, she was sure.
IT WAS LUNCHTIME on the following day when Max put down his phone with a satisfied look on his face. “We’ve got ‘em,” he announced.
“Got who?” asked Tilly, trying desperately to finish her round of paperwork before she left and still distracted by the thought of what she was going to say to Sophie.
“Who do you think?” Max said. “McKeefe and his cronies. They ran surveillance last night and saw two cars go in the farm gates that were reported stolen. They must be using one of the barns up there to store the vehicles now that they can’t use Farmer’s garage anymore.”
Tilly’s face split into a grin. “Hallelujah,” she said. “You know, that’s my first real case?”
“Which is why you should be there for the arrests,” said Max.
She bit her lip. There was little that she wanted more. Well, there was one thing.
“I know, I know,” Max said. “It’s your concert and you can absolutely go. I just wanted to give you the opportunity to change your mind if you wanted to, that’s all.”
Tilly seriously thought about it. The buzz of making an arrest, the satisfied knowledge that it was her intel that had cracked the case, the implications for her future career. She wanted to see the car thieves arrested so badly she could almost taste it.
In the end, the decision wasn’t that difficult, though. “No,” she said carefully. “Thank you, but no. I’ve got a concert to sing in.” And a woman to persuade to love me, she added in her head. She wasn’t about to make the same mistake again. She wasn’t going to put her career ahead of Sophie.
“That’s fine,” Max said cheerfully. “I don’t like putting on all that gear, anyway. Stab vests itch and those hard helmets ruin my hair.”
“You’re going though, right?” Tilly asked.
Max looked at his watch. “I’ll see. I’ll check in with Mila first and see if she needs me for moral support. I might pop by for a while, but I don’t want to miss your first concert.”
Tilly swore. She was very close to being late. “I’ve got to run,” she said.
“Good luck,” Max called after her as she left.
She was practically running, though she wasn’t that late. She still didn’t know what she was going to say to Sophie. And it was only because she was thinking of Sophie at all that she glanced toward the Farmer garage as she passed it.
She made it four or five steps past the garage gates before she realized what she’d seen.
She stopped. Had she seen what she thought she had?
She glanced at her watch again, swore quietly, then turned around and went back to the garage.
Something was off and she couldn’t put a finger on what. Cautiously, she stepped through the gates, peering into the darkness of the open garage doors.
Only then did she really understand what she saw. Paul Farmer was lying on the concrete floor, his lips blue, completely still.