‘What? Floyd? Nah. If there’s a body here, he’ll find it within a couple of hours.’
‘Rae thinks we should start at the site of the old pigsties. She reckons that’s where she’d bury a body.’ Sophie pointed to the derelict timber enclosures.
Gerry Baldwin shook his grizzled head. ‘We can start there if you want, but that’s not where the body’ll be. Too close to the buildings. If anywhere, it’ll be up in the woods, somewhere free from prying eyes. There would have been too many people around the farmyard area if this was a commune at the time.’
He took Floyd across the farmyard to the derelict structures, gave him a pat and let him off the lead. The dog nosed around for a few minutes but didn’t show a great deal of interest. They then visited the remnants of the old kitchen garden but, again, drew a blank.
‘Well, so much for my sense of judgement,’ Rae said, looking mournful.
The others laughed. ‘It was logical, Rae,’ Barry said. ‘Gerry and his dog are moving into the fields now, so let’s get the teams organised.’
Once the dog had examined an area and passed on, it was free for a search team to have a closer look, peering in the undergrowth for anything that seemed out of place and might be relevant. Within an hour, the dog team had given the all-clear for the fields near the farmyard and had moved behind the treeline to the slopes of the hills. It wasn’t long before Floyd stopped in a tiny clearing in a dense area of beech woodland and began pawing at the ground, whining. Gerry Baldwin blew a whistle and the main search unit assembled around him, standing on the rich brown soil, the result of years of accumulated beech nut debris.
‘Something here,’ he said. ‘And, from the way Floyd’s behaving, I’m guessing it’s what you’re looking for.’
‘Can he distinguish between the remains of humans and other animals?’ Rae asked. ‘What if it’s a deer or something?’
‘A deer doesn’t get buried, does it? Just covered by leaves and other debris. The decomposition is different several feet under, because of the lack of oxygen. Floyd can tell the difference. He’s a wonder dog,’ Gerry said proudly.
A Somerset forensic team started to dig while the dog team headed back into the woods to continue their search. The detectives stood back, watching in silence. After less than fifteen minutes one of the forensic officers suddenly stopped.
‘I have something,’ she said.
Within another hour the full skeleton lay exposed. Whatever clothes this person had been wearing were almost rotted away to nothing.
‘What’s that?’ Sophie pointed down at the groin area.
‘I think it’s a rotted tampon,’ the nearest forensic officer replied, looking grim. ‘Poor sod.’
‘Any sign of what killed her?’ Sophie asked.
‘There’s a nick on one of the ribs just above where the heart would be. Could be from a knife wound, but we’d need to look at it more carefully back at base.’
They watched the body being carefully lifted and carried back to a specialist van that had driven up to the nearest access point. It was driving off just as the dog team returned.
‘Floyd’s been quiet since that find,’ Gerry said. ‘I don’t think there’s anymore, ma’am. Is that what you expected?’
‘To be honest, I didn’t know what to expect. But we’re only aware of one person going missing, and even that wasn’t definite. Thanks, Gerry. Floyd’s certainly earned his run-around.’
Sophie turned back to Polly Nelson. ‘I think we’ll call it a day and start to think about heading back home. We’re all totally whacked. Can you let me know when the PM will be? One of us will try to get across, just as an observer. That’s if you don’t mind?’
‘Of course not,’ Polly replied. ‘You’ve been hurtling around my patch all day. It’s no wonder you’ve had enough.’
‘There’s still one person I need to visit before we head back. He’s up at Weston. Listen, is there any chance you could come with me, then drop me at the train station afterwards? It means l can send Barry home so he can get a bit of time with his partner. The rest can wait till Monday. We all need a bit of family time, just to stop us going completely round the bend.’
‘Sure.’ Polly smiled.
‘And I have another favour to ask. Most of the people involved in the commune still live and work in your area — Bristol, Bath and Weston. Can I send Barry up to work with you for a few days? He knows the background. We discussed it on the way here and it’s the reason I want him to go home now.’
‘Not a problem. You can stay over at my place tonight, if you want. We could have a girls’ night out on the town. How does that sound?’
Sophie smiled broadly. ‘I could be persuaded. Martin’s away on a school trip this weekend so I’m free.’
*
‘Tim Brotherton?’ Sophie asked. The man who’d opened the door was of fairly average height and medium build. He had brown hair and no obvious distinguishing features. Could he be the man Jade had spotted back in the woods? It was difficult to be sure. Jade’s description could apply to any number of men. Pauline Stopley’s description had been similar, so Sophie had to assume that the two observations had been of the same man. But maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe they’d been looking at different people.
‘I’m Detective Superintendent Sophie Allen from Dorset police. This is Detective Chief Inspector Polly Nelson from Avon and Somerset police. I wonder if we could ask you a few questions. May we come in?’
The man said nothing. He continued to stare suspiciously at the two detectives until a woman appeared behind him. She’d obviously overheard what Sophie had said because she pushed the man aside, opened the door wide and gestured for them to enter.
‘Sorry about him,’ she said, showing them into a brightly decorated sitting room that had a very spring-like feel to it. ‘He goes like that sometimes, totally zoned out. I’m Judy Price, and this is my house. Tim’s my partner. What is it you wanted?’
‘It’s Tim we want to see,’ Sophie said. ‘I think he’s sort of lurking out there in the hallway. I can see a shadow through the open door.’
‘Tim!’ Judy called. ‘It’s you they want to see, not me. Can you come in?’
He came slowly into the room and sat down on the sofa next to Judy. Somehow he seemed to exude an air of nervousness and irritation at the same time. It took him an age to settle himself.
‘How can I help you?’ he finally said.
He’s doing this deliberately to give himself thinking time, Sophie thought. ‘Are you the Tim Brotherton who set up and ran a commune on a farm in the Quantocks about twelve years ago?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he replied warily.
Judy stared at him. ‘A commune? Really? You never told me about that!’
‘Do I have to tell you everything about my past?’ he said. ‘I’m sure you haven’t told me every little thing that you’ve done.’
‘That’s not little,’ Judy replied. ‘Setting up and running a commune on a farm? That’s pretty major in my book.’
Brotherton merely shrugged. He turned back to face the detectives. ‘So?’
‘We’ve just come from the farm. According to the locals it’s been empty since your group left and it’s fallen into disrepair. We found a body this afternoon, buried in the woods just up from the top field. It’s been there a long time. We haven’t identified it yet. We think it might be a young woman.’
‘Christ.’ Tim Brotherton turned ashen. He put his head in his hands and ran his fingers through his sandy hair.
Judy looked horror-stricken. ‘Tim? What is this?’
He turned his head slowly from side to side. ‘I know nothing about a body. It can’t be anyone from back then. None of us would have done a thing like that.’ He turned towards Sophie with a look of despair on his pale face.
‘You haven’t asked why I’m here,’ Sophie said. ‘Me, rather than just DCI Nelson here.’
‘What’s that?’ he replied, sounding puzzled.
/> Judy said, ‘Why is a senior detective from Dorset up here investigating a death in Somerset?’
‘Exactly,’ Sophie said. ‘I’m here because a tramp was murdered in my area about two weeks ago. We think he spent some time in your commune all those years ago, Mr Brotherton. His name was Paul Prentice. Ring any bells?’
Brotherton put his head in his hands again.
‘Where were you the weekend before last?’ Sophie asked.
He raised his head. ‘I was on a work-related trip to Portsmouth. I’m a freelance graphic artist and I’ve been doing work for a Portsmouth-based publishing company. I had a planning meeting with two of their in-house copywriters.’
‘Which way did you drive?’
‘I didn’t. I went by train. There’s a reasonable service from Bristol to Portsmouth. I went on Friday and came back Sunday.’
‘Did you visit the Wareham area at any time during that weekend?’ Sophie asked.
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘I also need to know if there was a woman in the commune called Katie Templar. Not to be confused with Catherine Templeton, who I already know was there. Well?’
He sat up, rigid. Finally, he spoke. ‘Yes.’
‘So you knew both of them? Paul Prentice and Katie Templar? Can you confirm that for me, please?’
He looked up, tiny beads of perspiration on his face. ‘Yes, they were both there. They left. I don’t know what happened to them after that.’
‘Did they leave together?’ Sophie asked.
He didn’t answer immediately but sat breathing slowly for several moments. ‘Paul went first. We had a row and he walked out. Katie stayed on for a while longer, then she left as well. I assumed she’d gone to join him. We all did.’
‘What was the nature of your relationship with Katie Templar, Mr Brotherton?’
‘She was with me when I set the place up. She was one of the originals. They both were.’
‘Did it turn into some kind of love tussle?’ Sophie said. ‘Is that what you’re carefully trying to avoid telling me?’
‘Look, I had feelings for Katie — I’ll admit that. We were very close. But she fell for Paul in a big way. When he walked out, I guessed it wouldn’t be long before she followed. I didn’t try to stop her, if that’s what you’re driving at.’ He ran his fingers through his hair, which was beginning to look damp. ‘I wouldn’t do that — force someone to stay against their will.’
‘Were you lovers in the early days? You and Katie?’ Sophie asked.
Brotherton fidgeted awkwardly on his seat. ‘Look, we were young. Everyone fell in and out of love all the time. The atmosphere was very free, very happy.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
He sighed loudly. ‘Yes, Katie and I had a fling at the start. But if you’re suggesting that the body you found is her and that I killed her you’re very wrong on both counts. She left. I know she did. Someone saw her go, trailing her bag and heading down to the bus stop. I guessed she was going to join Paul, wherever he was.’
‘So she had a bag with her when she left? What, a suitcase?’
‘Yes. It had a handle and wheels. It was red.’
‘Did you ever try to contact her again? Maybe after the commune folded?’
He shook his head. ‘No.’
‘There’s no trace of her after the commune, Mr Brotherton. Nothing. Thin air. So I’d really like to know how you can be so sure that the body we found today isn’t her.’
There was no reply.
‘Tell me about Trent Baker.’
Brotherton sighed. ‘He joined us about halfway through. Some of the group thought that was when things started to get worse. That he started it.’
‘Is that what you think?’ Sophie asked.
He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what to think any more. It all got . . . a bit nasty. Maybe it was him . . .’ His voice trailed off.
‘You’re aware that he spent ten years in prison for attempting to kill Catherine Templeton, one of your other commune members?’
Brotherton nodded wearily. ‘But that happened way after we closed the commune. It had nothing to do with us. Look, I’ve spent the last twelve years trying to forget all this. I’m not that person anymore.’
‘What person, Mr Brotherton? Tim Brotherton the charismatic leader who set the commune up? Tim Brotherton the zealot who used every means at his disposal to get his way with the group? Tim Brotherton the manipulative individual who made sure women were kept in the roles allotted to them? And how many other Tim Brothertons are there that we haven’t found out about yet?’
*
‘I love your sledgehammer technique, Sophie. You fire these bits of information at some poor unsuspecting sod — wham, wham, wham. It nearly left me reeling. No wonder he was a nervous wreck by the time we left.’
The two women were in an upmarket Chinese restaurant in Bristol city centre. Sophie finished her mouthful of peppered chicken wings and licked her fingers.
‘No point mucking about, that’s what I think. I can be subtle when it’s needed, but that guy didn’t deserve gentle handling. He’s an arsehole. I knew it before we met him. Rae managed to get a copy of a leaflet he wrote about the commune when it was still a going concern. What made us all furious, and that includes Barry, was the dismissive way he wrote about the women there. In his eyes, they didn’t count. It was all self-important, fatuous stuff about the need for men to find their real selves. The women’s role was to cook for them, mend their socks and bring up the children. What he really needs is a punch in the face, but sadly we’re not allowed to do that. Not in Dorset, anyway. If things are different in Bristol, do tell me and I’ll join you like a shot.’
‘You grew up in Bristol, didn’t you?’ Polly said.
Sophie nodded. ‘My mum still lives here. In Clifton.’
‘Ooh! The upper-crust part. Get you, posh bitch.’
Sophie laughed. ‘As if. She’s only lived there for the last ten years. It was always her dream, to live somewhere better than her parents did. She hated them for throwing her out when she was sixteen and pregnant with me. I thought she’d broken off all contact with them but, apparently, she visited twelve years ago when her father was on his deathbed. She’d discovered that she and I hadn’t been left anything in their wills. She stayed only long enough to tell them that she was the practice manager at a big medical centre, that she owned a flat in Clifton and that I had an Oxford law degree and was a DI in the West Midlands task force. Then she said, “so fuck the both of you,” and walked out. A bit cruel, I thought, but there were thirty-three years of pent-up hatred in those words. She never expected them to leave her anything, but she did think they’d leave something for me.’
‘Families are great when they work, but when they go wrong, boy, they can go wrong big time. Was he one of those harsh, preachy types?’
‘Not really. It was my gran who was the fire and brimstone one. He was just weak and never lifted a finger to protect my mum from her vicious moralising. They were members of one of those brethren-type sects, full of spite for anyone who dares question them. His wife only outlived him by a year or so. I suppose I should think of them as my grandparents, but I can’t. My Great-Aunt Olive and Uncle Reggie took on those roles when I was small. I loved them both. Great-Uncle Reggie was a rascal. His aim in life seemed to be to reduce me to fits of giggles.’ Sophie gave a faint smile. ‘Anyway, back to the case. What did you make of Tim Brotherton?’
‘Maybe he’s changed his tune since he wrote that pamphlet. His partner, Judy, didn’t look as though she’d put up with that kind of rubbish. What did she say she did? A nurse?’
‘She’s a senior sister at Weston hospital, running an intensive care ward, so she’ll probably have loads more responsibility than him, and my guess is that she’d let him know it. He’s maybe seen a bit more sense now he’s older.’ Sophie paused. ‘What did you make of his account of things? Did you believe him?’
&
nbsp; Polly frowned. ‘He’s hiding something, but it’s difficult to know what. If he was the leader of that commune, he’d have known everything that was going on, all the intrigues. They all do. The first thing they do is set up an inner circle of people to keep them informed, people who will be listening in on the gossip and chat. All secret groups, societies and the like work that way. They always have.’
‘And Judy knows something, Polly. She was looking at me when I first told them of the tramp’s death. Then she stared at Tim for a few seconds and dropped her eyes for the rest of the time we were there. I’m half expecting her to phone me sometime soon, once she’s thought things through. Something was worrying her.’
‘Well, time will tell. I can’t say that he impressed me much. Don’t commune leaders usually have a bit of charisma? Aren’t they visionaries, always whipping their followers into a frenzy with their stirring talk of a second coming or the day of judgement?’ Polly said.
Sophie nodded. ‘And often getting loads of sex in the process. They earmark the most gorgeous women and talk them into bed with a load of hogwash about serving the lord’s will. You can guess the kind of thing. “Give me a blow-job every morning and I’ll promote you to archangel status.”’
‘You’re joking.’ Polly gaped at her.
‘Absolutely not. It’s well documented. There was even a quasi-religious cult in the Quantocks in the 1850s, where the women queued up for a chance to have sex with the leader, convinced he was God’s representative on earth. A load of complete tosh, but they fell for his talk big time. That guy must have been in seventh heaven. The place was called the Agapemone, the Abode of Love.’
Polly shook her head. ‘Beats me.’
Sophie laughed. ‘Maybe that too. A lot of cults included a bit of flagellation just to get everyone in the mood.’
‘Oh, my God. Can we change the subject?’ Polly said weakly. ‘This is putting me off my food.’
Chapter 18: What a Peach
Sunday Morning
Trent Baker hadn’t slept well. Anger and resentment were still swirling around in his head like thunderclouds. He was struggling to think of a way round the barriers that had suddenly been slammed into place during the police visit. He wasn’t to contact Catherine. He wasn’t to go near her. He wasn’t to watch her. He wasn’t to monitor her activities in any way. What a piss-pot situation to be in. Nosey farts, laying down the law and telling him what to do with his life. There had to be a way round their Gestapo-like restrictions, if only he could spot what it was. Unless of course he ignored Catherine for a few months and switched his attention to Brotherly Tim. The dick with the chick. Ah, now there was a thought. What about the chick? Judy something or other, a nurse. Sweet Judy blue-eyes. Punch that Judy. Yes. Maybe she needed a bit of close attention. And it wouldn’t be all that difficult. She lived in Weston-Super-Mare, where CleanStyle’s office was based.
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