Brotherton held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’ He glanced around. ‘For Christ’s sake, Catherine, all your neighbours are watching. And if you must know, the police have been round to see me too. I don’t bloody know what’s been going on and I need to talk it all over with someone. You’re the obvious person. Please. Can we talk? Sensibly?’
She stepped back to let him come in. ‘But don’t try anything. Life changed for me after that assault and I learned that I had to defend myself. No other bastard would hurt me again. I’ll make mincemeat of you if you as much as come too close.’
She pointed to the kitchen, taking a quick look out of the door as she closed it. He’d been right. Several neighbours were at their windows. She gave them a cheery wave. She took a shoulder bag off a nearby coat hook, went through to the kitchen, told Tim where to sit, and perched opposite him.
‘I’ve got pepper spray in here, so you’d better keep your distance. What do you want?’
‘I’m not going to harm you, Catherine,’ he said. ‘Why on earth would I? I never hurt anyone back at the farm, and I’m not going to start now. Can’t we just talk like old friends?’
‘You do know the police have found a body up there? Any idea who it is?’
Tim shook his head. ‘The police haven’t said.’
Catherine almost shouted. ‘For God’s sake, Tim. I’m not stupid. You knew everything that went on in that place. I picked up on some odd vibes before I left and I knew there was some kind of shadow lurking over the place. Did something happen that you covered up?’
He shook his head. ‘I said I don’t know who it is or how they got there. Was it even anything to do with us? Maybe it predates our time there.’
‘Okay, let me rephrase that. Have you guessed who it is?’ She watched him carefully.
‘No, but I’m sure they think it’s Katie Templar. Do you know anything?’
She snorted. ‘Of course not. Have you had a formal interview with the cops?’
He nodded. ‘They’ve been all over my place. I’ve even had to hand in my passport to stop me doing a runner. It’s all too much. First Prentice being killed and now this. I can’t believe it.’
‘Haven’t the police warned you off trying to contact anyone from those days? Doesn’t it look suspicious, you coming here?’
‘What do you mean?’ he said.
She laughed. ‘You’re just the same, aren’t you? So bound up in yourself and your own beliefs that you can’t see anything from another person’s point of view. The police will be watching you, idiot, and then the first thing you do is come calling on me, someone from the old days who you haven’t seen for more than a decade. I mean, how’s it going to look to them?’
‘Yeah, but you’re in the clear. You wouldn’t have been involved in any of the other conflicts, not with the fights you were having with Trent. That was enough to wear anybody out.’
She folded her arms. ‘Look, this is all very nice, but I have to get to work.’
‘What do you do?’ he asked.
‘I’m an assistant pharmacist. Don’t you even remember that? You said I’d be useful on the farm. I could help treat the sick. If you ask me, the sickest person there was you know who, and he was sick in the head. And I’m not sure you were much better.’ She stood up. ‘I don’t know what you’ve come here for. Do you even know?’
‘Not really. I’m feeling desperate, that’s all. I just wanted to talk to someone.’ His voice shook.
Serves you bloody right, she thought as she almost shoved him out of the door. He stopped on the threshold.
‘Um, I don’t suppose Andy has been in touch, has he?’
‘Who?’
‘Andy Atkins. You remember, he came from round there, more or less ran the farming part of the operation. Medium height, mousey hair with a turned-up nose.’
She shook her head. Was he really so lacking in insight? ‘Why would he want to get in touch? Haven’t seen him in years.’
Tim shrugged. ‘I just wondered.’
Should she tell him the latest news or let him stew in ignorance? He was clearly anxious. He looked almost ill with it. Maybe she should give him one less thing to worry about. ‘You don’t have to worry about Trent Baker, not for a while at least. He’s back in custody. The police phoned me with the news yesterday. He breached his parole conditions by trying to stir up trouble for me and was stupid enough to make it obvious. With his history of violence, they couldn’t just leave him running around free.’
Catherine waited until she’d shut the door behind him and then leant back against the wall. Tim was one worried man. Were the police fingering him for the deaths? She breathed a sigh of relief.
*
Trent Baker was seething with impotent rage. To find himself back in custody only a few short months after his release from prison was just outrageous. It wasn’t as if he’d broken any laws. All he’d done was wind a couple of people up a bit. Where was the harm in that, for Christ’s sake? People were just too fucking touchy. Didn’t anyone get a joke anymore? Did they even have a sense of humour?
He sat on the narrow bed in his cell, his back against the wall, trying to think of a way out. Was he sorry for his actions? No. Should he lie and tell them he was sorry? You bet. But how to go about creating a convincing story? That was the key. What line should he take? Maybe the years in prison had caused him to lose his sense of judgement, such that he’d made a gross miscalculation. He really and truly hadn’t meant any harm. How would that sound? He could always switch on his wide-eyed, innocent look. That might help. The problem would come if they started to ask him questions, like why he’d decided to spike Catherine’s date. Would they try to find out where he’d got his information from? How would he deal with that? If they ever got a whiff of the fact he’d been inside her house, poking around in her possessions, he’d be back inside faster than shit sliding down a sewer. He needed to do a lot more hard thinking, which wasn’t something that came easy to him. Trent Baker was instinctive, someone who lived for the moment. Why couldn’t other people see that? He sighed, scowled and tried hard to switch his brain into supercharged mode, a mental state that Catherine herself had told him about all those years ago. He didn’t know what she’d been talking about then and he didn’t now. Maybe it was down to all the junk he’d consumed at the time. Did that mean his brain was permanently screwed?
Chapter 25: Nice Guy
Wednesday Morning
Barry Marsh looked at the clock. Trent Baker was due to meet his supervising officer about now for an emergency review meeting to discuss the extent to which he’d broken the terms of his parole. The outcome would be important for the police here in Taunton. Polly Nelson hadn’t been sure what the decision would be. Had Baker clearly broken enough regulations to justify a return to prison? She’d thought the evidence was debatable. It would all depend on his performance in the interview, and that was an unknown factor. Baker’s assigned SO had retired the week before and the new SO would be meeting him for the first time. Polly herself, as a senior detective in the local police force, had some input into the process but the final decision wouldn’t be hers. Barry thought it likely that Baker would be given the benefit of the doubt, along with another chance to stick to his parole, but it was no good speculating. If Baker was deemed fit to continue his parole they’d just have to adapt and put improved protection measures in place for Catherine Templeton. As a visiting detective from Dorset, it really wasn’t his problem. He needed to turn his attention to other aspects of the case and wait until Polly returned with news of the review.
He finished his coffee and considered the remaining problem, finding Andrew Atkins. What was the man doing now and, more importantly, where? Would he have stayed in farm work or would he have left agriculture like so many others? Barry wasn’t making any progress in tracing the elusive Atkins in Somerset and was wondering where else he could be. It was always possible that his disappearance was d
own to rather more than a change of location. Could he be dead — one more to add to the list of commune victims? First, a tramp killed a couple of weeks ago, then a young woman twelve years earlier. Were there other bodies waiting to be discovered, each linked to the commune on the farm? Unless, of course, Atkins was in Dorset. He could be the tramp’s killer, the man Pauline Stopley saw clambering over a fence near Prentice’s place on the day of his death and possibly glimpsed by Jade Allen during her early morning visit there more than a week later. Barry decided to call Rae Gregson, who was still in Dorset, to see if she’d had any success with the search for Atkins. However, the news she gave him concerned a separate line of enquiry.
‘I’ve found a pharmacy where a member of staff sold some antiseptic ointment to a man who’d been quite badly scratched by a dog,’ she said. ‘He had marks on his face and arms. She told him that he should see a doctor about it, but he seemed reluctant and wouldn’t say much about how it had happened. The dates match. It was on the Sunday, the day after we think Prentice was killed.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘Blandford.’
Barry thought for a few moments. Blandford was only half an hour’s drive from the murder scene. Could there be something in it?
‘Does the description match?’
‘I think so. Medium height, jeans and a lumberjack shirt.’
‘It fits what I’ve found out about this Andrew Atkins. It doesn’t prove anything, of course. It could also describe Tim Brotherton. But we need to trace Atkins. I wonder if he’s settled on our patch, in Dorset. Maybe that’s why he went there, to trace Prentice, and it’s taken this long to find him.’
‘Does he have a motive, though?’ Rae asked.
Barry ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I’m not aware of one yet. But we still don’t know exactly what all the friction was about in that commune. All we know is that there was plenty of it. Can you tell the boss when she gets back from her conference and get her opinion? Meanwhile, do what you can to trace this Andrew Atkins character. He might hold the key to everything. I have a couple more leads to follow up here, but I should be back in a day or two. By the way, is there any chance of getting any DNA from that dog collar? Did Dave Nash say?’
‘He’s hopeful. There were a few specks of blood on it, but they could be from the dog. The results should be back soon.’
The call ended just as Polly Nelson came into the room. Her expression said it all. Baker had been released on parole again.
‘It’s a bloody mess,’ Polly said, switching the kettle on. ‘How he wangled his way through that, I don’t know.’
‘We both know the prisons are bursting at the seams. Putting him back inside uses up one more place. I wonder if the remand officers have been encouraged to keep the re-admittance figures down just to give prisons a bit of elbow room. Maybe they have to be a hundred percent certain before they can send someone back inside. And, let’s face it, there was no real proof.’
‘Yeah, so instead I’ve got to find the resources to keep an eye on the Templeton woman so she stays safe while that creep is still out on the streets. What about us and our lack of resources? What do they think we are? Bloody superheroes?’
Barry laughed. ‘Aren’t we? Oh, I thought we were. Anyway, I need to be off. I’m going to have another chat with Linda Brooker to see if she’s remembered any more about life in that commune.’
*
Linda worked in a company that made specialist control units for various kinds of machinery. She was an assembly technician in the printed circuit board department and was clearly valued by her employers, judging from the attitude of the manager who greeted Barry. Either that or he was keen to find out why the police were visiting her. If so, his hopes were destined to be dashed. Barry kept quiet.
Linda showed him into a small office.
‘I was hoping you might have remembered more about life in the commune since we last chatted,’ Barry said. ‘Names, relationships, whether people got on with each other, who fell out with who, arguments and so on. But maybe focus on the people who were most influential. Is that okay?’
‘Well, I can try,’ Linda said rather doubtfully. ‘Timothy Brotherton was the leader. We had to call him Timothy, never Tim. He used to get angry with anyone who shortened his name. As if it was that important. Looking back, his whole attitude was a bit patronising, as if he was in on a big secret that no one else knew about. He used to lecture us all on the path to enlightenment.’
‘So, who else helped to run things? Do you remember more now?’
She nodded. ‘Andy acted as farm manager. He was fine at the start. He’d worked on the farm before the group took over, but just as an ordinary worker. The problem was, he was hopeless at making decisions which wasn’t helped by the amount of booze he drank. I hooked up with him pretty early on, but he had other women as well. The commune prided itself on its open relationships. Tim used to say that petty jealousies and possessive thoughts had to be left outside the group. That approach just created chaos. I can see that now.’
‘What about Katie Templar? Did you know her?’
‘Yeah, she was one of the originals. I think she had something to do with the ownership of the place, but I never found out exactly what. She was with Tim at first, but that went sour for some reason. She hooked up with another guy, but I think there was a big row with Timothy and the other bloke walked out. Katie was like a lost soul for a few months till she left.’
‘Do you remember when? When she left, I mean.’
‘Not really. I know she always seemed sad. It didn’t surprise me that she went.’
Barry took the photo out and showed her. ‘Was this her?’
She peered closely at the picture. ‘Yeah. And the guy’s the one she was with after Timothy. I think his name was Paul. I was trying to remember all this when you called a couple of days ago, but I’m no good at remembering things from that long ago unless I’ve had time to think things over.’
‘What was she like, this Katie Templar?’
Linda said nothing for a few moments. ‘A bit posher than the rest of us. Quiet. She was slim and quite tiny, maybe about five two or three? The thing is, she was really nice and very trusting. And that was a mistake, ’cause not all the people there were in it for the common good, if you know what I mean. She got manipulated and sidelined, particularly once she fell out with the great leader.’
‘What about her later boyfriend, Paul. Prentice, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah, I remember now you’ve mentioned it. He left after a year or so, just vanished one night. That’s when your Katie got really edged out. She was a bit of a lost soul. Paul was okay. He was a decent guy from what I remember. Maybe he could see the writing on the wall before the rest of us. There was a rumour that he was coming back for Katie and they were going to set up somewhere else. I thought he’d managed it because she vanished after another couple of months.’
‘And Trent Baker? What was he like?’
Linda laughed. ‘The hood with the halo. A devious thug, basically. But you wouldn’t think so to look at him. He looked like a choirboy. He had dimples and pure white teeth. He could have been a model if he’d been taller, but he was only about five four.’
‘Were you there when Catherine Templeton arrived?’
‘I’m a bit fuzzy about the final year. Everything started going wrong and I was boozing more than I should have been. Like most of the others, I guess. There was a tall woman with long, dark hair. Sort of like a gypsy. Was that her?’
‘Possibly,’ Barry said. ‘You can’t remember anything else about her?’
‘No. Anyway, you seem to know more than me. What is this all about?’
‘Haven’t you seen the news? Don’t you know that we found a body buried on the farm? It’s probably been there since the commune days.’
Linda put a hand to her mouth. ‘No. Who was it?’
‘A woman, probably quite young. About five foot three. Maybe slightly built.
’
‘Katie?’ Linda gasped. ‘Oh no. What are you saying? That she didn’t leave but died there?’
Barry nodded slowly. ‘She was murdered. That’s why we need to trace these people, and why I need to find Andy Atkins.’
‘I think he may have gone to Dorset to work for the Forestry Commission. About six months ago that was.’ She stared at Barry. ‘It wouldn’t have been him that killed your tramp. He might be a lazy sod, but he’d never hurt anyone, not in that way.’
Barry thanked her for the information. He’d heard it all too many times before, people stating adamantly that someone they knew wouldn’t hurt a fly. Yet too often that very same person was subsequently locked up for committing vicious murders. You just couldn’t ever tell.
*
The warden at the homeless centre proved to be very helpful. He remembered Paul Prentice at once.
‘He was here for a couple of days in late March,’ he said. ‘Nice guy, very polite. He was very self-contained, very controlled. He asked about the bus route west, to Bridgwater. I gave him a timetable.’
‘Did he say what he was going there for?’ Barry asked.
The man shrugged. ‘Not directly, but I got the impression he was still looking for someone, same as before.’
Barry looked surprised. ‘He’d been before? Looking for someone, you say?’
‘Oh, yes. Every couple of years. It was good to see him again. He always made a contribution to our funds, as well as paying for his room.’
‘Are we talking about the same man?’ Barry fished out his photo of Prentice and handed it over. This was getting more bizarre by the minute.
‘Yes, that’s him. I know he slept rough a lot, he told me about it. But he wasn’t short of cash. I know this is a homeless hostel, but he always booked a few days in advance and paid us the going rate for a cheap hotel room. And he always put a couple of hundred quid into the kitty.’
‘How long did he stay for?’ Barry asked.
‘Usually it was about a week, maybe a bit less. Not that I saw a lot of him. He’d be out most of the day, off on the bus somewhere — searching, I suppose. But this last time something upset him, though he wouldn’t tell me what. He left early. He still insisted on paying the two hundred, though. I went to the bank with him while he got it, ’cause he was in such a hurry to get away.’
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