Silent Crimes

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  ‘He had a bank account? Can you tell me which bank?’

  ‘Down on North Street in the town centre, the one on the corner. He gave me the money, then went to get a bus back to Dorset. He kept glancing around all the time, as if he was worried that someone was watching him.’

  ‘Did he tell you why?’ Barry asked.

  ‘Nope. He clammed up completely. He always had this look, sort of furtive, as if he was haunted by the past. It’s common in people who’ve chosen to turn their backs on society and live rough. There’s always a reason, isn’t there? But that last time he looked as if something had finally happened. Or someone had turned up. That’s more likely, isn’t it? But if it was someone, it wasn’t the person he was looking for. That much was obvious. He went up to the Borders a few times as well. He didn’t talk very much, but he did let that slip in one conversation we had. Berwick, I think. Berwick-Upon-Tweed.’

  Chapter 26: Where Do Your Loyalties Lie?

  Wednesday Morning

  Sophie drove to the Bournemouth police station as fast as the heavy traffic would permit. She hurried up the stairs to the CID office where Lydia was waiting. Rae had arrived a few minutes earlier.

  ‘I hope this is worth it,’ Sophie said. ‘Here I was, all ready for a quiet morning in the office, drinking coffee and eating biscuits with my feet up. Now this.’

  ‘We do have coffee here, ma’am,’ Lydia replied.

  ‘That stuff? No comment. Now, what’s all this about?’

  ‘The records have all arrived from the bank,’ Lydia said, ‘and I think they open things up. The reason I suggested you come over is because I’ve been decoding all the papers that Rae found at the farm. We need to cross-check. It’s all set out here on my desk for you to see.’

  The bank had sent several documents that listed the historic mandate details for the farm’s accounts, which were associated with the group, the Heathfield Commune, and the trust that owned the property. The details confirmed the information they already had: that the original four trustees were Timothy Brotherton, Andrew Atkins, Katie Templar and Paul Prentice. These were also the four signatories for the accounts, with any two of them needed to authorise transactions. Two accounts had been opened in the spring of 2003. One was a current account for routine expenditure, the other a savings account.

  The bank details also reflected what they already knew about the commune having had a period of stability when it was first established. Then, some eighteen months later, Paul Prentice’s name was removed, leaving just three authorising signatories. Katie Templar’s name remained on the list for another year, but it was then also removed, to be replaced by that of Trent Baker. The final set of records showed that a request had arrived at the bank to determine whether it was possible to change to a single signature authorisation, but no steps had been taken to put this into effect. That request had been lodged by Trent Baker.

  ‘Why do you think he gave up on that?’ Rae asked.

  ‘There could be several reasons,’ Lydia said. ‘He’d need a second signature to agree to that change, so maybe neither of the other two would authorise it. Or the bank convinced them that such a change would be a bad idea. The farm was owned by a trust, after all. Most banks wouldn’t be comfortable opening up avenues for exploitation. Then there’s the more obvious reason — the commune fell apart at that point, so there was no opportunity to go ahead with it.’

  Sophie thought for a moment. ‘These mandate changes could mirror the dates when events we already know about happened. Paul Prentice left, so he was removed from the list by two of the others — see? That change was put into effect by Brotherton, with Atkins as second signatory. Maybe Katie Templar was never told of the mandate change and only found out later, by accident. Could that have triggered a serious row? She vanished, then our remaining two decided, for whatever reason, to add Trent Baker. Any two of them could have started to squirrel away money in the final few months before the place folded. What about the trustee list, Lydia?’

  ‘That’s also interesting. Someone tried to get that altered and bring in new trustees at about the same time as Baker was added to the bank’s signatories. But it didn’t work. It looks as though Katie Templar set up the trust so that while she was alive, she always had the final say on who should be a trustee. So Prentice remained on the list even though he’d walked out, and she remained on it too, even after she vanished. As far as I can tell, the original list is still in place, as you thought when you were looking at the deeds a couple of days ago. Everyone would assume she was still alive somewhere, at least up until you found her body at the weekend. Two of them are dead, two still alive, but it would need a good lawyer to get the ownership sorted.’

  ‘I may be able to help here,’ Rae said. ‘I managed to trace Katie’s possible next of kin, an aunt of hers who lives in Berwick-Upon-Tweed. I haven’t made contact yet, but she may well inherit Katie’s estate, and that means her share of the farm.’

  ‘I think we need to contact her right now, Rae,’ Sophie said. ‘We could try for a visit this week if she’s okay with it.’

  ‘Maybe try not to be too specific when you visit, ma’am?’ Lydia added. ‘Until we trace the actual trust document, we don’t really know the full details. Rae’s right that the ownership may revert to Katie Templar’s family on her death, but we can’t be sure until we’ve had time to check it all in detail. We may even need some legal advice. If it does return to her next of kin, it would explain why the others abandoned the place when she died. Her death would have caused the trust to fold, so they weren’t the legal owners anymore. Technically, they were squatting. Which begs the question, why kill her? Doing so put a stop to everything.’

  Rae shook her head. ‘You’re assuming the others knew about that clause. What if they didn’t? True, Brotherton and Atkins were original co-trustees, so maybe they ought to have been aware, but there’s another person who was a final bank account signatory but not a trustee. Our friend, Trent Baker. Why would he have known of the existence of that clause? Even Atkins may not have been totally aware, from what Barry has found out about him. Didn’t his ex say he was routinely drunk or high, or both? That crucial bit of information may have passed him by.’

  Sophie frowned. ‘Yes. Barry said she implied that Atkins wasn’t the brightest lightbulb in the box. As for Baker, why does everything always seem to come back to him? Maybe we need to see him as well, while we’re in the area. On second thoughts, we’ll give him a miss at the moment. We need to find this Atkins guy first and get the facts straight. Any luck, Rae?’

  ‘He’s working in Wareham Forest, if it’s the same man. He’s been with the Forestry Commission for about three months.’

  Sophie smiled. ‘Wareham Forest again. That’s a stroke of luck. I’ll give Alice Llewellyn a quick call, though I doubt she’ll be pleased to hear from me. She associates me with dead bodies.’

  Don’t we all, Lydia said to herself.

  *

  Sophie looked up at the trees looming above her and shivered. She could imagine the forest looking pretty in the sunshine, but on heavily overcast days like today the woodland felt gloomy and menacing. She and Rae waited in Alice’s office while the ranger went to collect Atkins, currently with a team planting saplings in a cleared area. They watched out of the window and saw Alice return accompanied by a nondescript, mousey-haired man of medium height, dressed for outdoor work. He was wearing a lumberjack shirt, but then so were most of the other staff. He might have fit Jade’s photofit image, but equally well he might not. He entered the office warily, looking around him as if he was expecting a trap of some kind. He looked older than in the photo that his mother, Babs, had supplied, but the slightly turned up nose was a giveaway. Wouldn’t Jade have noticed that if it had been Atkins poking around at Arne?

  ‘Good morning, Mr Atkins,’ Sophie said. ‘Let’s get our facts straight first. Are you the Andrew Atkins who lived on Heathfield Farm in the Quantocks a decade or so ago?’


  He narrowed his eyes. ‘Yes.’

  ‘My understanding is that you were there for the entire period during which a commune tried to make a go of the farm, starting in about 2003 and finally leaving about three years later. Is that right?’

  He nodded warily. ‘I’d worked on the farm before that. I just kept on with what I’d been doing before.’

  ‘Let’s sit down, shall we? Alice, could we get some tea or something, please? Then make sure we’re not disturbed for a while?’ She returned her attention to Atkins. ‘I’m Detective Superintendent Sophie Allen, and this is my colleague, DC Rae Gregson. We’re from Dorset police, but we’ve recently spent some time in Somerset, in the area around the Quantocks. There’s a lot we don’t know about the farm and the commune, but we have to get to the bottom of it all because of a case we’re investigating.’

  ‘I’m not the person to ask. I only worked there. The stuff that went on in the commune had nothing to do with me.’

  There was a pause as Alice returned with a tray of mugs.

  ‘That isn’t strictly true, Mr Atkins, is it? You were one of the four trustees that administered the farm and shared responsibility for it. And you lived there for just over three years. You were one of the signatories for the commune’s bank accounts. Do you know why we’re here?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘A tramp was murdered over at Arne a couple of weeks ago. His name was Paul Prentice. Twelve years ago, he was one of the other trustees of the farm. Of course, he wasn’t a tramp then. We’ve already interviewed Timothy Brotherton who, we understand, was the group leader. Can you understand why we need to speak to you? There’s a good chance that Prentice was murdered because of something that occurred on that farm. We need to know whether anything happened that could lead to animosity strong enough for someone to act on it all these years later.’

  ‘Don’t know anything about that.’

  ‘Where were you on the weekend of June the eighteenth, three weeks ago?’

  He shook his head again. ‘Just around, I s’pose. Prob’ly in Bournemouth with some mates.’

  ‘You need to think back, Mr Atkins. We need exact information here. Where you were, who you were with, who can vouch for you. DC Gregson will get the details from you later. Meanwhile, we need to find out much more about that commune and the people there. So, have some tea and we’ll get started.’

  Sophie waited until Atkins had taken several mouthfuls.

  ‘Tell me about Timothy Brotherton.’

  Atkins set down his mug. ‘He was the leader, sort of. He had the ideas and liked to give rousing speeches about the way people ought to live, free from the repressions of modern society. Said we ought to be set free and allowed to explore our own inner selves. It was a load of shit looking back on it, but it seemed okay at the time. We had a shedload of fun.’

  ‘Were you with anyone in particular then?’

  ‘Yeah, on and off. A chick called Linda. She was a good laugh and we thought we’d make a go of it as a couple, but you know how things are. It didn’t work out for us.’

  ‘Was Tim with anyone? At the start, I mean.’

  ‘Yeah. But he didn’t talk about it, and neither did his chick. It was a bit weird. He preached about sharing everything and everyone, but he kept her to himself. We didn’t notice till later. And he didn’t like people shortening his name to Tim. He used to hit the roof.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Katie, I think. She was kinda posh.’ He took another gulp of tea and scratched his nose.

  ‘Did you know her before?’

  Atkins stared hard at Sophie for several moments. ‘What? Did I know her before the commune?’

  ‘Exactly. Did you know Katie Templar before the trust took over ownership of the farm? It’s not a hard question, is it? Either you did or you didn’t. We know she was one of the other three trustees, by the way.’

  There was another long pause. ‘Yeah. I worked on that farm after I left school. Her uncle owned it and she spent some of her holidays there. When he died, he left it to her.’

  ‘What was she like?’

  ‘What’s a polite way of putting it? Petite? Kinda thin, but very pretty. She hooked up with Timothy when they were at university together, and they hatched up this plan to start a commune. But he always had an agenda. She just didn’t realise it.’

  ‘What do you mean, agenda?’

  ‘To take over and run things his way. She got sidelined. He made all the running in that place and she didn’t get a look in. He claimed he was in touch with God or something and a lot of the others believed him. She couldn’t compete with that. Anyway, she was quiet and kinda shy. So they split up. He had his pick of the women and she hooked up with someone else.’

  There was another lengthy pause. Sophie was growing irritated. ‘Look, Mr Atkins, this is how it works. I know quite a lot about the place and the people there but I’m not going to tell you what. If you force me to keep dropping clues about what I know it’ll annoy me and make me think you’ve got something to hide. Just tell me everything, all right? Names, relationships, personalities, weaknesses. Just get it all off your chest. Think of it as therapy.’

  He stared back at her. ‘She hooked up with Paul Prentice. Well, that’s what we all thought. And what was wrong with that? Timothy was getting off with any chick he fancied but when he found out, he kinda exploded. There was a row and Prentice left. We always wondered why she didn’t go too, but she hung around for a while longer, then she went. Don’t know where.’

  ‘How bad was this argument between Brotherton and Prentice?’

  ‘Pretty rip-roaring. But it was behind closed doors. No idea what was said, but it was loud.’

  ‘Did you see her leave? Katie Templar? Did anyone actually witness her setting out from the farm with her possessions?’

  He looked puzzled. ‘She slipped out during the night. No one actually saw her go.’

  ‘Now we come to someone else who was there. Trent Baker.’

  ‘Oh, him. Yeah, he was there. Could be a bit devious, Trent.’

  ‘He became a signatory for the bank account. He must have got the agreement of the trustees and the remaining signatories. How did that happen? It doesn’t really make sense if he was devious, as you put it.’

  ‘Listen, nothing made much sense in that place, not near the end. I didn’t have a clue what was going on. But somehow Trent managed to get into a position of power. It might have gone to his head a bit. It led to some God-almighty rows. He was one for the women, was our Trent Baker. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. But by then Timothy, our great leader, had lost interest. It was everyone for himself and most people made a run for it with whatever they could find. God knows what happened to the money.’

  ‘Was there any?’ Sophie asked.

  Atkins spread his hands. ‘There should have been. I know we were making a loss, but Katie had been bailing us out till she left. There should still have been cash in the account.’

  ‘So you didn’t authorise any large transfers out of the accounts? Not in your role of account signatory?’

  He shook his head, beginning to look bored. ‘No. It must have been Timothy and Trent. It only needed two to access the money. I always wondered what happened to it. I haven’t seen those two for years.’

  Was he telling the truth? Sophie couldn’t decide. His flat voice gave little away, but there was definite tension in the way he held himself. ‘Have you remembered yet where you were that weekend nearly three weeks ago? Particularly on the Saturday afternoon and evening?’ she asked.

  ‘I was in Bournemouth. A mate of mine had a stag do so we did a pub crawl. Don’t remember much. I got drunk. We all did.’

  ‘DS Gregson here will need some names.’ She paused. ‘Have you been in touch with anyone else from the commune recently? Or has anyone tried to contact you?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not since I split with Linda. We were together for a few years after we left the farm.�
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  Time to shake him up a bit. ‘We found a body, Mr Atkins. Buried in the woods above the farm. In the beech copse. You were the farm manager and had been there longer than anyone else. You would have known the place inside out. All the paths, fields and paddocks. All the hedgerows, thickets and wooded areas. You would have known which spots were out of the direct line of sight from the farm buildings and even how deep the soil was.’

  He sat up, back on alert. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Katie Templar. She didn’t leave at all. Someone killed her. Now why would they do that, Mr Atkins? Why would someone kill a young woman who you’ve described as quiet and shy? There can’t be very many reasons, can there? Money? Jealousy? Revenge? Any ideas?’

  He shook his head. ‘I didn’t know. It’s . . . a huge shock. We all thought she’d left. Everyone did.’

  ‘Clearly not everyone. Someone knew exactly where she was. Where she’s been for the last twelve years. And I’ll find that someone, Mr Atkins. No one deserves to be killed and slung down a hole like that, least of all a young woman who everyone describes as being the most pleasant, mild-mannered and generous person in that commune. So you think hard about it and where your loyalties lie. Because here you are, working in south Dorset, only a few miles away from where Paul Prentice’s body was found, having moved here only a couple of months ago. How do you think it all looks to me?’

  Atkins looked at the floor.

  ‘By the way, where did you get those scratches on your wrist and face?’ she asked abruptly.

  His reply was short and sharp. ‘I work in forestry. We’re always getting scratched. It goes with the job.’