The Piggy Farmer (The Barrington Patch Book 3)

by Emmy Ellis

  “I know, Joe. Thanks, and sorry for getting you up again.”

  They left him, Mam driving towards the factory, Cassie going the other way. Out of curiosity, she sailed past the squat to the location of the previously burning car, satisfied her cleaners had come and gone, even going so far as to rake snow over the melted patch where the heat had got to it. No one would know owt had ever happened, what with more snow falling, fat flakes that settled on her hair.

  She brushed them off and got back in the car, threw Bob’s phone battery into the bushes on the way, and arrived at the squat inside a couple of minutes. She messaged Jimmy to warn him she was there—so he didn’t shit himself or whatever—and studied the house to ensure no light seeped around the blinds. To anyone passing, it would appear as desolate as always.

  Her phone blipped.

  Jimmy: Okay. I’m in the kitchen.

  The carrier bag of Bob’s clothes in hand, she let herself in, locked up, and poked her head into the living room. Jason was obviously where she’d left him—it wasn’t like he could sodding move, was it. The bloodstain beneath his leg had got bigger since she was last here, as to be expected, and his face had dried out a bit, presenting him as a burn victim, all that raw flesh with a hardening crust. His lower lip had ballooned even more, especially around the tight stiches, giving the top-of-a-love-heart vibe. The whites of his eyes told her he was out of it, the faintest bottom curves of his irises visible at the top. Red veins crawled up to them, lightning strikes produced by pressure, and her monster smiled at her handiwork, pleased she’d had it in her to inflict such pain.

  How dare he want to swoop in and take what her father had spent so many years building up. All that hard work, handed to Jason on a gold plate? Not fucking likely.

  She walked down the hallway into the kitchen. Jimmy poured boiled water into two cups. He looked tired and jumpy.

  “All right?” She moved to the furnace and opened the door. Welcome heat blasted out, the force of it waving her hair.

  “Bored, to be honest,” Jimmy said. “There’s nowt like being in your own home, is there.”

  Cassie knew that feeling. While she’d loved staying at Mam’s, she’d missed her little flat. It may be attached to the house, but it still felt separate. Hers. “It does get like that, yes.”

  She checked over her shoulder to ensure Jimmy wasn’t watching—he was adding milk to the cups—then whipped Bob’s uniform and hat out of the bag, shoving them into the furnace. Next went his shoes, shiny black ones, treading the beat no more, and his work phone, his ID.

  She flung the carrier inside and snapped the door closed. “Owt to report other than the breakdown lorry incident?” She joined Jimmy at the worktop.

  He blushed. “I’m right sorry about that. I didn’t expect anyone to come along, not at that time.”

  “You’re entitled to fresh air, you know, just go out the back in future. It’s only miles of fields that way, no roads.”

  “Okay.” He bit his lip. “I saw a fire. It was far away, like.”

  “Yes, we needed to torch a vehicle. Nowt to worry about. It’s the usual thing. Had to get rid of it.”

  She wasn’t going to elaborate, tell the truth. He could think what he wanted, wondering why she hadn’t used the car-crusher bloke straight away, why it even needed torching. No doubt Bob’s disappearance would make the local news, and the fact his patrol car was missing, and Jimmy would put two and two together.

  Not a lot she could do about that. Nor could she do owt about any trackers on the police car. She assumed there was some way Control knew where the officers were. That meant, if the tracker had stopped working in the fire, the last location would still be known.

  Shit. She’d have to get Mam to have a word with a new pig-in-their-pocket copper, one high up enough to steer nosy officers away from the squat. She quickly sent her a message to deal with that.

  Jimmy drew her out of her head. “Shirl’s got hold of me. She’s got the flu, so if it’s all right with you, I’ll do the babysitting on my own.”

  “Fine, so long as one of you is here. There’s a blow-up bed in the cupboard under the stairs, a foot pump, and a few blankets, a pillow. You can doss down in the living room.”

  “Cheers.” He stirred the drinks then pushed a chipped mug across the worktop towards her. “He woke up. Jason. Didn’t seem to know what was going on.”

  “I don’t suppose he did, considering the pain he’s in. The dickhead’s probably delirious.”

  “Will he be here for long?” Jimmy sipped some coffee.

  Cassie picked hers up and wrapped her hands around it to warm her cold fingers. “Is that you asking out of compassion for him? Or is it so you know how long you’ll be here?”

  “The last one.”

  “Good. Feeling sorry for him isn’t a great idea. He’s a snake, remember that. The shit he’s been up to behind my back…” She drank, pushing thoughts of Nathan Abbott out of her head, someone she’d killed. “But to answer the question, I don’t know. I’ve got something else to deal with, unfortunately, so Jason will have to remain here until I’m done. That could be a couple of days. I’ll try to nip back and finish him off before that, though.”

  Jimmy flinched.

  “What?” she said. “You know what I do.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, but seeing it…”

  She sighed. Honestly, she was too tired to deal with Jimmy having a wobble. “Have you got a problem doing this job? If you do, say so now.”

  He appeared to struggle with the answer. Then, “Nah. I’ll do it. I said I would, and I won’t go back on a promise.”

  Cassie stared over at the furnace, the flames going mental, burning the evidence. “Glad to hear it. I’m using you because I don’t want others knowing what’s going on, so asking someone else to cover for you, no ta. His mother, Gina… I don’t want her interfering. I’ll tell her afterwards, of course, let her know if she kicks up a fuss she’ll get the same treatment, but if she knows he’s alive and being kept somewhere, she may well go to the police, and that wouldn’t be wise.”

  Jimmy swallowed, and it wasn’t coffee. “I’m not saying this in a bad way, just curious, because I need to know. How do you sleep at night?” He laughed nervously. “Asking for a friend.”

  The poor bastard. He must have a feeling he’d struggle on that front. To be fair, he had seen some horrific shit, and it was likely fucking with his mind. She’d been there, where she’d seen it all over again later on, playing out inside her head even while she was awake.

  “You learn to compartmentalise.” She wasn’t about to tell him the monster inside her enjoyed it to a certain degree, that part of her looked forward to hurting people. That was for her and her alone to know, or maybe Mam. “It’s what was handed down to me, a legacy if you like. The murder, the torture, the running of the patch, doing things people should never do, but I promised my dad I would, so there you go. Like you, I don’t break promises if I can help it. Listen, I won’t ask you to do owt like this again if you don’t want me to, if you’re uncomfortable with it. You were originally meant to be my grass, weren’t you, it’s just that things happened, escalated.”

  “Hmm, I get it, no worries on that score. And I’ll get used to it if you have plans for me. Like, if you need me for owt else that’s nasty.”

  Had he said that because he thought he had no choice, even though she’d basically said he did? Didn’t he trust her?

  “I’m not going to make you do stuff, Jim, but if you want to do it to earn extra, I won’t say no.”

  He shifted from foot to foot. “I’m not being rude but—”

  “People who start off saying that generally end up being rude, but go on.” She braced herself for what he had to say. She’d hate to have to tell him off but would if the need arose.

  He blushed, scratching at one of his angry pimples. “It’s just that… If I have to kill him, will I get paid more, like?”

  Was that all he was worried ab
out?

  “Of course you fucking will. What do you take me for, a skinflint boss? I give bonuses, unlike Lenny, to people who go the extra mile. If you have to shoot that cunt in there, you’ll get your due, don’t you worry about that.”

  “Thanks. Sorry. For asking, I mean.”

  She had sympathy for him, and Dad’s words came to mind. She’d repeat them to Jimmy so he knew she wasn’t upset. “Don’t ever be sorry for getting what’s owed to you—don’t work for free.” She nudged him in the ribs to lighten things up. “Look, people who sit back and get taken for granted never get far—and you, Jimmy Lews, deserve to go far. You’re a good bloke, you stuck by my dad, and asking for payment for services rendered isn’t a bad thing. You do the work, you expect money, it’s as simple as that. Anyone who doesn’t want to pay you is a scumbag, and it’s a reflection on them, not you.”

  He let out a rush of air, clearly relieved she hadn’t bitten his head off. “How much?”

  Cassie smiled. “See? You’re learning. Twenty grand.”

  “Fuck me, that’s what I would have asked for.”

  “There you go then. I’m a mind reader as well as a hard cow.”

  He nudged her in return. “You’re all right, you are.”

  “I can be. On the other hand, you know full well how not all right I can be, so don’t get too comfortable.” Her phone bleeped, and she placed her cup down, moving away from Jimmy to read it. She checked the screen.

  Shit. She really didn’t need this.

  Li Jun: I am worried about my brother. Zhang Wei went out and has not come home. His wife, she is fretting. What do I tell her?

  Good old Li Jun. Despite probably knowing what had happened, he was still in her pocket. Cassie sighed. Hua, the wife, worked for Cassie, doing stints bagging the drugs sold at Li Jun’s takeaway, the Jade Garden. Zhang Wei had distanced himself from the goings-on years ago by moving to the Moor estate and running The Golden Dragon. Hua was well aware of what went on in Cassie’s world, and she’d keep her mouth shut if she knew Zhang Wei had ‘disappeared’, even if he was her husband, but in the meantime, she could cause a spot of bother if she wasn’t aware of things as they stood now.

  Cassie: Tell her I’ll visit her tomorrow sometime. Zhang caused problems. He’s moved to China.

  Li Jun would know exactly what that meant. It was the same cover story for where Jiang, Zhang Wei’s son, had gone. He’d been killed by some scrote, a machete slice to the neck, and it had been hushed up so people didn’t ask questions about him no longer working at the Jade—where a load of drugs sat in an unplugged fridge, baggies sold with the fried rice.

  Li Jun: Oh no.

  Cassie: Sorry, but you all know the deal. I’ll get word out in The Life so people know where he is.

  Li Jun: I am sorry it has come to this. I did not think my brother would escalate things.

  Cassie: Well, he did, and that’s the end of it.

  Li Jun: How…?

  Cassie: He was shot. It was quick. Now go and shut Hua up.

  She slipped her phone in her pocket and continued drinking her coffee, her arse against a cupboard. “Sometimes, I could really do with being a normal person.” The admission surprised her, and it was weird: because it was Jimmy, she didn’t want to take it back.

  He gave her a sympathetic look. “Sorry you’re not.”

  “Yeah, well, life has its own design for us. We’re kidding ourselves if we think we can carve out our own destiny. Sway it, yes, but not completely direct it.” That was a bit bleak, and too close to her showing him her soft side. She couldn’t allow this conversation to continue so brought out her monster. “If you need to kill Jason, shoot him right in the eye. That’s got to hurt.” Like it hurt Vance Johnson when Brenda gouged his out with a key.

  Jimmy winced. “Yeah.”

  “He deserves all the pain coming his way, the sneaky little wanker.”

  Buoyed by a fresh surge of adrenaline, she finished her drink and left Jimmy to it, driving to Mam’s where she’d fill in the ledger and finally get some sleep, even if it was only a nap. Tomorrow lunchtime, she’d visit Hua, a woman who’d be mourning not only her son but her husband, her only close relative left Yenay, her daughter.

  Tough. Zhang Wei should have known his place. It was his fault this had happened.

  Pushy bastard.

  Chapter Five

  The text bleep going off on the work burner pulled Brenda Nolan from sleep, propelling her into an early morning she didn’t want to see. Who the chuff was WhatsApping her at this time?

  Cassie: Are you alone?

  Brenda: Yes.

  Cassie: I’m coming round. Now. Also alone.

  That was all Brenda needed to know. Shit had probably gone down regarding Karen Scholes. Either that or there was news of Jason. Brenda had told Cassie all about his little scheme—always best to be upfront with whoever paid your wages, wasn’t it; thank God she’d gone down that route—and had been tense ever since, awaiting the outcome. Then there was her confession about Karen also wanting to take over the patch.

  What a mess, but she’d rather this mess than one involving her to the point where she met a bad end. Survival, self-preservation, was uppermost in her mind, and she’d trample over whoever to ensure she remained safe. Loyalty to a friend meant jack shit when you risked being killed, and she had a lot of years left to live, thanks.

  She swung out of bed a bit too enthusiastically, going giddy (damn her age). At the window, she opened the thermal-lined curtains and leant on the sill that was chilly from the winter freeze, the inside bottoms of the three panes covered in condensation, the outside smiles of snow. It still coated the ground, chunky flakes coming down. People had tromped through it on the paths yesterday, some kids fucking about with snowball fights, and the fresh fall had created mounds over and beside the footprints.

  Tyre tracks imprinted the road, appearing dirty in places where the tarmac peeked through. Snow always changed this street, hiding the imperfections, the rubbish mounting up in the front gardens, giving the illusion it was like all the other, better roads on the estate. Come the thaw, the reality would be all too prevalent again: the council needed to do a clean-up; new windows, doors, the potholes fixed in the pavements, and people directed to the tip instead of using their gardens.

  Why am I living here again?

  Because you love the house.

  She shivered and made to turn for the bathroom but caught sight of Sharon Barnett hammering on Karen’s door, the orange light of a lamppost shining on her. Christ, she was up early. A barny at this time of the morning didn’t bode well, if that was what the door-whacking was about; Sharon appeared angry enough. Or had Karen been dealt with and Sharon was panicking at not hearing from her?

  Brenda shrugged, thinking she’d better get showered and dressed rather than go and see what the hassle was. Cassie would tell her soon enough.

  Had something happened already, though? Cassie was obviously okay, not dead, she’d messaged Brenda—or had Karen killed her, stolen her phone, and pretended to be her? That would be weird but not surprising; Karen would want all of Cassie’s contacts, wouldn’t she.

  “For fuck’s sake.”

  Brenda slung her dressing gown on over her grey fleece pyjamas with polar bears on them, stuck the burner phone in a pocket, and ran downstairs—well, as much as someone her age could run when they smoked as many fags as she did. She shoved her feet into her fluffy boot slippers, lined with that teddy bear fur, and opened the door, switching on the outside light. Assaulted by the cold, she moved the dial on the heating to get it fired up and stepped onto her path. She’d cleared it yesterday, but it was blanketed now, the snow coming down like a maniac overnight.

  “Fuck’s sake again!” Annoyed, what with the pressure of Cassie coming round sitting on her shoulders, and no ciggie or caffeine yet, she took a deep breath. “Sharon?” It came out as a whisper-shout, phlegmy. She coughed to clear her throat. “Sharon!”

  Th
e woman in question spun from Karen’s door and looked across. “She’s not answering—the door or her phone. She always answers me.”

  Dread seeped into Brenda’s belly, despite knowing Karen was going to get her comeuppance—it was still a shock when reality hit, even with forewarning. “Maybe she’s having a lie-in.”

  The suggestion could be plausible. Cassie might not have offed Karen yet—and she planned to. She’d said so, something like: ‘She’ll be dealt with in the usual way.’ That meant Marlene the Mincer.

  Christ Almighty.

  Sharon shook her head. “No. That’s not like her, you know it isn’t.”

  “Have you two had a falling out or something?” Brenda wrapped her dressing gown fronts around her and held them in place with a cuddle, tucking her fists beneath her armpits. God, she should have just minded her own bloody business. She could be drinking a brew and smoking by now, the radiators clonking while they heated. “Come over here, will you? We don’t need the whole street listening.”

  Sharon—reluctant by the look of it—tromped from Karen’s door and up Brenda’s path, the snow creaking beneath her flimsy red slippers, the open-front kind. Was she mental coming out in those or what? Her toes were red from the cold, the ends an alarming purple that clashed with the neon-yellow nail polish. She’d shoehorned herself into dark skinny jeans and an orange chunky-knit jumper, and her hair sat in a bun on her crown.

  Inside, gagging for a coffee and a fag to steady her nerves, Brenda led her to the kitchen, turning on the light. She scrolled the blind up above the sink then flicked the kettle on, anxious because Cassie would be here soon, and while the element crackled and rumbled, Sharon taking a seat at the table, Brenda sent her boss a message: Sharon’s here.

  Phone on the worktop farthest from her unwanted guest, Brenda got on with spooning instant coffee into two mugs—she couldn’t wait for her machine to filter, it took at least twenty minutes. She ought to clean really, the plates and whatnot from last night’s late dinner still sitting in the bowl ready for the dishwasher. She’d been too tired from looking after Sid Watson, one of her elderly marks, to bother loading it. “So, where’s the fire? It’s a bit early for this kind of malarky, isn’t it?”