Hesitantly, Ian pulled on the door. As before, it opened easily. He tried to peer in through a narrow gap, but Martin knew there wouldn’t be enough light. He grabbed the edge of the door and pulled it open as wide as it would go.
“Is that the one?” he asked.
Nodding in response, Ian was looking around the rest of the barn, searching for the person who had brought the Sherpa and left it there.
Fifteen
By dawn, the outbuildings were sealed off. Crime scene tape was stretched across the track from just above the gateway into the farmyard. The yard itself was filled with all manner of vehicles, and more were parked further down the track, blocking off any access from the village. Police cars, both marked and unmarked, had arrived first. Because the roads were empty at that time of night, they hadn’t needed to use sirens, so their arrival had been low-key. The chances were that they had gone completely unnoticed.
Even the later arrivals at the party had managed to be discreet, a fact for which Detective Inspector Collins was grateful. He was in charge of the police operation, and knew that he would be the one who had to deal with this problem locally. The more fuss there was, the harder his job was going to be.
Joint military and police operations weren’t commonplace, and certainly not out in the sticks. Dealing with the IRA was more likely to be an issue in London or possibly the other big cities. A small village in North Nottinghamshire hadn’t tended to attract the attention of terrorists. Nor did it seem a likely place for any other military intervention.
Two olive green Bedfords were parked by the opening to the square where the outbuildings stood. One of them had reversed in, and from the farmyard gate you could just see the front of it. The other stood a little further up, its tailgate open, the canvas flap rolled up. Half a dozen soldiers were sitting inside. They looked bored and uncomfortable. Like Collins, they were probably feeling somewhat disgruntled at being dragged out in the middle of the night. Unlike Collins, he guessed they were also frustrated at having nothing to do for the moment.
They looked to be young lads, no older than twenty-five. At that age, he’d have wanted action and excitement. Saw some too when he worked for the Met. But that seemed like a lifetime ago. Back in the day when every copper he knew wanted to be Jack Regan. And God knew there had been plenty of opportunities to behave like that. Certainly he’d had his fair of share of violent exchanges with the London low-life. Too many.
Which was why he didn’t share the young squaddies’ frustration that nothing was happening. With any luck, that’s the way it would stay. And if it didn’t stay that way, he definitely didn’t want to be around when these would-be Rambos started letting off steam with their assault rifles.
What was more disturbing to him was the van that was currently hidden from view. He had been standing outside the barn when it arrived. It was now parked with its back to the barn doors. The gap between the two sets of doors had been sealed off with heavy plastic sheeting, but that hadn’t prevented him from seeing the suits the men inside were wearing. The squared-off head covering was distinctive enough to reinforce his impression that the Army were taking this situation very seriously.
That had been several minutes ago now, and the Colonel who was in charge had made it very clear that they didn’t want any coppers around. Whether that was because they were concerned to minimise casualties, or because they had something to hide was up for debate. But, bearing in mind that if anything went wrong, they would only be a few hundred yards away, Collins doubted very much that he’d be any safer in the farmhouse.
He pushed that thought aside. It wasn’t one he wanted to dwell on too much. Not with a wife and teenage children waiting for him at home.
Inside the house, his DS – Les O’Neill – had tactfully taken over the lower floor. The dining room was to be used for interviewing the witnesses, who had been separated. Fortunately, there were suitable rooms for them to be held in until it was their turn to be seen. Collins couldn’t help a wry smile when he realised that Mrs McLean had been allocated the kitchen. No doubt O’Neill was thinking about all the mugs of tea that would be needed before long. He just hoped Mrs McLean was too shell-shocked to realise what the DS was up to.
The guest, Gates, was staying in a room in the annexe, so they’d made sure he couldn’t get anywhere near that. Mr McLean had been put into the small living room in the annexe, and Gates was in the house living room.
There was nothing to suggest that any of them were involved in this yet, but Collins wasn’t taking any chances. The witnesses needed to be kept apart. If it turned out that any of them were involved, he didn’t want to give them the opportunity to get their stories straight. Having said that, they’d had twenty minutes from the time of the 999 call to the first officer’s arrival on the scene, and he had no idea how long they’d had before they made the call, so this was damage limitation.
Predictably, the kettle was on. Mrs McLean appeared to be in something of a daze. She was filling mugs from a teapot, but looked as if she wasn’t really conscious of what she was doing.
“Cuppa, Guv?”
It was O’Neill. No doubt the other witnesses were being watched over by a couple of DCs he’d managed to drag out of bed. Looking at Mrs McLean, Collins understood why O’Neill had pulled rank. Even pale with tiredness and shock she was an attractive woman. In times gone by, Collins might well have acted with similar self-interest. He wondered if he was just getting too old.
Shaking his head, he declined the offer. “Not now. Let’s get on with the statements, shall we?”
He had been going to thank Mrs McLean for her help, but she’d barely been aware of him. With other policemen coming and going through the kitchen, that was hardly surprising. Although the Army wanted them clear of the barn, he’d insisted that his officers be allowed to move freely outside the area surrounding the outbuildings. He suspected it would be impractical to cover all of it effectively, but wanted to preserve as much as possible in case a fingertip search needed to be carried out later. But they’d only been out there for two hours, and the military for three quarters of an hour, so they were still getting themselves organised. Using the farmhouse as a command centre, it was inevitable that there was still plenty of activity here. Two uniformed constables were currently in the kitchen, apparently just waiting for their cups of tea.
Collins jerked his head, indicating that O’Neill should follow him into the hall. Clutching his mug, the DS did as he was told, but not before instructing one of the PCs to stay in the kitchen. They couldn’t afford to leave Mrs McLean on her own.
“Who do you want to see first?” O’Neill asked when they were beyond earshot.
This was a question Collins had been mulling over for ten minutes or so. Ordinarily, he’d have jumped into the interview as soon as they’d secured the area, but the military involvement had added a new dimension that he hadn’t anticipated, so standard procedures had been put aside until he was forced to come back to them. There was no obvious order for him. He should probably start with either of the two men who claimed to have found the van. In a sense, which one they chose was academic. Still, there was something odd about the house guest.
“Let’s have Gates in,” he said, then left O’Neill to sort that out while he went into the dining room.
The dining room wasn’t huge. A table for six fit in it comfortably – dark, shiny wood and matching the drinks cabinet and sideboard that stood against the wall opposite the doorway. But if any other furniture had been put into the room it would have been cramped. The end of the table faced him as he entered the room. A chair stood at either end, two on each of the sides. A notepad and pen had already been placed on the table. Someone had been efficient in his absence. Probably O’Neill.
Moving to the right side of the table, Collins shrugged his overcoat off and draped it over the back of a chair. He sat down, pulling the notepad towards him. As he picked up the biro, he was aware that he was already shifting into a diffe
rent gear. He’d been the Army Liaison Officer, he’d been the Guv. Now he was the Interviewer.
O’Neill appeared in the doorway with Gates. Collins had seen him only briefly earlier, and then he hadn’t had an opportunity to speak to him. That initial glance had given him a perception that he now realised was wrong. It was mainly the long hair and tan, but he’d got the impression that he was younger, probably early twenties. There was, though, also something about the way he walked. An athletic, easy motion that was certainly more common amongst the young. Even as he came into the room, Collins recognised that this was a man used to activity. It was difficult to be sure under the thick shirt he was wearing, but it also looked as if he was quite muscular. Not in an Arnold Schwarzenegger kind of way - he wasn’t that obvious. But it did leave Collins wondering what he did when he wasn’t visiting Ravens Gathering.
“Mr Gates.” He stood up and offered his hand. Gates’ handshake was firm, but he clearly didn’t feel the need to make an impression with a bone-crusher. It told Collins that he didn’t have anything to prove. He gestured to the chair opposite. “Please sit down.” As Gates took his seat, Collins nodded to O’Neill. “Would you sit with us too, Les.” First names. Keeping it informal for now.
“Well, Mr Gates, first of all can I thank you for contacting us.” He spoke naturally. Being in the interviewer mode, he knew he should trust his instincts, and right now they were telling him this needed to be a chat and not an interrogation. “And can I also apologise for having to restrict your movements for the time being. As I’m sure you must have gathered, there’s more to this incident than a stolen van.”
Gates nodded his understanding, but Collins felt there was something a little guarded about his response.
“I’m Detective Inspector Collins,” he went on. “My colleague here is Detective Sergeant O’Neill. I believe your name is Martin, is that right?”
Another nod.
“Do you mind if I call you Martin?”
A shrug this time, but accompanied by a few words. “Might as well.” He sounded resigned to it rather than truculent.
“I bet when you hear people saying ‘Mr Gates’ you look over your shoulder for your dad, don’t you?” He smiled at his little joke, but the look on Gates’s face told him he was far from amused. Collins made a mental note. “Anyway, let’s move on. What I want to do right now, Martin, is just go over with you what happened this morning.”
“I assumed you would.”
“So... Would you like to go through it all from the beginning?”
“How far back do you want me to go?”
“Well... What made you go out to the barn in the first place?”
Gates hesitated for a moment. That wasn’t necessarily a sign of guilt or of a lie coming up, but Collins was aware of it, and waited to see how it would pan out.
As it happened, the story he told seemed realistic. Realistic in the sense that, although the explanation seemed plausible, it also incorporated enough inconsistencies to suggest that, like most people, he didn’t remember everything exactly as it happened. The events that seemed to occur out of sequence, the pauses as he thought carefully before going on, even the moments when he asked aloud, “Or did that happen later?” before going on to the next part of his story.
Nevertheless, there was something Collins didn’t feel was right. As Gates talked, the policeman wrote, his eyes rising and falling between the interviewee’s face and the notepad. He didn’t know what was wrong, but his instinct told him to be very careful.
When Gates reached the point where he had found the van, Collins interrupted.
“Can I ask a question?” Not that he waited for a response. “From the comments you made earlier, I gather you’ve only been in the village since the day before yesterday.” He paused, his expression a study in thoughtfulness. “How did you know it was the stolen van?”
“I didn’t. Ian did. But one of your boys had found tracks leading into the barn yesterday when he was round investigating the theft. So it would’ve seemed a bit coincidental otherwise.”
“Fair point,” Collins said amiably. He looked over at O’Neill. “Who was the officer dealing with that?”
“Oakes, Guv. He’s been contacted. We’re expecting him out here soon.” There was a twinkle in his eye that suggested Oakes hadn’t been too impressed at getting a call. Well, that was tough. If he’d wanted regular hours, he should have gone to work for a bank or the local council.
“I’ll have a word with him when he gets here.” This was said as much for Gates’ benefit as O’Neill’s. If he’d said anything that might contradict what Oakes had to say, now was the time to come clean. He turned his attention back to Gates. “Now, where were we?”
“I was telling you that we’d found the van.”
“Ah, yes. Go on.”
“Well, we found the van and came back to the house to phone you guys.”
“Right. And this would have been...?”
“I don’t know. Maybe around four o’clock.”
“That’d fit in with our records, Guv.”
And yet Collins had a feeling Gates was lying.
“Then you just waited for us to arrive?” he prompted.
“Yeah. Ian went and got Tanya up, but apart from that, there was nothing else to do. We’ve all seen enough telly to know you leave crime scenes alone, so we weren’t going to go back.”
“There was also the danger of the thief coming back, of course,” Collins added, as if the thought might not have occurred to Gates otherwise. There was no reaction to his words. Gates just continued to watch him from across the table. It was as if he was waiting for something. Maybe he hadn’t asked the right questions yet. He looked down at the notes he’d written. “Can I just go back to something you said earlier? You were disturbed by the sound of the engine. And you got up almost straight away. Why was that?”
Gates looked puzzled. “How do you mean?”
“Well, you made it sound like it was unusual. You seemed to be saying that’s why you got up.”
“It was.”
“It was what?” When this was met with a blank look, Collins helped him. “It was unusual, or it was the reason you got up.”
A flicker. Subtle, but not too subtle for an old pro. He’d realised where the question was leading. And he’d realised that he might have made a mistake.
“I meant, it was the reason I got up.” A pause. He wasn’t sure whether to elaborate, but clearly felt he had to. “And the reason, just to clarify, Inspector, was that the interrogation your constable subjected me to yesterday was still playing on my mind.” Interesting, Collins thought. He’s decided to go on the offensive now. “So when I heard the engine, I wondered whether it was the van.”
“Bit odd, though, don’t you think?”
“Odd?”
“Well, for a stolen van to be brought up here one night, then taken away, only to be brought back again. Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
“The whole bloody thing seems odd to me. But then I’ve not had a lot of experience of stolen vehicles.”
That was interesting too. Was this a case of protesting too much?
“So you got up straight away,” Collins went on. “And you went straight out. Weren’t you worried about bumping into whoever was in the van?”
“Of course I was.”
“Well why didn’t you just phone it in?”
“Because I didn’t know for sure that’s what I’d heard.”
“So you went out in the dark, unarmed, just to check it?” He managed to stay just on the right side of sounding credulous.
“Inspector, have you ever done something in the heat of the moment, and when you looked back on it later you realised you’d been a complete bloody idiot?”
More times than he cared to think about, if the truth were known. And a lot of them while he was on duty.
He nodded. “I take your point.” But there was something else he wanted to cover. As he glanced back at his no
tes, he was aware of voices elsewhere in the house. They weren’t raised, as such, but the volume had suddenly become louder. Before he had a chance to ask O’Neill to go and find out what was happening, there was a knock on the door. Someone opened it without waiting for a response.
Predictably, the man standing in the doorway wasn’t one of his. The three stripes on the sleeve told Collins his rank. “I’ve got orders to move everyone away from here, sir.”
“You do know I’m carrying out a police investigation here, don’t you?” Even as he said it, he knew he was wasting his time. Under the circumstances, the Army were the ones who were really in charge.
“The Colonel said to tell you he wasn’t going to force you to go, but the specialists have arrived and they’d prefer it if the farm was cleared.”
And, frankly, so would I, Collins thought to himself. He smiled at Gates. It was best to keep things amicable for the time being. “It looks like we’ll have to finish this elsewhere.” Turning back to the sergeant, he said: “It’ll take a while to get my men together. Can you ask the Colonel to give us half an hour?”
“I’m sure that’ll be fine, Inspector.” He turned to go, but Collins called him back.
“Sergeant! What about the rest of the village?”
“That’s taken care of, sir. There’s no need to worry about it.” The soldier threw a glance at the civilian. Collins got the message. The village would just have to risk it.
Sixteen
The all clear didn’t come through till early afternoon. From one perspective, that was bad news for Collins. It meant he couldn’t let his officers loose on the farm, and he was desperate to start a search for evidence. On the other hand, it gave him a good excuse to detain the witnesses without formally treating them as suspects.
Before starting his interviews with them, he wanted to talk to Brian Oakes about the enquiries he’d made yesterday.
Almost inevitably, Oakes hadn’t received the message about the withdrawal from the farm, and had been greeted by a hostile group of armed men. So by the time he arrived at the station, he was clearly disgruntled.
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