Libby replaced the menu on the table. "Come on, out with it." He'd never seemed reluctant to talk before. This must be bad news.
"I've found out a little more about your son's new in-laws. I took a look at the farm's accounts."
"I take it you don't mean the public ones filed at Companies House?"
He gave his lopsided smile. "Don't ask too many questions about how I found them, but I discovered the official accounts bear little resemblance to another set, hidden behind a complicated series of screens and passwords."
"Quite the hacker, aren't you?"
"I learned a thing or two from my geeky colleagues in the past. Do you want to know what I discovered, or will you give me up to the authorities?"
"We'll see. Tell me."
A waitress approached. Libby and Max each ordered a ploughman's lunch, and Max waited until she'd retreated to the kitchen before continuing. "That farm's doing a great deal better than you'd imagine, given the recent problems with the price of milk and so on."
"Maybe they've been diversifying. They make cheese and yoghurt."
He nodded. "I found all that. They're managing better than most, but not well enough to cover large payments coming in and going out. Nothing illegal, but very lucrative. There are sums of money received from dozens of people, all over the world, described as 'services'."
"Really? What sort of services. Not…" An image of Belinda dressed as an old-school madam and running a massage parlour sprang into Libby's head.
Max laughed. "Not those services. I dug a little further and discovered they use a website that sends out automated email sequences."
"There's nothing wrong with those. I use one to contact customers, to check their orders have arrived and tell them about new lines and so on. I write the emails, and the service sends them out at intervals."
She sat back as the waitress delivered plates piled high with ham, crusty bread, salad and chutney. "To be honest, I don't do any of that. Mandy's been in charge of it all, updating the business. She understands how it works. She says every business has an on-line presence nowadays, and she's right. Sales have rocketed. Why shouldn't Belinda and Mike do the same?"
Max was nodding. "Exactly. The problem is, the emails don't go out under the farm's name."
Libby stopped, a forkful of local-cured ham on the way to her mouth. "What name are they using? No. Wait. Don't tell me. The Pathway to Health?" Max nodded. Libby replaced the fork on her plate, leaving her food half eaten. "The Papadopoulos cult."
"Exactly. It seems Mike and Belinda's farm is running a separate, very lucrative business with Olivia and Xavier."
Libby looked at her watch and swore. "There's no time to talk more. I've got to get back."
Max said, "Come round for supper. Joe and Claire are coming. Joe wants to know what I've found, even though it doesn't appear to relate to Liam's death." He grabbed her hand. "Maybe we'll find time to talk, soon."
Supper
To Libby's surprise, Mandy opened Max's door that evening, beaming. "We think you need cheering up." Libby's throat contracted. She felt wretched. Beside herself with worry about Robert and deeply upset by the séance, she'd pushed her worries about Max and Kate deep down inside, but she couldn't forget.
Robert was still at her cottage, unable to bear the thought of living alone in rented accommodation while he should have been on honeymoon, touring the West Country. She'd been tempted to bring him along, but he wanted to spend the evening phoning Sarah's friends again. He'd waved Libby off with Fuzzy cradled in his arms, insisting he would be fine, but he looked ten years older and thoroughly miserable.
Max's friend Reginald, bigger and more positive than ever, was leaving for the States in a few weeks. Libby cast a quick glance at Mandy, wondering how she'd deal with the loss.
Claire had brought food, refusing to let Libby near the cooker. "You cook all the time. If you don't mind eating simple food…"
Joe snorted, on his way to the fridge for ice. "She means, if you don't mind your chicken burned to a crisp."
He ducked as Claire threw a tea towel. "Of course, he's right," she admitted. "I can't cook for toffee."
Mandy made a noise between a cough and a snort. "I'm sorry," she spluttered. "What does that even mean?"
Max patted her on the head with mock condescension. "You young things…"
Joe spent half an hour in the kitchen, mixing cocktails. Reginald accepted a Martini and boomed, "Is this something they teach at your British Police College, Joe? Vodka martini, shaken, not stirred, a la James Bond?"
Max stuck with beer. "I need a clear head. There are so many bits and pieces of information to draw together."
"Personally, I think better after a Margarita," Libby insisted. "Or at least, I think I think better. Which probably isn't the same thing at all."
Mandy leaned over and grabbed her glass. "How many have you had, Mrs F? You do know that's almost pure spirits, don't you?"
Libby waved a hand in the air. "Don't mind me. Max is going to tell us what he found out about Handiwater Farm."
Max flipped up the lid of his laptop. "I'll show you." They gathered at his shoulder and he turned the screen so they could all see.
First, he brought up a picture of the farm. "This is the official website. As you see, it has tabs leading to pages of information about the farm itself, products for sale, a few moody shots of the cattle coming in for milking at dawn, that sort of thing."
Joe leaned over and clicked through a couple of tabs. "Nothing odd there, so far as I can see."
"That's right. However, if we go to this page of links…" Max scrolled down a long page. "Here it is. A link to the Pathway. If we follow it, this is what we find."
The screen changed, opening up a different site. Libby peered at the screen. "It's a typical New Age sort of page. The kind you'd expect from alternative healers, full of rainbows and unicorns." She fell silent, thinking of Kate Stephenson.
"That's right. All above board, with offers of astrology readings, interactive fortune telling, and lucky numbers. Silly stuff, but it seems harmless. However, I approached it from a different angle, using what they call the Dark Web."
Claire's eyes were on stalks. "Isn't that the place where people buy drugs and weapons? Things not supposed to be for sale?"
Max shrugged. "There's some stuff on there you really don't want to see. It's a set of web pages hidden from the normal user, where you have to use a special browser to get in. Hackers use it all the time. I dug around and came across some interesting information about the Pathway's activities. For one thing, they have deep, hidden links to the Silk Road, an on-line source of illegal substances. You can't use banks or even PayPal there. They deal in bitcoins, the on-line currency."
Mandy shivered, theatrically. "How very sinister."
Reginald's bear hug almost pulled her off her feet. "Don't worry about it."
Joe was leaning forward, to get a better view. "Some of my colleagues have to be experts on these areas of the web. It's a constant battle to keep up with all the frauds, phishers, and scammers around."
His father nodded. "I'm not surprised. Now, the Pathway appears to have access to sites with information that should be private. For example, databases of names and personal information that are supposed to be secure and encrypted."
Claire sounded thoughtful. "I've heard of hackers getting hold of credit card information and pretending to be other people."
"That's right." Joe was nodding. "Identity theft. It happens often, these days. Is that what the Pathway's up to?"
Max stretched, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not quite. They've been collecting other kinds of information. Personal stuff to use against people."
As he spoke, Libby's brain clicked into gear. She winced. "Is that how Olivia knew about my husband, and how she could target me at the séance? She's seen information about me. She knows all about Trevor…" She groaned. The Papadopoulos couple knew her innermost secrets. She remembered Xavier's supe
rcilious smile when she met him at the wedding and the way he'd lingered on her name. The thought brought acid bile into her mouth.
She swallowed. "How else are they using the information they steal, apart from fake séances?"
"Someone's been running a series of scams."
"Who? Not Mike or Belinda? Surely, they wouldn't get involved—" She bit off the words. Belinda had disappeared. Did she know about the Papadopoulos couple's scams? If so, she could be in danger, and Sarah with her.
As she pondered, Libby started to collect plates. Mandy jumped up. "You leave it to us, Mrs F." Claire and Reginald followed Mandy into the kitchen.
"About that list I showed you," Joe began, seizing the moment alone with Libby and Max. "I can't talk about police business with everyone here, but I wanted to tell you we had another look in Liam's place, but there's definitely no sign of a computer. We still have no idea what the passwords unlock."
Libby murmured, "What if…"
The two men fell silent, watching, but she shook her head. The myriad ideas in her head didn't quite make sense. "No. I had a thought, but it's gone. I'm getting muddled. Cults and scams and people disappearing. Not to mention Liam's death and his secret passwords. I wonder what we're missing in all this."
Joe said, "There's one thing. It doesn't take us any further, but I thought you'd want to know about the ring."
Max made a face. "What ring?"
"That fight at the wedding, remember? Over the missing ring?"
"The one Liam stole?"
Libby interrupted. "Or at least Tim said he stole it."
"Well, it's a fake. Professionally set, but pure glass. Worth almost nothing. So what the old lady was making such a fuss about, I can't imagine."
Max raised an eyebrow. "Another piece of the jigsaw that makes little sense." He scratched his head with one arm of his reading glasses, leaving his hair in spikes, and yawned. "It's hard to see the wood for the trees, sometimes. Let's let our minds work on it while we're asleep. Libby and I will talk it through tomorrow morning. If we come up with anything, we'll phone you, Joe."
Mandy returned, just as he finished speaking. "Don't forget we're working on those new chocolate flavours tomorrow, Mrs F. Raspberry and ginger. Yummy."
Libby picked up her bag. "I'll start Mandy off tomorrow morning and come back here."
He shrugged. "Bear and I will be waiting."
Handiwater
Mandy arrived bright and early next morning. Libby held a finger to her lips and whispered, "Come into the kitchen. Robert's still asleep."
Mandy giggled. "Won't he have a shock when he finds me here?"
"I'm sure you'll cheer him up."
She left Mandy mixing ingredients, and headed for the car. For once, she felt in no hurry to see Max. She couldn't get Kate Stephenson out of her head.
She let in the clutch, thinking of Kate's annoyingly pretty face. Alternative therapy, indeed. Oh well. She might as well admit it. She was jealous. And with good reason. Even Mandy seemed to think the sun shone out of Kate Stephenson's—
Libby's foot hit the brake as a thought flashed into her head.
The Fiat behind squealed to a halt, inches from the Citroen's rear end. Libby pretended not to see the driver's rude gesture and sat for a long while, thinking. What was it Mike had said? He hated computers. Someone, though, must be using one for farm business. It would be almost impossible for a working farm to exist without computers, and she knew they had a website. Someone must work on it.
Belinda's machine had been full of personal emails and shopping sites, with nothing about the farm. So, where was the farm's computer, and who used it? If it wasn't Mike, and his son Tim refused to have anything to do with the farm, there was only one other person: Liam Weston.
With a buzz of excitement, Libby remembered. Mike had said he relied on Liam to print out anything he needed to see. She was right, Liam was the farm's computing expert.
She grinned, pleased to be a step ahead of Max. He could go on hacking into the farm's files, but why should Libby let him have all the fun? If Liam kept farm records, chances were he was the one working with Xavier Papadopoulos. Libby didn't know what they were up to, but it was certainly secret and probably illegal.
Liam had no computer at his own home, so all his information must be at the farm. What better place to hide things than on files no one else ever used, hidden in plain sight on someone else's property? Those files would tell Libby what was going on out there in the villages of Exmoor. She was certain of it. She laughed aloud. She would discover the truth and steal a march on Max. That would teach him to make eyes at Kate Stephenson.
***
The Citroen squealed to a halt at Handiwater Farm. Libby ran to the house and hammered on the door, but no one came. Shipley, excited by the activity, leaped at the door. Libby pulled him away and moved to the window. Shielding her eyes from the sun's reflection, she squinted until she saw Mike, slumped at the kitchen table, staring into space. Libby banged on the door and shouted. He turned his head, his red-rimmed eyes betraying despair. Slowly, he rose and let Libby and Shipley into the house. She bit back a comment on his appearance. "Did you sleep last night?"
He shook his head. "I can't manage so much as a catnap without Belinda. She's never stayed away so long before." He drew a shuddering breath. "Don't know what I'll do if she doesn't come home. And Sarah as well. Both my women."
The house was silent, except for the ticking of the kitchen clock. "Where's Tim?"
"I sent him away. Fussing around, he was, blaming Liam for everything. They never got on, those two."
Libby longed to ask if he'd said anything like that to the police. Did Tim's own father think he had something to do with the farm hand's death? She'd ask him later. Liam was beyond help, but the longer Belinda and Sarah were missing, the more likely it seemed they were in danger. Upsetting Mike further would just delay matters.
She took a long look at the farmer's gaunt face. Before she could get any sense out of him, he needed help. She doubted he'd eaten a square meal since his wife left. "I don't suppose you've had breakfast?"
Gathering all her patience, Libby cooked eggs and bacon, and waited until Mike had pushed bacon round his plate and torn minute pieces from a slice of bread before asking to see the computer.
"In the office. Other end of the house." The farmer showed no interest in why Libby wanted to use it. The man's lethargy began to grate on Libby's nerves. Why wasn't he trying to find his wife and daughter, instead of sitting in a puddle of gloom? She couldn't imagine Max sitting at home, doing nothing, if she'd gone missing. Not even if his affections had shifted―she clicked her tongue, annoyed at herself. Worrying about Max was a distraction she didn't need just now.
"Come with me, Shipley." She hurried down the corridor to the farm office, in search of the business's computer. There it was, in plain sight on the desk in the middle of the office. Libby hadn't spared it a glance before, when she'd been concentrating on Belinda's desk.
Libby pulled out her notebook, turned to the page of passwords, and switched on the machine.
The computer accepted the second password on Liam's list and a screen full of icons opened. Libby grinned. It felt good to be right, sometimes. The glow of success only lasted a moment or two, though. Where should she go next?
She found the farm website that Max had shown them last night, but clicked away. She'd leave Max to go down that route. She was looking for something more personal to Liam Weston.
For half an hour she clicked through random files, finding nothing beyond innocuous Word files of business letters and Excel spreadsheets, full of animal numbers, milk quotas, and details of subsidy payments. These were the tools Mandy had been struggling to persuade her to use for her business.
Nothing jarred or seemed out of place, and there were only a couple of files left unopened. Libby's neck ached and her eyes itched from staring at the screen. She yawned and clicked on one of the remaining files.
; It demanded another password. Libby sat straighter and ran a finger down Liam's password list. After a couple of false starts, just as she feared another mistake would lock her out of the file for ever, the file opened.
At first glance, there was little to warrant such secrecy. The file was a simple list of names. Some were familiar: Belinda, Sarah, Olivia and Xavier Papadopoulos, Kate Stephenson. Libby murmured, "The Pathway?" Several last names recurred often. That was common in this part of the world, where families had lived, worked the land, and intermarried for generations. Watson, Meres, Appleby, Hambledon: Libby had met dozens of people sharing those names. She visualised them, trying to imagine each as a member of the cult.
Appleby. She knew an Appleby, but she couldn't place them. She tilted her chair back, rubbing her nose, trying to visualise where she had been when she heard the name. Her mouth fell open. Lady Antonia Appleby was Belinda's aged aunt. Libby could remember her now: Lady Antonia, full of old-fashioned airs and graces but forgetful and vague, making a fuss at the wedding about a worthless ring. The old lady must have known it had no value.
Or did she? The woman had been distraught. She was old, and hardly lucid at times. A twinge of guilt hit Libby. She'd dismissed the woman's panic over the loss of a valueless piece of costume jewellery, putting it down to age and some kind of mild dementia. Instead, she'd focused on the animosity between Liam and Tim and never stopped to wonder about the ring's value. She'd find out about that ring later.
She pasted the list of names into an email and sent it to her own inbox. She was focused on the last remaining file, hoping it would contain even more information.
Sure enough, she needed the last of Liam's passwords to open the spreadsheet. She held her breath as it opened to show three columns of information. The first was a series of dates, beginning a year ago, and ending in May. The second column was a list of places. She recognised some of them: Dulverton, Williton, and Watchet were all Somerset towns.
Puzzled, she turned to the third column, which contained hyperlinks. She clicked on one and gasped as a photograph opened up. There was Kate Stephenson, her arms round someone with his back to the camera, eyes closed, mouth half-open in the prelude to a kiss. For a second, Libby's stomach seemed to turn over. Then she relaxed. The man wasn't Max.
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