by Adam Croft
‘Fifty,’ he replied.
‘Fifty mil?’
Culverhouse put on the angry act again. ‘Fuck off, man. You think I’m gonna be shittin’ my Calvins over fifty mil? I’m talkin’ grams, boss.’
‘Fifty G? Shit. You know that ain’t gonna be cheap.’
‘I know. How much?’
Ethan seemed to be thinking for a second. ‘Call it two large.’
Culverhouse’s eyes almost popped out on stalks. He knew fifty grams of amphetamine would probably only be worth five to eight hundred pounds, depending on the quality. Around Mildenheath, probably nearer five hundred. ‘You havin’ a fuckin’ laugh?’ he replied, still in character.
‘Thought you were desperate,’ Ethan replied. ‘You know what strings I gotta pull to get that sort of quantity any time soon? Next time, get your fuckin’ shit together sooner. Take it or leave it.’
Culverhouse took a step back for a moment. This was the scum his daughter was hanging around with. And at the end of the day, it didn’t matter one jot what money Ethan wanted for the drugs. He wasn’t going to be getting a penny either way. Having him banged up in a prison cell and five hundred quid in debt to drug dealers was going to be sweet music to Jack’s ears.
‘Two large. But I want it tonight,’ he said. ‘No fuckin’ about, either. Albert Road car park, back of the chippy. Eight-thirty.’
‘Alright. What number can I get you on?’
‘You can’t,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘You’re there or you’re fuckin’ mince.’
He put the phone down, waited for a couple of seconds to compose himself, then left the phone box, making sure to wipe the handle with his handkerchief on the way out.
He drove back into town and parked up in the church car park. He locked his car, walked in through the large stone archway and headed towards the war memorial.
There were a number of benches scattered around, the church’s grounds seeming like the perfect place to go for a nice afternoon walk — until you noticed the winos and alcoholics cluttering up the benches. He clocked one man sitting with a can of cider. He couldn’t recall his name, but he knew he had form. He walked over and sat next to him.
‘Nice day,’ he said, eventually.
‘I wouldn’t know, officer,’ the man said, almost spitting the last word, the reek of sweet alcohol assaulting Jack’s nostrils.
‘Could be even better, mind. Fancy earning fifty quid?’ He could almost sense the man’s ears pricking up.
‘Depends. I ain’t gonna suck you off if that’s what you’re after.’
Culverhouse allowed himself to smirk. ‘Not half as attractive an offer as that, I’m afraid. I need you to make a phone call. That’s all.’
‘Fifty quid for a phone call?’ the man asked, his eyes narrowing. ‘Who to?’
‘101. Police non-emergency number. I want you to tell them there’s a big drugs deal going down in the Albert Road car park at half-eight tonight. Behind the chip shop.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Right. Yeah, I’ll just get my fuckin’ iPhone out then, shall I?’ the man said. ‘Pound for a phone box?’
‘You’ll get nothing til it’s done,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘If you’ve got no money, go to the police station and tell them there. Tell them you overheard it being arranged and one of the blokes threatened you. Skinny kid, mousy hair. He threatened you to keep quiet, but you aren’t having it.’
‘You think they’re gonna swallow that?’ the man said, laughing.
‘That’s your problem, not mine,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘Just you make sure uniform are there at half eight tonight. That’s all you’ve got to do. How you manage that is up to you.’
‘And why can’t you do it? You’re the copper.’
‘Procedural and operational difficulties,’ Culverhouse said, standing up. ‘Just you make sure it’s done and you’ll have the money. Same time tomorrow, same place.’
‘What’s this? Some sort of sting? Trying to entrap me?’
‘Oh yeah. Totally. Going to get you done for making a phone call with intent. Over-eagerness to report a crime. Now tell me. Where, when, who?’
The man sighed. ‘Albert Road car park, behind the chip shop, half eight. Some skinny shit with mousey hair.’
Culverhouse nodded and started to walk back to his car.
‘Hundred quid,’ the man called out after him.
Culverhouse raised a thumb in the air without looking behind him, and carried on towards the car park.
46
Wendy was about to head into the interview room to speak to Father Joseph with DCI Culverhouse again when Steve Wing stopped her.
‘I’ve just had a call which might interest you,’ he said, between mouthfuls of sausage roll.
‘Can it wait, Steve?’ Wendy said, keen not to waste any more time.
‘Uh, not if you’re going to the interview room, no. This is probably something you’ll want to know about first.’
Although Steve had a reputation for pratting about at times, Wendy could see by the look on his face that the message was something worth hearing.
‘Go on.’
‘Earlier today I spoke to James Aston again, formerly called Harry Gallagher. He seemed a bit uneasy but I just put that down to the situation, you know. Father Joseph being in custody, all the memories coming flooding back and that. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but the thing is he just called me back. He said he didn’t want to sound as if he was panicking, but he hasn’t had any messages from Ben since yesterday.’
‘So what? I thought he was sending the camera drone over weekly?’ Wendy said.
‘He was. But recently he’s been doing it every day. He said he was worried because Ben always leaves a message, without fail. Even if it’s just to say “no news”, he always does it. James said he sort of treated it like a dead man’s switch: if Ben didn’t leave a message, he’d assume it was because he was unable to.’
Wendy shuffled uncomfortably. ‘He might be ill or something.’
‘Might be,’ Steve said. ‘But James seemed pretty convinced something was wrong.’
She thought about this for a moment. ‘I think we have to bear in mind that things have changed pretty quickly. Father Joseph’s in custody, there are officers searching the farm for evidence. I should imagine he either thinks there’s no use sending messages out or it’s passed him by because of everything that’s going on.’
Steve put on an uneasy smile, and shook his head. ‘I dunno. The search officers are making a point of keeping things respectful where they can. They’ve not just gone in and turned the place upside down. The church organisers and rankers are under twenty-four hour watch. The residents themselves aren’t being harassed or anything. Other than being asked if they want to provide witness statements, that is.’
‘And are they?’ Wendy asked.
‘Not really. Most are supportive of the church and are pissed off that we’re trying to ruin things for them. The atmosphere’s pretty hostile for a religious community. Kind of a good thing, I guess, as anyone who does want to talk, will. At least we’re not wasting our time speaking to people who’ll try to deflect from the issues when we could be using those officers to search. We’re short-staffed enough as it is over there. The place is huge.’
Wendy considered her options. ‘Right. I’d say the best way forward is to try and locate Ben Gallagher at the farm. People will know where he is, or where he’s meant to be. Speak to James Aston again and get him to mark on an aerial map where Ben’s lodging is. We’ll make sure officers keep a specific eye out for him. Is there any chance he could’ve escaped?’
Steve shook his head. ‘No. Only way out is through the main gate, as we know, and there are officers stationed on it. He’s definitely still in there somewhere. The only question is whether he’s alive or dead.’
47
The conversation with Steve Wing played on Wendy’s mind through the whole of
the second interview with Father Joseph Kümmel. There had now been a number of allegations of people going missing from Hilltop Farm over the years, and apart from the ones who escaped and had come forward, there were still gaps. Either those people had also managed to escape — although how, Wendy didn’t know, seeing as the only people able to escape were those with access to the outside world anyway — or they never left the farm at all.
The sense of what that meant wasn’t lost on Wendy. If Ben Gallagher had been identified as the source of the information leak, there was every chance he would have been punished for it. And that meant there’d likely have been another murder at Hilltop Farm. This time, though, it would have been one that they could have avoided.
The potential ramifications of that were huge. They just didn’t bear thinking about. The media coverage would be never ending. It would almost certainly mean the end of Mildenheath CID as a self-sufficient satellite unit. And it would put another nail in the coffin for Jack Culverhouse’s career. After all, there were only so many second chances a man could have. Sooner or later, the hammer had to fall.
For now, Wendy had to pray that Ben Gallagher was found alive and well. She knew, though, that was unlikely.
She blinked a couple of times, desperate to stop her mind from wandering and to focus on the task in hand. She realised she’d completely zoned out and had lost the thread of the interview.
‘The fact of the matter is, these are serious allegations and you’ve not, as of yet, provided a single shred of evidence to back these up,’ Father Joseph’s solicitor said. ‘You and I are both well aware of the sort of manner in which people tend to view closed religious communities. There’s a certain stigma attached. And yes, some people have either left of their own accord or been asked to leave. If their families choose not to join them, it’s only natural that those people would feel a resentment against the church. But it is not right that vicious allegations made by those people should result in the sort of baseless action we’ve seen the police taking recently.’
Culverhouse was leaning back in his chair, arms folded. ‘Very good, Mr Winder. Extraordinarily well rehearsed. Almost textbook.’
‘If you’ve not got anything constructive to add, Detective Chief Inspector, then perhaps we should—’
‘Oh, I’ve got plenty to add,’ Culverhouse said, leaning forward, elbows on desk. ‘Perhaps we could begin with some specifics. What does the name Amy Kemp mean to you?’
Wendy looked at Father Joseph, trying to detect the telltale flickers of recognition on his face. There were none. He was either completely unaware of who Amy Kemp was, or he was an expert liar.
‘Not a whole lot, I’m afraid,’ Father Joseph replied. ‘Should it?’
‘She was a member of your church,’ Culverhouse said. ‘Until recently, that is. She’s not been seen in the past couple of days. Not since one of the residents at Hilltop Farm saw her being apprehended while trying to make a run for it.’
Wendy thought she could see Father Joseph’s jaw clench slightly. She didn’t want to tell him she’d got the information from Ben Gallagher via his brother. For now, she was keeping her cards close to her chest.
‘They must be mistaken. I’m not aware of her at all.’
The solicitor interjected. ‘Detective Chief Inspector, do you have any official record showing that this Amy Kemp ever actually lived at Hilltop Farm?’
Wendy looked at Jack. They both knew there were no official records of any of the residents at Hilltop Farm.
‘I’m more interested at the moment in what your client has to say about her disappearance,’ Culverhouse replied.
‘You and I both know that someone can only disappear if they existed in the first place. So, you need to provide us with some evidence that she ever actually existed if you want us to be able to help you find out if she’s disappeared. Now, is there any evidence of her existence at the farm or can we just put this down as being another malicious rumour?’
Culverhouse was silent, calm, for a moment before speaking. ‘All I would advise your client to be aware of is that it’s only a matter of time before the paper trail leads us precisely there. It would be wise for him to speak now if he thinks there’s even the slightest chance we might have hit the nail on the head here.’
Father Joseph remained silent.
It was Wendy’s turn to speak. ‘What about Ben Gallagher?’ she said, having spoken barely a word since entering the interview room. This time, she could swear she saw Father Joseph’s face twitch, almost imperceptibly, but it was definitely there if you were looking for it.
‘I’m afraid you’re going to need to provide more than that, Detective Sergeant,’ the solicitor replied.
‘Perhaps it would be good for your client to speak for himself,’ Wendy offered. ‘After all, he’s the one under arrest. He’s the one who needs to prove his innocence.’
‘On the contrary,’ the solicitor said, leaning forward with a cocky smile. ‘Under English law, the onus is on you to prove guilt. Not for my client to prove innocence.’
Wendy looked Father Joseph in the eye. She took a gamble on the presumption that she had nothing to lose. If she gave Father Joseph this information, what could he do with it from a prison cell? Nothing. It would mean they’d have to make absolutely certain they got permission to charge him from the CPS, though. If Father Joseph got back to Hilltop Farm with this information under his belt, it could spell curtains for the whole investigation. But the information itself would greatly increase their chances of being able to charge him. She took the plunge.
‘See, we can prove that Ben Gallagher was or is a resident of Hilltop Farm,’ Wendy said. ‘His brother, Harry, left Hilltop Farm some time ago, didn’t he? That name must certainly ring a bell for you, too. He was one of your recruiters. Do you remember him?’
‘No comment,’ Father Joseph replied.
Wendy smiled inwardly. It was the first time he’d no commented and she knew that could only mean one thing. It was time to drive the stake home.
‘I presume you weren’t aware that Harry Gallagher has been flying a camera drone over Hilltop Farm on a weekly basis?’ Wendy asked, watching closely as Father Joseph’s eyes flickered slightly, his jaw tightening as she spoke. ‘No, neither were we until recently. It seems that Ben Gallagher, his brother, had been leaving messages for the camera drone. He was passing information out of the farm. But then again you knew this, didn’t you? And that’s why Ben Gallagher hasn’t been seen or heard from since yesterday either, isn’t it?’
As she finished speaking, she could see by the look on Father Joseph’s face that it certainly wasn’t the reason why Ben Gallagher hadn’t been seen or heard from. She could see that this was almost certainly the first he’d heard of Harry Gallagher’s camera drone. His face was pure restrained fury, the look of a man who’d just found out he’d been betrayed. Wendy knew in that moment that there was more behind Ben Gallagher’s lack of contact with his brother since yesterday.
‘Why would someone who lives at Hilltop Farm and plays an active part in the church community want to pass information to the outside?’ Culverhouse asked Father Joseph. ‘I mean, you can hardly say it’s a malicious attempt to attack the church, can you?’
Father Joseph remained silent.
‘Detectives, are you going to enlighten us as to what this supposed information was?’ the solicitor asked. ‘Because you don’t need me to remind you that time is running out and you’ve yet to offer any evidence at all of any crimes having been committed other than hearsay and a couple of people who haven’t been heard from in a day or two.’
For just a moment, Wendy could swear she saw the faintest flicker of a smile cross Father Joseph’s face. Just as she was trying to interpret what it might have meant, there was a knock at the door. Wendy announced her departure for the benefit of the tape and left the room.
Outside, she was met by a beaming Frank Vine.
‘Got some intel from Hilltop Farm that m
ight interest you,’ he said, clutching a notepad. ‘Get this. They’ve found cyanide.’
Wendy’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Cyanide?’
‘Yep. Loads of it. About two kilos of the stuff. Enough to kill four thousand people.’
‘Jesus fucking Christ.’
‘Indeed. Makes you wonder about ol’ JC if that’s what he’s got his followers doing, eh? All the info’s here,’ he said, passing over the notepad. ‘Thought you might like to drop that one on him. It’s being taken in for further analysis, but the boys were pretty certain.’
Wendy looked down at the notepad, allowed herself to smile for a moment, then re-entered the interview room.
48
‘Sorry about that,’ Wendy said as she sat back down, ‘but I’m afraid it does have a bearing on things going on in this room.’ She looked at Culverhouse, who had clearly spotted that something big was going on.
‘Well it’d better be good, Detective Sergeant, because my client has been extremely helpful to you so far — considering the circumstances. And by my watch it’s approaching mealtime. I’m sure you don’t need me to remind you of your responsibilities with regards to his welfare.’
‘Not at all,’ Wendy said with a wry smile. ‘He can have my lunch, if he likes. I didn’t get a chance to have any of it. It’s a rare occasion that I get to eat at mealtimes, if at all, but we’ll do all we can to ensure your client’s needs are met. Now, if I may just alter the track of the conversation slightly, my colleague just informed me that the search of Hilltop Farm has found something rather intriguing.’ She left that hanging in the air for a few seconds. ‘Cyanide. Two kilos of it. Do you have any comment?’
Father Joseph’s solicitor leaned forward and opened his mouth to speak before Father Joseph raised his hand to silence him.
‘Is it illegal to possess cyanide in this country, Detective Sergeant?’ he asked, his solicitor sitting meekly by his side.
Wendy suspected this might be his plan of attack. ‘Not at this present time, no.’