What had Bennet just witnessed? A dress rehearsal for a confrontation between Overeem and another man, played here by Lorraine? But who? And what was he being accused of? The Sally Jenkins – at the time the video was shot – disappearance? Had Overeem, either during his post-production research or while filming around Lampton, discovered the identity of her killer? Was his evidence played here by blank sheets of paper?
It was a shame Overeem had cut the rehearsal when he did. Otherwise, he might have outlined his evidence, maybe even named his suspect.
The video was shot shortly before the crew visited the Red Lion: had they gone there to find this man? Had they somehow gotten a message to him, perhaps through someone at the pub, and set up a meeting for later?
Had Sally Jenkins’ killer murdered four people and buried them where he knew a body could lie undiscovered for years, in order to keep his secret?
62
Sophie Turton answered the door without showing her face. The door clicked open a few inches and Bennet had to push it. He saw Sophie walking away up the stairs, not a word said. At first he wondered if she thought he was someone else, and he spoke her name. She heard, but continued walking. He followed.
He knew the bedroom she led him into was her dead son’s. Space and astronomy was his thing and the window was covered with stickers of the planets. But all other indicators had gone. The room was empty except for an old blanket around the edges of the carpet and a craggy table stacked with paint tins, brushes and rollers. Sophie was in the process of turning the walls from green to cream.
She started to drag household cleaning gloves on. She was free of paint splatter except for a streak on one ear. Seeing his scrutiny of the room, she said, ‘You think what I’m doing is wrong, don’t you? This room should be a time capsule, that’s what you think?’
‘It should be whatever you want.’
‘You think I’m trying to forget my son, don’t you?’
‘No.’
‘I’m sorry if that sounded harsh. My brother… he flipped, seeing this. So I’m waiting for Ralph to shout at me when he gets home from work. That’s right, I didn’t tell him.’
It was just after 6pm. Bennet knew Ralph Turton stacked shelves at Asda from two till six, so his bus would probably drop him off in about half an hour. Bennet didn’t want to be around when he returned, just in case an argument started. Not his business.
‘We were contacted by your people,’ Sophie said. ‘You’re no longer running the case. They wouldn’t say why.’
She looked like she expected Bennet to fill in the blanks. ‘Personal issue. I’ll be taking over again next week hopefully.’
She snorted and grabbed a paintbrush and moved to a wall. ‘Next week. There’s confirmation nobody will be arrested today.’ She dropped the brush onto the blanket protecting the carpet and turned to him. ‘Sorry again. I keep snapping at everyone.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘You could have stayed away. You could have thought, finally, I can get away from that weird couple and their silly dead son. But you didn’t. You came here and you didn’t have to. So, I’m sorry. But why did you come? I know it’s not good news.’
Bennet removed something from his pocket. Sophie stripped off her gloves and virtually pounced upon it. When she smiled, he realised he hadn’t ever seen this before. She clutched the bronze plaque to her chest. Bennet had engraved it with the words from the laminated dedication the Turtons had stapled to a bench in Buttery Park. ‘How much do I owe you for this?’
That didn’t even deserve an answer, and they both knew it. ‘You can put it on the same bench. I got permission. Police clout.’ A lie. He had paid Barnsley Metropolitan Borough Council £600.
A few minutes later, she walked him to the door, but called him back as he headed down the path. He turned, but she said nothing, and he knew her words shouldn’t be overheard. He moved closer.
‘I shouldn’t have asked you to do that thing. I’m glad you didn’t. But I know you would have. So, I’m sorry and thank you. I’ll wait for proper justice. One day, right?’
‘One day,’ Bennet said, and turned to leave. Sitting in his car, he noticed paint on his cheek from where Sophie had hugged him in the bedroom. He decided to leave it there for a while.
63
That evening, forty minutes before two bells went off and changed everything, Bennet loaded the file found on the flash drive and again watched the last ever video of Lorraine before she died. It was a purely selfless action though. Or so he told himself. He wanted to create a new video, sans Overeem, Crickmer and Crute. Lorraine alone. For Joe. Or so he told himself. He had free time because Joe and Patricia were upstairs and the pensioner was learning ten attack combos on a fighting game.
It involved watching the video numerous times to find relevant portions and to hone his cutting, cropping and transitioning skills with the video editing software he’d downloaded. And he’d found a beauty. In the video, when Overeem had sent everyone out of the ranch kitchen in order to reshoot, Lorraine had smiled and given a thumbs up. A perfect image and Joe would love it.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t find a decent line of audio to sync it with. There was one that put a lump in his throat, because he wished she was still around to say it:
‘Why don’t we pick up where we left off?’
But there was one far more in line with history:
‘I’m leaving. Don’t contact me again.’
But none would fit with a thumbs up for a ten-year-old boy. He would have to try to cut and splice individual words to form a sentence, although he feared Lorraine would wind up sounding like a robot with its batteries running low.
So, he rewound, and watched again, and again, and–
That was when the first bell rang. It was in his head. He leaned back in his chair, sure he was wrong. But he knew he wasn’t. Goosebumps rose on his arms.
As he stuck a hand into his pocket, bell number two sounded. This one was his ringtone. His phone started ringing as his fist closed around it.
It was Detective Superintendent Sutton. The man he’d been about to call.
‘Sutton, perfect timing, I’ve got–’
‘Wait, Liam, I just got some lovely news from Sally Jenkins’ autopsy. Not cause of death, but an injury that says quite a lot.’
‘You’re going to like this more. I’ve got a real good clue as to who killed the film crew.’
Sutton’s reaction to the name Bennet gave wasn’t shock. ‘I already know, Liam. I’m preparing a team to hit the house. You want in? Arrest and interview. I’ll swing it for you, my treat, but we’re on the road very soon. I’ll tell you more en route. How quick can you be at the scene?’
With the line still open, Bennet grabbed his shoes, coat, keys, yelled upstairs to Patricia and Joe, and charged for the front door.
Stepping in the car to stepping back out: twenty-three minutes.
64
Bennet’s car met the armed arrest team’s van at the end of the street. The van led the way, Sutton’s vehicle following, Bennet’s car at the rear. But the gun-toting men in riot gear weren’t needed. The truck of heavies guarding Ronald Turner’s gates was still there, but only one guy remained. Seeing police, he shifted the vehicle and drove away, nice and casual. Bennet saw the man on his mobile, probably warning Turner.
Sutton, Bennet and another detective who’d ridden with the DCS rushed to the gate. Sutton used the intercom to call for Turner to open up. He barely gave the councillor time. At Sutton’s wave, the van gave the gate a nudge and bust the lock. It parked inside, in front of Turner’s car, but nobody got out. They weren’t needed this evening.
Sutton’s DC raced for the front door and rapped it hard. Police, open up. No reply.
Bennet and Sutton moved around the back, where Bennet saw a security light was on over the back door. Sutton tried the door, and it was unlocked. He flung it open and yelled for Turner to show himself. No reply. He vanished inside.
&nbs
p; Bennet had seen this security light flick on once before and knew it meant someone had passed the sensor recently. He cupped his hands around his face to peer in the dark window of the surgery. No sign of Turner. And when he tried the door, it was locked. So his attention turned to the field.
Just in time to see the light in the stable office turn off. Bennet jogged through the dark.
The stable was unlocked. Bennet opened the door slowly, silently, and flicked on the light. Empty. He slammed the door behind him. It seemed like a cheap trick, but it worked. He heard a scrape from nearby. And below. There could be only one hiding place.
Bennet squatted before the trapdoor. The handle was a recessed wooden ring almost invisible against the floorboards. He yanked the door open. There, in the dark recess, sunken in junk and wires, knelt Turner, naked apart from tracksuit bottoms. He stared up like a terrified child.
Bennet said, ‘You know, after his downfall, they found Saddam Hussain hiding in a hole.’
65
‘Sunday, 2145: last known sighting of any of the film crew alive, when Francis Overeem checked out of the Panorama hotel. 0147 Monday morning: Keys meeting, at which a vote was passed to evict the film crew. 0245: reassembly of the Keys to discuss what to do with four dead found at Crabtree’s ranch. Accounting for journey times for all parties, this offered a four-hour time frame: 2218 until 0215. In that period, four beating hearts at that ranch became five. Then four, three, two, and one. Then none. Agreed?’
‘I would agree. How elegantly put.’ Councillor Turner was slouched in the chair across the desk from Bennet and one of Sutton’s DCs as if bored. His solicitor was in the station, but waiting in another room. Turner had chosen, at least for now, to be interviewed alone: he had nothing to hide. And he’d prepared: when escorted from the stables to his house to get dressed, he’d washed his face, brushed his teeth, and selected a grey suit.
Bennet leaned back in his chair, smiling. Interrogating suspects was usually something he left to trained constables and sergeants, but he missed the thrill of going face to face to strip the shield off a lie. Especially against this bastard. ‘0245: reassembly of the Keys to discuss what to do with four dead found at Crabtree’s ranch. But we know all about that already, so we’ll put it aside. Why’d you call that 0147 meeting? Why so late?’
‘The film crew left the Lion. Everybody thought that was the last of them, that they’d finally left our village. Then we heard they were camped out at Mr Crabtree’s ranch.’
‘Their location was kept quiet, even from Mr Crabtree. How did you know?’
Turner paused to take a sip of water. ‘I don’t recall. I hear things.’
Bennet’s phone was on the table. He clicked and scrolled and turned the device so Turner could see. On screen was a paused video. ‘This video was taken inside Mr Crabtree’s ranch at 2018 on Sunday. We think it shows a rehearsal for a confrontation with an unknown man.’
A habit of Bennet’s was to outline his entire interview in chronological order, then shuffle the notes before facing his foe. The resulting jigsaw was clear in his own mind but would tip a suspect off balance. Turner’s confused face broadcast the success of this tactic.
Bennet tapped the play button. Turner leaned forward to watch the short film, his expression blank throughout. Bennet had watched the video many times and could see without seeing: Overeem walking into the ranch kitchen, past the table with its fan of papers, to stand against the far wall; Lorraine following, but remaining on the door-side of the table; both then planning to retire, re-enter, repeat.
When it was over, Bennet asked: ‘Have you seen this before?’
Turner leaned back and folded his arms. ‘No, why would I have? Where did you get it?’
‘As you saw, Overeem and the others arrived with the unknown man. All entered the ranch together. Would you agree this means the film crew met their visitor somewhere else and travelled together?’
‘If you say so.’
‘How did you know they were renting the ranch?’
Turner gave a frustrated giggle, sans smile. ‘I hear things. You clearly don’t, since I’ve already explained this.’
‘Who’s the unknown man?’
‘I hope I don’t have to repeat this. I have no clue.’
Bennet used a finger on the video’s scrub bar to rewind, and pause, and two fingers to zoom. Overeem’s head filled the screen, frozen inches from the blank wall in the ranch kitchen.
‘Ever seen this video before? Oh, wait, you said no already. Ever been to the Panorama hotel?’
‘What? Yes, of course. Is that relevant?’
Bennet tapped the phone screen. ‘Why do you think Overeem is standing here like this, just staring at nothing?’
Turner shook his head.
‘Basic hotel rooms at the Panorama. Door in a central corridor, so it faces a window. Unlike this ranch kitchen, where the window is in a side wall. Overeem took a room at the Panorama. He’d dragged a tea table into the centre of the room, for two men to talk. Overeem rehearsed his confrontation with the unknown man at the ranch, but the live show, we’ll call it, was to take place in that hotel room. That blank wall, come opening night, will be a window. Ever seen this video before?’
Turner snorted his frustration, but offered no words.
‘Overeem checked into the Panorama on Sunday afternoon, bringing only a file folder and a camera bag. He was there for just minutes. Long enough to move the table, lay his documents out, and set up the camera. But here’s the problem. Overeem left the hotel that afternoon and didn’t return until 2145, and he was alone. He was back only to put away his documents and camera and check out. You’ve never seen this video before, right?’
Turner ignored the question in favour of one that hadn’t been asked. ‘You seem confused by his behaviour, Bennet, so let me clear that up. Overeem and his people had just left the Lion. Fast. They’d caused trouble in the pub and had decided, finally, to leave my village. He went back to the Panorama to clear out his things because they were running with their tails between their legs.’
‘What if they weren’t fleeing? What if Overeem went to the Panorama for his camera and documents for another reason?’
Turner shrugged. ‘Why don’t you just say it instead of–’
‘The rehearsal video – here, look – is timestamped 2018. The film crew were planning a confrontation with the unknown man, but an hour later everything had changed. They left the Lion and, to use your word, fled to the safety of the ranch. But what if, in that hour, they changed the venue for their confrontation with the unknown man? And Overeem went to collect his camera and folder for that reason? You like Hennessy cognac, don’t you?’
Turner gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed at Bennet’s disjointed questioning. ‘Again, just say it, detective.’
‘You told me Sunday is your night at the Lion. I had that confirmed. Regular as clockwork, you pop in for a nip of your fine Hennessy. But you didn’t go that Sunday, the 19th.’
‘No. It’s not written in stone. If you remember, I told you my son needed help with one of his cars. I was at his garage most of the evening. I was there at the time you say the film crew died. But obviously you’re leading up to somehow trying to connect me to those murders. And I’d love to hear it.’
Bennet found another video on his phone and described it for Turner. CCTV from the Lion, Sunday evening. Francis Overeem at the bar, talking to the barmaid, Vicky London. ‘Here, look: Overeem scans the lounge, then asks her a question. She tiptoes to also look at the patrons in the bar, shakes her head and looks at her watch. Doesn’t that look like Overeem has just asked about a certain customer and he’s not in? And the barmaid says, oh, he should have been in by now?’
Turner’s reply to Bennet’s narration was, ‘I’m sure this silent video could be given a voiceover to mirror a famous movie scene, if we tried.’
‘I think the film crew expected the unknown man to be at the pub that Sunday, because he usually is.
Their plan was to take him to the Panorama hotel room for the confrontation. But the unknown man wasn’t there.’
Next up for Turner’s perusal was a printed sheet of paper. Bennet fingered a specific line. ‘This is your phone data, and here, at 2104, you received a call. We know this was from Vicky London, the barmaid. We sat down with her and found her memory to be suddenly refreshed. She’s admitted to police that Francis Overeem came to the bar and asked where you were. When he’d gone, she called you soon after and said a man was looking for you. You told her not to tell anyone she’d called you. I think that warning from Vicky is why you didn’t go to the Lion for your weekly nip of Hennessy.’
Bennet fingered another line on the sheet. ‘At 2113, you received another call, this time from an unknown number. I think that number belonged to Overeem. Let me ask again, have you seen that rehearsal video before today?’
‘No. That’s the last time I answer that question.’
‘I have a couple more pieces of media for you.’
The first was a segment of the rehearsal video. It lasted three seconds. Overeem, with his face against a bare wall, said to Lorraine:
‘I have proof. Sit down and talk to me. I’ll be happy to Alt F4 this joint.’
‘Alt F4 is a computer term, Mr Turner. In the context of this line, what do you think Mr Overeem mean by “Alt F4 this joint”?’
‘I don’t know. Leave? Leave this joint?’
‘So you think Mr Overeem basically said, “I have proof. Sit down and talk to me. I’ll be happy to leave this place”. As in, give me what I want and I’ll be out of your hair, right?’
Turner shrugged. ‘At a guess. I’ve never heard this Alt F4 thing before.’
‘Alt F4 is used on a computer to shut down the current window. It started as an online troll tool – so, a user in a forum might ask how to perform this or that action, and a joker will say it’s Alt F4, which will kick the user out of the website. I’m sure to some it’s a source of great mirth. But the term has evolved to become a buzzword meaning anything to do with stop, end, and, as you say, leave. Depends on the context. I’ll bet you’d love to Alt F4 this police station right now. I want you to Alt F4 the acting all innocent. If I was beating answers out of you and my partner saw the chief constable coming, he’d tell me to Alt F4.
Cold Blood Page 21