Jack Culverhouse wasn’t in the best of moods that morning as he slapped a pile of papers down on his desk and took a slurp from his coffee mug. He was never in a great mood in the mornings, but the prospect of having to sort out disciplinary proceedings against Wendy Knight was going to put an even bigger downer on things.
He didn’t want to have to do it, but he didn’t have much choice. Going AWOL from police duty wasn’t looked upon too lightly by the powers that be, no matter who you were. But, of course, Jack could see her point of view. Even if he’d never tell her that. He’d not exactly been an angel himself at times, when it came to deciding which call of duty to answer. Sometimes one’s real duty lay elsewhere.
His day was only about to get worse, though, when his phone started to ring. He looked down at the display and recognised the number immediately. It was one he’d seen flash up on his phone quite a bit over the years — the number of the local newspaper, the Mildenheath Gazette.
‘Sorry, I’m not entering the crossword competition this week,’ he barked as he picked up the phone.
‘DCI Culverhouse, Suzanne Corrigan,’ the reporter said, ignoring his attempt at a joke.
Culverhouse and Suzanne Corrigan had had dealings together in the past, most notably when Suzanne had been the fifth intended victim of a local serial killer. The showdown at her house had resulted in the untimely death of PC Luke Baxter, whom Culverhouse had considered his protégé.
‘Morning,’ Culverhouse replied, not even wanting to go so far as to ask what she wanted. Truth be told, he didn’t care. The press could verge on being vaguely useful on occasions, but more often than not he tended to see them as a hindrance.
‘I’m just ringing about a report we had from a local resident, actually. I wondered if I might be able to discuss it with you.’
‘You’ll have to be quick. I’ve got a meeting in ten minutes,’ Culverhouse lied.
‘It won’t take long. Just want to clear up a few facts. It’s to do with Hilltop Farm. Do you know it?’
Culverhouse’s heart sank. He knew it, alright. ‘I have a vague recollection, yes,’ he said, taking a deep breath and speaking as calmly as he could.
‘Well I got a weird call late last night, just as I was about to leave. From someone who wanted to give us some information on a religious cult that’s based on the farm. He said he was a former resident there and wanted to “lift the lid” — his words — on what goes on there.’
Culverhouse’s interest was suddenly piqued. ‘Did you get his name?’ he asked, presuming this was the same caller who’d reported the non-existent body on the farm.
‘No, he wouldn’t tell me. He said he wanted to speak to me a bit first. I think he’s worried about repercussions.’
Culverhouse made a non-committal noise. If the man was worried about repercussions, that meant there was something to be afraid of. Or, he could want to avoid identifying himself because it was all one huge lie or hoax. Either way, it wasn’t looking great. ‘Right. What did he say?’
‘Well, that’s just it. He didn’t say much. Between you and me, I think he was sounding me out, seeing how seriously I’d take him before he got to the really juicy stuff. But there was one thing he mentioned,’ Suzanne said, trailing off, trying to whet Culverhouse’s appetite. He didn’t take the bait. A couple of seconds later, she continued. ‘He said he’d reported an incident to the police recently, in which he gave information about a death on the farm. A murder, he called it. He said his call wasn’t taken seriously.’
Culverhouse sighed. ‘Look, you know I can’t discuss ongoing cases with you. Not unless I have specific clearance to do so.’
‘So there is an ongoing case, then?’ Suzanne asked.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘So you can discuss it with me?’
Culverhouse clenched his jaw. Journalists had a habit of being able to tease a front-page story out of nothing, but this was pushing it. ‘Off the record,’ he said, knowing damn well that nothing was off the record with journalists, ‘we received an anonymous phone call from someone telling us there was a body on the farm. We attended, searched the scene and found no evidence of said body. The phone call couldn’t be traced and we saw no sign that any crime had been committed. As such, no further investigation has taken place.’
‘A very concise and media-friendly response, considering it’s off the record,’ Suzanne said. Culverhouse noted that she’d grown in confidence following the recent Ripper case, which had nearly ended her career and her life.
‘You know me, Suzanne. I’m always friendly to the media.’ He could swear he heard her stifle a laugh.
‘So I can use that quote in the paper, can I?’
‘No you fucking cannot,’ he said, his voice harsh but low as he cradled the mouthpiece to avoid being overheard. ‘And what’s more, if you run a story about Hilltop fucking Farm, you’ll have one very angry Detective Chief Inspector and one very litigious church leader on your back. Father Joseph Kümmel is not the sort of person who’s likely to forgive something like that.’
‘That’s his name, is it? Kümmel? How do you spell it?’ Suzanne asked.
Culverhouse clenched his jaw again. ‘Fuck off,’ he replied, before slamming the phone down. If he thought he was in a bad mood when he got to the office, it was nothing compared to how he felt after the phone call. He had to let off some serious steam.
He sat down in his chair and tried to calm himself. He knew rising stress levels were no good for him, but that was all words and theory. What was he meant to do? Just sit back and take it? Let it wash over him? No. That wasn’t possible. First there was the Hilltop Farm fiasco, then Wendy Knight buggering off without leave, then the local papers getting on his back. And that was without worrying about all the shit he had to deal with in his personal life, with his ex-wife running off again and his hormonal young daughter coming to live with him out of the blue.
To him, Emily was the one good thing in his life right now. Even the job was starting to lose its appeal. But he knew he was in danger of losing her again. He could still see the old Emily inside her — the young daughter he once knew. That was a side of her he could see diminishing, though — particularly if she carried on hanging around with people like Ethan Turner. He’d already lost Emily once, and he wasn’t going to risk losing her again. Before he could even think about what he was doing, he took his suit jacket off the back off his chair, put it on and grabbed his car keys.