They met Swift at the pub where he was waiting, drinking a coffee with Ricky at his feet. Cross handed him the USB from the shop which Swift plugged into his laptop.
‘Tea?’ asked Mary Holmes.
‘Yes,’ replied Cross.
‘And for you, my dear?’ she asked.
‘Coffee? Cappuccino? Please,’ said Mackenzie.
‘No bother,’ replied Mary.
‘What are we looking for?’ asked Swift.
‘Go to Wednesday three weeks ago, thirtieth of August at 2.37 p.m.,’ instructed Cross.
They looked at the screen. A couple of men in hoodies and sunglasses approached the counter. They looked completely out of place in Crockerne. For a start one of them was possibly of Caribbean descent and Crockerne had a small, predominantly aged and Caucasian population. They were also years under the average age of the village’s residents.
‘They’re not from the village, surely,’ observed Swift.
‘Could’ve been passing through,’ added Mackenzie.
‘Except for the fact they returned a further four times. That would imply they were staying in the village somewhere,’ said Cross.
‘With Moreton?’ asked Swift.
‘Possibly,’ replied Cross.
‘Do you mind if I have a look?’ asked Tom appearing from behind the bar.
‘Sure,’ replied Mackenzie.
He came over and had a look at the screen.
‘I remember them. They came in a few times. Had a dog. A pit bull, staffie kind of thing. It kicked off with Ricky, but they calmed it down. Then, whenever they came in, they sat with Alistair,’ Tom said.
‘Which was odd, as no one ever sat with Al. I think it was the dogs they had in common,’ said Mary as she returned with their tea and coffee.
‘Did you ask him about them?’ said Cross.
‘I did,’ replied Tom. ‘He said he didn’t know them, but he didn’t seem particularly put out.’
‘Would you recognise them if you saw them again?’
‘I would, I think,’ replied Tom.
‘Alice, could you call the MCU and get someone to run this car’s plates? See who the registered owner is,’ Cross instructed her.
‘It could be stolen,’ Mackenzie suggested.
‘Let’s start with the facts,’ Cross said dismissively.
‘Were they the ones with the noisy little car?’ asked Mary from the bar.
‘What colour?’ asked Mackenzie.
‘Black. Sounded like it didn’t have an exhaust.’
‘Quite possibly,’ replied Cross. ‘Is there any particular reason you ask?’
‘I saw them parked up outside Drew’s copse, talking to him one day.’
‘Talking to who?’ asked Cross.
‘Drew. He lives on Jonty Poll’s land. They were childhood friends,’ Tom explained.
‘What does this Drew do?’ asked Mackenzie.
The publican and his wife shared a look that was familiar to Cross. It was when people were unsure whether to share what they knew with the police.
‘He’s harmless,’ Mary volunteered.
‘He likes to think he’s off grid, which he is to an extent. He’s “rejected society and all of its oppressive strictures”, according to him,’ said Tom.
‘He’s a dreamer. Latest scheme is brewing his own beer. Even tried to persuade us to serve it, can you imagine?’ Mary added.
‘Claims he’s now a microbrewer,’ laughed Tom. ‘Truth is, and he won’t mind me saying this, he’s our local pothead. Totally harmless stoner.’
‘Where will I find him?’ Cross asked.
‘It’s about a half mile further on from Alistair’s. You’ll find a cattle gate on the left. Open it and follow it down to the woods. You’ll find his place there,’ Tom explained.
‘But there’s no way he would’ve had anything to do with Alistair’s death. They barely knew each other,’ said Mary.
Cross’s phone vibrated. It was Warner calling. Cross declined the call but the phone vibrated again immediately. He answered it.
‘Cross.’
‘Where are you, Cross?’
‘I’m at Crockerne.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Just following up on a couple of things,’ Cross replied.
‘Like what?’
‘Well—’ Cross began.
‘You know what, I don’t give a shit. I need you back here. I want you to give me a hand preparing the case against Cotterell for court,’ said Warner.
‘Isn’t DC Murray available?’ asked Cross.
‘He is. But I want you.’
‘Why?’
‘Okay, I hear you like things straight. So here it is. I want you in the office now. So I know you’re not screwing around with my case. My closed case.’
‘Then I have to decline. I think I’ll be of more use elsewhere,’ replied Cross cutting the call off before Warner was able to respond, ordering him back. Something he wouldn’t be able to ignore.
‘Dr Swift, is there a spare office at the forensics lab I might be able to make use of?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure. I could check. But if there isn’t you could always share mine,’ Swift replied, enthused by the prospect.
‘That won’t do. Please check for other offices,’ replied Cross.
Alice smirked at her boyfriend’s look of love-struck hurt.
‘Mrs Holmes, I would like to pay for the refreshments,’ said Cross.
‘Certainly not,’ she replied.
‘Is there a problem?’ asked Cross.
‘Not at all. They’re on the house.’
‘I cannot allow that. We have to pay.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘It’s a rule that George is actually very strict about,’ explained Mackenzie.
‘Very well. That’ll be a pound, please.’
‘That can’t be correct. Three doesn’t go into a pound,’ Cross pointed out.
‘It includes the coffee he had before you arrived,’ Mary replied.
‘Well, it seems implausibly cheap. I’ll need a receipt.’
Mary thought about this for a moment.
‘When you go to people’s houses and they offer you tea or coffee which you accept, presumably you don’t pay for it?’ she asked.
‘Correct.’
‘Well, you’re in my house. I live here, so you can keep your money.’
‘It’s a pub,’ protested Cross. ‘A commercial premises in which people pay for refreshments, however cheap.’
‘A pub which doesn’t open till eleven o’clock. Until then it’s my house,’ countered Mary who then walked away convinced the argument was won. But she grabbed the charity jar off the bar and offered it to Cross.
‘Why don’t we compromise and you give the pound to charity?’ she suggested.
Cross thought about this for a moment but Mackenzie, who had now had enough, leant over and put a pound in the jar.