After viewing the remains in the red barn, Gardner joined Rice back outside.
Mercifully, the snow had taken a break, although today’s forecast was rather bleak. The snow was causing all kinds of disruption. Travel, usually the first casualty of bad weather, was a write-off, but most significantly, for Gardner, was that the forensic team were working with the burned-out vehicle and the decapitated skeleton in the barn in horrendous conditions.
At Marsh’s request, the authorities had gritted the roads leading from town to the farmyards earlier than scheduled. At least her people had the safest possible access.
They’d already confirmed the wrecked Mercedes as Jess Beaumont’s. Presumably, the same woman who’d transported Sam Midgely to the library yesterday to plant the skull, had deposited the skeleton in the barn, doused the vehicle in some kind of accelerant and then used a fold-up bike to exit the scene.
It seemed their perpetrator had considered the Mercedes past its sell-by date. She’d been right. Every police officer in the area was aware of it.
Still, Gardner thought, looking at the white expanse, cycling back in the snow?
This was one driven individual.
Gardner was half-expecting a report of someone in a ditch, lying frozen alongside the bike, but no such news yet.
Or no such luck as Rice had commented earlier.
‘And?’ Rice asked her, approaching her at the taped entrance to the barn. He was rubbing his hands together after forgetting his gloves. That had been a grave error. ‘Well, is it worth me suiting up too, boss?’
Gardner peeled off her own white oversuit. ‘No. I don’t think you’re likely to recognise him.’
Rice raised an eyebrow. ‘Him?’
‘Robin thought the skull was male, remember?’
‘So, you’re assuming it’s the same victim?’
Gardner screwed the suit into a ball. ‘I guess I am. There’s another note. In the ribcage this time.’
Gardner marched over to a bin liner readied for suits and dropped hers inside. She paused and stared out over the burned-out vehicle, and the SOCOs investigating it.
She heard Rice crunching in the snow behind her to keep up.
When he was back alongside her, she said, ‘Ever feel like everything is just one big game?’
‘You serious?’ Rice said. ‘Every day! Come on, what did the note say?’
‘The note said: Even in the middle of nowhere, John, the truth exists.’
Rice stepped in front of her and turned full circle with his hands outstretched. ‘Guess we can class this as the arsehole of nowhere.’
‘Those weren’t the words.’
‘Same thing. So where exactly, in this arsehole, is the truth, do you think?’
Gardner pointed in the distance at the farmhouse. ‘In there.’
‘You sound confident.’
Gardner trudged away in the snow, saying over her shoulder, ‘No point in playing a game if you’re not confident.’
* * *
Clouded with deep-set wrinkles all over his face, the farmer, John Atkinson, looked every second of his sixty-seven years. With calloused hands, he fidgeted with a plaid cushion on the sofa on which he sat. Jen Atkinson, who sat alongside, also possessed many wrinkles, but the majority congregated around her eyes.
Both their gazes flitted restlessly around the room. Gardner tried to follow their eyes around the lounge. A cold fireplace, heaped with the ashes from the previous day; antique farm tools decorating the walls and a wooden table holding a vase of wildflowers.
So far, Rice and Gardner’s questions had yielded little beyond what they already knew.
John’s sighting of the smoke, his slow lumbering walk, his encounter with the burned-out vehicle and his final, grisly discovery.
She could understand John being completely shaken up following that experience, but his wife, Jen, appeared a lot worse.
‘Just keep ourselves to ourselves, as you can see,’ John continued. ‘No reason for anyone to bother us like this.’
The note, which Gardner was yet to get to, seemed to suggest someone felt they had a reason.
Rice was pacing alongside the mantelpiece, looking at some family photographs when he spoke. ‘Still rather peculiar, isn’t it?’
Gardner watched John’s eyes dart nervously and fall. His wife chewed aggressively at her bottom lip.
‘Don’t you think?’ Rice continued.
‘I suppose,’ John said.
‘I mean, why your property, Mr Atkinson?’ Gardner asked. ‘Why your barn?’
‘Derelict barn,’ John said, his eyes darting up to her face. ‘I’d nothing to do with it.’
‘I appreciate that, but it still belongs—’
‘It was due to be demolished.’
‘When?’ Rice asked.
‘A couple of years back,’ John said, shrugging. ‘My legs aren’t what they once were. Or my back. Things get put back these days. Doctor’s orders.’
‘I see. Just you two here, is it?’ Rice said.
‘Yes, why?’
‘Who’s this?’ Rice asked, pointing at a framed picture.
‘Clara. Our daughter.’
‘You all look happy,’ Rice continued.
‘And younger,’ John said and laughed, but he’d clearly forced his light-hearted response.
‘Family holiday?’ Gardner asked.
‘A long time ago. Fifteen years,’ John said. ‘Lanzarote. She’s in her mid-thirties now.’
Rice nodded. ‘And what does she do?’
‘She works over in Thailand, Southeast Asia. Teaching. Has done for many years now.’
The link was like a spark of electricity jolting through Gardner. She exchanged eye contact with Rice and caught the same response in his expression.
Ruby May Thwaites. Mid-thirties. Lived overseas. Sydney.
Clara Atkinson. Mid-thirties. Lived overseas. Thailand.
‘Beautiful country,’ Gardner said, controlling her surging adrenaline. Links were everywhere. Many would be coincidences. ‘Does she come home often?’
‘Not as much as we like,’ John said. ‘She’s back in England right now. Staying with her boyfriend, Doug, in Coventry. She’ll be over here for Christmas Day. Weather permitting.’ He sighed.
Gardner looked at Jen, who, apart from a brief greeting before, was still yet to speak. She did glance up and make eye contact, every now and again, more times than Jess Beaumont had yesterday anyway, and seemed engaged in the dialogue. But she was clearly too nervous to speak. ‘Mrs Atkinson, what’s your take on these events?’
Her brow creased, and she gave a quick shake of her head, clearly unsettled by being suddenly dragged into the dialogue.
‘I don’t know…’ She looked up and made eye contact for the first time in a while. ‘Someone disposing of a body, perhaps? Best place, I guess. The middle of nowhere.’
Gardner recalled the note. Funny you should say that.
‘Strange though,’ Rice said, coming away from the mantelpiece. ‘That a murderer would wait until the victim had rotted to a skeleton?’
John put the plaid cushion down on the sofa beside him. He looked up with narrowing eyes. ‘You’re the police… what’s your take?’
How quick was that descent into aggression?
‘That if it wasn’t for the burning car,’ Rice said. ‘Those remains would probably have gone undiscovered.’
‘So, what’s your point?’
‘The car was just a means to draw your attention to your barn. I think someone wanted you to discover the body.’
‘Nonsense.’
‘You asked for our take,’ Rice continued.
‘Wish I hadn’t. This whole thing is surely opportunistic. Someone grabbing a chance to dispose of a body, and then burning the car to cover tracks and get rid of the DNA and other evidence.’
‘Hardly covering tracks by setting fire to a vehicle not twenty metres from the body,’ Rice said.
‘Enough,’ John said, standing up. ‘I don’t really get the point of this questioning. I’ve told you everything that happened… the car and the skeleton. This has nothing to do with me. No one has targeted me. My money is on opportunity. As I just said. So, until you have otherwise, then I’ve animals to feed.’
Gardner fixed him with a stare. ‘It wasn’t an opportunity, John. There was a note left in the ribcage. A note with your name on it.’
John paled. ‘Jesus.’
Jen stiffened. Gardner was concerned that she might just bite through that bottom lip.
‘That makes little sense.’
Gardner took out her notebook and read from it. ‘Even in the middle of nowhere, John, the truth exists.’
Gardner watched him take deep breaths as he processed it. He sat down again.
Rice drew alongside Gardner. ‘Middle of nowhere, Mrs Atkinson. Like you said before. This person had the same thought.’
She opened her mouth to reply. No words came out. Gardner saw the blood on her bottom lip.
‘John is a common name,’ John said.
‘It is,’ Gardner said. ‘But these occurrences aren’t common. Someone has worked to make them happen. Seems they knew the name of the person who’d make the discovery.’
John shook his head. ‘Do I need a lawyer?’
Gardner did her best to look surprised. ‘Of course, that’s up to you… if you feel you need one, then, by all means, let’s get that arranged.’
‘Well, I don’t feel I need one,’ John said, looking more and more flustered.
‘It’s up to you,’ Gardner continued. ‘Maybe, then we can continue everything at the station and—’
‘Listen,’ John said, raising his hands. ‘I don’t know what this is about!’
‘Well, let’s start with the truth,’ Rice said.
‘That is the bloody truth.’
‘No, sorry, I meant the note. What do you think the truth on the note is referring to?’
‘I’ve no bloody idea!’
‘Is it regarding a lie, perhaps?’ Rice said. ‘Can you recall any lies you’ve told?’
‘Ridiculous,’ John hissed. ‘I convinced my daughter that Santa Claus existed until she was ten. Does that count?’
He looked at his wife for support, but she was too busy wringing her hands together and drawing blood from her bottom lip.
Gardner pressed on by asking John whether he knew Robert Thwaites, or Jess Beaumont. Neither name seemed to trigger a response in him. She held back on telling him about the skull recovered last night, which may or may not be from the skeleton in the barn. It was a card she may need later.
Both detectives made extensive efforts to delve into John’s past, but he responded with monosyllabic answers and provided very brief biographical details. Farming this land had been his entire life, and before that, his father’s. He’d been an only child and, after he and his wife had passed, the property would go to Clara. She and her boyfriend, Doug, had already expressed an interest in taking over one day. Leaving behind the excitement and sun in Thailand to build a family and a business on this land.
Gardner wrapped up the conversation by getting consent from John and Jen for DNA samples. They’d get cleaned up and head into the station, where they’d also record more detailed statements.
Afterwards, trudging back through the snow, Rice said, ‘Not sure what this crazy lass had in mind, but delivering bones and notes to these two old men isn’t convincing anyone to give up the truth.’
‘No,’ Gardner said. ‘But I expect she knew that already. Whoever is orchestrating this knows what they’re dealing with. She sees the truth buried deep. I think you give her very little credit by calling her crazy, Phil. I also think we need to up our game.’
‘Up our game?’ Rice said, and guffawed. ‘How?’
‘I don’t know yet. But I fear unless we dig up this truth before she finally exposes it, things are going to get messier.’
A red squirrel watching her from the branch of a tree she was passing surprised her. Usually, they ran a mile.
This one clearly felt invincible.
Gardner wished she felt this way, but with no idea where this woman was going to land her next blow, she felt anything but.