‘Checking up on me?’ Barnett asked with a smile.
‘About the size of it,’ O’Brien said, returning his grin. ‘Look, the boss was worried about you. She just wanted me to poke my head around the door and see if you were feeling any better. Except I find you on the wrong side of the door.’
‘Am I not allowed to go for a walk?’
‘Are you sure that’s all it is?’
‘Really? You think I’m going to go off on one like the boss’s ex?’
‘Paul and the boss never dated,’ O’Brien said, looking annoyed over his comment.
Barnett frowned. What’s that all about?
‘I know. I was being sarcastic.’ And you usually love a bit of sarcasm with the rest of them, Lucy… ‘Lighten up. You want to tag along while I go rogue? I’m onto something big.’
She hoisted her phone out of her pocket.
‘Good luck getting through to her,’ Barnett said. ‘I already tried.’
Barnett shut his front door behind him and sidled around O’Brien and made for his car.
He opened the door. ‘Now, you’ve two options. You can follow me, panicking over what I’m up to, while frantically trying to contact the boss… or’ – he pointed inside the car – ‘you can hop in here with me, so I can tell you what I’ve found out today on the way to John Atkinson’s farm.’
‘Atkinson’s farm? Why?’
Barnett climbed into the vehicle and closed the door.
By the time he’d clicked his seat belt, started the engine and slipped into reverse, he was unsurprised to see O’Brien in the seat beside him, looking at him eagerly.
* * *
Barnett indicated right to take the icy entrance road up to Atkinson’s farmhouse.
‘So, Penstone Ltd was an arm of KYLO?’ O’Brien asked.
‘Yes.’
‘And Penstone enlisted Robert Thwaites to defend Helping Hands. Wow. So, he’d have been involved in paying off those raising grievances?’
Barnett nodded as he negotiated the icy road.
‘Bloody hell.’
‘Yes. So KYLO spends money to spare the council’s and the government’s blushes, and so is given the advantage in the later bid for Helping Hands.’
‘And no one bothered to link Penstone and KYLO until now? Until you?’
‘Seems not,’ Barnett said.
‘Jesus. Someone in the government must have known someone in KYLO to put this whole idea in their heads.’
‘Makes sense,’ Barnett said, nodding. ‘KYLO would then have their community crowd pleaser without a lengthy bidding war, while paying over the odds. The government distanced themselves from their hot potato. And then KYLO ordered an independent inquiry into systemic failures to silence the media.’
‘But everyone knows independent inquiries can be bullshit?’
‘Yes, but why did KYLO need to lie? Remember, they were unconnected to the old guard. Penstone had evaporated at this point. No one was suspicious of them.’
‘I can’t believe no one has rumbled this until now.’
Barnett grinned.
‘You’re not as good as you think you are.’
‘Bloody hell. Would it hurt for a little pat on the back?’
‘Later. Big pay day for Robert then.’
‘Yes. Imagine it’ll keep his lifestyle funded until his last breath. He must genuinely love storytelling. No chance he needs to keep working for coppers in a hat!’
‘But… who made the accusations and were paid off? Four of the five women who miscarried had died…’
Barnett glared at her. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but my mother wasn’t involved. The accusations came from the families of Isla Holt and Melissa Sale. All pulled out after being bribed, I imagine. There’s no mention of Amina Ndiaye – my mother. She’d nothing to do with this corruption. My mother would never have accepted a bribe. I know – I tried to negotiate often with her as a kid!’
‘Okay,’ O’Brien said, nodding.
But Barnett could tell from her tone that she wasn’t convinced. How could he blame her? Still, right now, he knew… deep down… that she just couldn’t be.
Both she and his father were the most upstanding people he’d ever known.
‘So, why are we here and not at Robert’s home?’ O’Brien asked.
‘Because John Atkinson has been lying too.’
He quickly explained to her what he’d discovered as he parked up.
‘Unbelievable…’
He smiled. ‘Just say it. “Ray, you’re a genius.”’
She pointed at the farmyard. ‘This is massive. We can’t go in there until we’ve spoken to the boss.’
‘Okay.’ Barnett tried and again hit voicemail. He left her a message explaining what he’d now discovered about John Atkinson’s farm.
He looked at O’Brien. ‘She’s fully in the loop.’
‘I don’t know…’
‘She’d want us to do this.’
O’Brien sighed and got out of the car as she followed Ray to the farm.
* * *
John Atkinson answered the door to them. Barnett already had his identification out. Despite this, John threw him a confused look. ‘Don’t recognise you… Where’s the older lass with the attitude?’
Barnett looked at O’Brien with an eyebrow raised and then back at John. ‘DCI Gardner is busy, I’m afraid… we’re part of her team though. The one investigating the suspicious presence of a body on your property.’ He enjoyed the use of emphasis after John had greeted him so disrespectfully. ‘Is it okay if myself and DC O’Brien come in? We’ve some questions.’
‘Questions… questions…’ he murmured, backing away. He turned and waved them in. ‘Doesn’t matter how many times you ask them, and it doesn’t matter how often you reword them, the answers will stay exactly the same.’
I’ve some new questions, Barnett thought, exchanging a look with O’Brien. Brand new ones.
He noticed O’Brien’s dubious look in his direction. It seemed she remained concerned about him going off-piste despite Gardner’s instructions. Hopefully, when they reached the end of the case, concern would turn to appreciation over the fact that he was doing his job.
The lounge wasn’t warm enough for Barnett’s liking, so he didn’t take off his jacket, and neither did O’Brien. He watched John walk over to stand by the mantelpiece and regard a picture of a young lady on a tropical-looking beach. Barnett assumed this to be Clara Atkinson. Their daughter who lived in Thailand.
John looked down and nudged the grate in front of the weak fire with his foot.
He held back on the suggestion that he should throw on some more wood.
Farmhouses, Barnett thought, eyeing the many farming tools that decorated the walls, always so chuffin’ cold.
Barnett met John’s suspicious eyes. He grunted. ‘What’re these questions, then? You can sit if you want,’ John said.
‘You sitting too?’ Barnett asked.
‘I’m okay here. My back is shot. I stand pretty much all the time these days.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Barnett said, and nodded. O’Brien sat alongside him. ‘Where’s Mrs Atkinson?’
‘Jen’s asleep. It’s all been rather hard on her. She suffers, you know. Mental health problems.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ Barnett said.
‘Are you?’
‘Yes… we are, sir,’ O’Brien said.
He rolled his eyes. ‘Well, fortunately, we’re expecting Clara home tomorrow. Make things easier.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ O’Brien said.
‘Anyway, can we get to it? I’ve got tonnes to do.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Questions?’
Barnett nodded and pulled out his notebook. He readied a pen and looked down at the blank page. ‘Thank you. What can you tell me about Froisters Chemicals Ltd?’ He only looked up after finishing the question.
John paled.
‘Mr Atkinson?’ Barnett prompted.
He shook his head. ‘Who?’
Barnett flicked open his notebook and made a show of tapping the name. ‘Froisters Chemicals Ltd.’ He looked back up at John. ‘What can you tell me about them?’
John turned and prodded the metal fire grate again with his foot, even though it was already in place. ‘Never heard of them.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ Barnett said. ‘But you were on their payroll for several years?’
John carried on prodding the grate. ‘Ah… Froisters Chemicals?’
‘Yes… that’s what I said, wasn’t it?’
‘Sorry, I must have misheard you.’ He turned back. He tried to appear confident now, standing up as straight as his bad back would allow, and tensing his jaw.
‘So, what can you tell me about them?’
‘It’s been a fair number of years. I mean. How many years? Maybe you can tell me?’
‘1990.’
‘Bloody hell. Over thirty years!’
‘Whatever you can remember will help. Start with why they paid you.’
‘Ha! Hardly on their bloody payroll! If I remember correctly, they paid me a pittance.’
‘For what?’
‘Rent.’
Barnett nodded and made a note. ‘And that was between April 1990 and March 1991?’
‘If you say so. Was a long time ago.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You have the right to poke around all my financial details?’
Barnett nodded. ‘We’re investigating a murder, sir.’
‘How many times? There wasn’t a murder here. Those old remains were dumped on us. Do I need a solicitor?’
‘Up to you.’ Barnett closed his notebook and waited.
‘Get to the point,’ John hissed, waving his hand in the air.
‘You sure?’
‘Yes.’
Barnett opened the notebook again. ‘I have the amounts paid.’ He read the sums out. ‘Doesn’t sound like a pittance, especially back in 1990. Can you tell me though why Froisters Chemicals were renting off you?’
John clucked his tongue, making a show of recalling the information. Complete bullshit, of course. ‘They saw I’d a stretch of unoccupied land south of my property. They approached me and offered me money.’
‘Why?’
John shrugged. ‘Why? They wanted to build a temporary facility.’
‘And did they?’
‘Yes. A right ugly, bloody thing. Took them a few months to get up, corrugated iron.’
‘What for?’
He shrugged. ‘How do I know? Not my concern.’
‘But it’s your property,’ Barnett said. ‘Surely that makes it your concern.’
John sighed. ‘Experiments, I guess. Testing safe chemicals, they claimed. Okay?’
‘And you were okay with that? You trusted them?’
‘Yes. I recall they showed me documentation – it all seemed legitimate.’
‘Okay…’ Barnett said, making a note. ‘And then what happened?’
‘What happened?’ John widened his eyes. ‘Nothing! They stayed for however long it says in your little notebook and then pissed off.’
‘And you saw nothing they did?’
‘No.’
‘Where’s this facility?’
‘They asked if I wanted to keep the corrugated iron facility for storage, and I told them to piss off. So, they took it all down quickly, and did just that… pissed off.’
‘Do you know a KYLO Ltd?’
John rubbed his stubble. ‘The name sounds familiar, but… no… I can’t place it.’
‘Well, Froisters Chemicals Ltd is a company owned by KYLO. The company is still going strong, actually.’ Unlike Penstone Ltd. ‘So, you may recall KYLO from the documentation?’
‘Maybe.’ He kicked the grate gently with the back of his foot this time. ‘Vaguely.’
Barnett nodded. ‘How about your old documents and files from 1990 – would you be able to dig them out for us?’
‘Thirty-odd years ago! You’ll be bloody lucky.’ He sighed.
Barnett fixed John with a stare.
‘Okay,’ John said. ‘Whatever. Is that all, then?’
‘No.’
‘Jesus.’ John rolled his eyes.
‘In your statement,’ Barnett continued. ‘You confirmed you knew Robert Thwaites.’
‘As an acquaintance, yes… not as a friend.’
‘But you went to school together?’
‘Yes, but that doesn’t make us friends.’
Barnett nodded. ‘Okay, acquaintances. That’s okay.’
John nodded. He was paling again and was rubbing the small of his back.
‘Are you okay?’ O’Brien asked.
‘Yes… just my back. Look, I’m not feeling the best.’
‘Did you have any business dealings with Robert Thwaites, Mr Atkinson?’ Barnett asked.
‘How many times! He’s an acquaintance! I say hello in the street. What call have I for an oral storyteller?’
‘He wasn’t an oral storyteller in 1990,’ Barnett said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He put it on the table alongside a vase of wildflowers.
‘What’s that?’
‘The contract agreeing that twelve-month rental.’
John shrugged.
‘The company that drew up the paperwork was Long, Oakes and Thwaites Ltd. In fact’ – Barnett pointed at a signature – ‘it’s the partner, Robert Thwaites, who has signed the contract. So, if he brokered it, I guess you and him were in fact doing business together.’ Barnett sat up straight and regarded John. ‘Is this jogging your memory at all, Mr Atkinson?’
John leaned back against the mantelpiece, paler than ever. His legs were dangerously close to the fire. It was fortunate the grate was in place.
‘A long time ago,’ John said. The strong conviction in his voice that had been so stark was ebbing away. ‘Look… I don’t think we met on that. He drew up the contract, and I agreed it. No… I don’t think we met. What does all this matter?’
‘Just that you told us you barely knew him, and yet, he must have known all about you and your property. He brokered a rental contract for you… for… well, I’ll be frank now, Mr Atkinson, a mysterious project.’
‘Chemicals, lad,’ John said, looking angry. ‘I told you.’
‘But why would an animal farmer allow chemical experimentation on his farmyard?’
‘It wasn’t like that. The structure they built was well out of the way of the animals… and no harm ever came from it.’
‘Apart from it being an eyesore?’ O’Brien added.
‘Yes…’ He glared at O’Brien. ‘Apart from that.’
‘So,’ Barnett said, reaching over and touching the contract again. ‘We’ve a clear link between you and Robert. It’s not even the link to Robert that has us reeling. It’s the link to KYLO which concerns us most of all…’
‘Like I said, I barely know who KYLO is. Familiar, yes… but it’s not like I’ve anything to do with them now, or really did then, to be honest.’
‘Still, the victim James Sykes had something to do with them, didn’t he? They sacked him when they took control of Helping Hands homeless shelter and converted it to Bright Day.’
John held his hands up. ‘Things I know nothing about.’
‘But all these connections, John? These can’t all be coincidences! Now, it’s clear we’re close, and it’s becoming obvious that you’ve been deceiving us. Rather than obstruct justice, take the opportunity, Mr Atkinson, to complete this picture. Buy some good grace. Help us.’
John’s eyes moved to O’Brien. She pitched in. ‘You were scared, worried about your wife’s fragile state, and you’ve omitted important details. If you’re completely transparent, there are many people who’ll have your back. We’ll have your back.’
John was shaking his head. He turned and picked up the photograph of his daughter now.
‘Mr Atkinson,’ Barnett said, standing up. ‘Think of Clara. Think how this will reflect on her when everything is out. Transparency. Owning the truth… it’s the key to a better—’
‘I am thinking of her,’ he hissed. ‘I’m always bloody thinking of her! That’s the issue!’
O’Brien stood now. ‘Mr Atkinson—’
‘I can’t talk to you any more. Don’t you understand? It’ll do more harm than bloody good. Please leave.’
Barnett sighed. ‘If we leave now, this is what’ll happen. With all this deceit, suspicion, coupled with the fact that the body was found on this property, we’ll inundate your entire estate with search teams before the day is out. Is that what you want? Think of the excessive trauma that will bring into your family. The media scrutiny! The truth is coming with or without your support. Make it with…’
John lowered his head, rubbed his temples and then looked at his daughter’s photograph. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Listen, before I say anything, this is all on me.’ He began to turn. ‘It had nothing at all to do with Jen—’
A sharp, loud explosion rattled the air.
John was pitched to the side.
As the intense boom continued to reverberate around the lounge, Barnett watched, wide-eyed, as John thumped down to his knees and then went to the floor face first.
Barnett looked right.
Jen Atkinson, wearing a nightgown, was coming through an open door, holding a shotgun. Her face was expressionless, and she moved, ghostlike, across the room, barely making a sound.
He searched for rational thought, but found only overwhelming panic…
Lucy!
He flicked his head left, sighted her ashen face. She had her hand to her mouth.
‘Get down!’ he shouted.
She didn’t move.
‘Now!’
He looked right again in time to see Jen discharge the shotgun a second time.