Fragile Minds Page 0,113

or boyfriend?’

‘Husband’s a hopeless arse and the MP’s a charlatan, but that doesn’t necessarily make him a kidnapping nutcase – though he has been up in Norfolk and he has some kind of link with Tessa, too, that he’s lying about. I’ve asked Roger to check him out, but my gut says he wouldn’t have the time to be the Archangel, in between shagging women and sorting the country’s cultural desert out.’ Still, there was the Lethbridge link. Bloody woman, kept cropping up. Silver fell into a reverie as Kenton surreptitiously checked her phone for the tenth time since leaving London. She definitely had a full signal and no messages. Damn.

‘Do me a favour.’ Silver tossed his own phone at her now. ‘Text Philippa and explain I’m going to be working all night. You could even,’ he grinned at her now, showing those perfect white teeth, ‘you could even do one of those daft smiley faces at the end. Might soften the blow.’

As they drove up the empty A12, Kenton leant back and shut her eyes. She had found the images from the explosion had started to haunt her again during the past twenty-four hours: the body cleaved in two in the middle of the road, the whimpering and crying. Tessa Lethbridge’s white face in deathly repose. She needed an end to this case now, have some kind of closure, some kind of retribution for those killed and wounded right before her very eyes on Friday 14th. And then she needed to sleep.

The traffic was light and the flat Norfolk roads empty. They arrived at the grand entrance to Holkham Hall in good time, next to a pretty pub called the Victoria, the kind of place where middle-class couples took mini-breaks. There they met with the local Chief Superintendent, a tired, balding man called Ellory, who was very much of the old school. He had a year until retirement and wanted no bother on his watch.

‘We’ve got cars and uniform at every strategic point around the building you identified.’ He looked concerned. ‘But I have to say, I am not convinced it is the correct location.’

‘Really?’ Silver frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Farm concerned is owned and let by a local family, the Thomases. It’s rarely if ever empty; and there is a tenant farmer in residence right now, I understand, who has been working the land as they would expect.’

Silver felt the cold plunge of disappointment, but they had no choice but to plough on. Helen had woken up now and stood shivering by the car, the fringe of her pashmina blowing in the wind.

‘You need to stay here,’ he explained, and she nodded, looking rather frightened.

‘Of course.’

Silver grabbed his torch. Kenton resolutely shoved her phone in her pocket and followed him as they walked to the perimeter of the farm, tracking across lumpy gorse land.

They circled the building and moved forward slowly on the word of the Chief. Lights blazed in the downstairs windows and a dog was barking out in the yard, getting more and more frenzied as he sensed the police approaching.

A man appeared in the doorway. The Archangel? He was silhouetted against the electric light behind him; Silver could make out the shotgun in his hand.

‘Mr Gordon?’ Silver called out now. ‘Len Gordon?’

‘Yes?’ The man stepped forward, the dog jumping at his feet now. ‘Who wants to know?’

Silver could hear the trepidation in his voice.

‘Police. Can you drop your firearm please?’

Slowly, the man lowered the shotgun to his side.

‘We need to search your premises immediately.’

‘Search them?’ The man held a hand over his eyes to block the torch-light that was now blinding him. ‘Go right ahead. What are you looking for, mate?’

Silver met him in the farmyard now, by the gate, and extended his warrant badge. ‘Missing girls.’

The overweight farmer stared at him in shock, and then began to laugh. ‘I should be so bleeding lucky. Wife left me three year back; last girlfriend didn’t like getting her feet muddy. Stuck-up cow.’

Silver could smell the whiff of alcohol on his breath, and recognised the slight stagger.

‘Look away.’ Len Gordon stepped back and extended a thickset arm, gesturing at the outbuildings. ‘You’ll be lucky if you find so much as a female rat round here.’

They searched. There was nothing. The farmer watched them as if they were entertainment especially for him, red nose bulbous, chuckling, whisky glass in hand.

‘Have you tried down the lane?’ Gordon enquired, as they regrouped in the yard.

Silver frowned. ‘The lane?’ The bastard Beer was whispering