Lifting the Lid(41)

‘Christ,’ said Logan, getting to his feet. ‘This better had be urgent, constable.’

‘Interview suspended at zero nine zero five,’ said Swann and switched off the recorder as Logan followed the uniform out of the room. Then she opened the folder and began to read.

Trevor tried to make out what was written on the upside-down page but failed. ‘So what does it say in there?’

Swann looked up at him and smiled. ‘Sorry, sir. Confidential I’m afraid.’

‘You do realise that this whole thing is totally ridiculous, don’t you?’

‘Sorry, sir, but I can’t discuss your case until the interview restarts formally.’

She went back to reading the file – or pretending to. As far as Trevor could tell, there were no more than two or three pages. He still couldn’t believe what was happening to him. Not only did he seem to be in serious trouble over the package-in-the-locker business, but now he was being accused of murdering Imelda. At least this lot didn’t seem to know anything about the Jiffy bag. So who was the Patterson guy that had stopped him when he was leaving the festival? What was it he’d said when he’d asked if he was the police? – ‘Something like that.’ What the hell did that mean? Either you’re police or you’re not. Simple as that.

He suddenly became aware of the dryness in his mouth. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance of getting a coffee is there? I haven’t even had breakfast yet. Come to that, all I’ve had since Friday lunchtime is a handful of biscuits.’

Swann raised her eyes from the folder. ‘I’ll see what I can do when DS Logan gets back. I’m not sure I can promise bacon and eggs, but I expect we can—’

She broke off as the door to the interview room was flung back on its hinges and Logan stormed in with a face that looked like it could launch a thousand nuclear missiles. ‘You can go,’ he said.

Trevor’s head swivelled to face him. ‘What?’ he and Swann said in almost perfect unison.

‘You heard me. Go.’ Logan was holding the door open, his gaze fixed on the lino covered floor at his feet.

Trevor stood up and walked towards the doorway. He had no intention of jeopardising this unexpected offer of freedom by asking any of the questions that had flashed into his mind.

‘Go with him and get him a lift back to the campsite,’ said Logan as Trevor went past him into the corridor.

Swann paused when she got to within a couple of feet of the sergeant and opened her mouth to speak.

‘Just do as you’re told for once, will you?’ Logan yelled.

Not a happy bunny, thought Trevor, as Swann led the way along the corridor and he heard the door of the interview room slam shut behind them.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE



‘In… one… hundred… yards… turn… right,’ said the robotic staccato voice of the satellite navigation system.

Sandra did as she was instructed, but when she reached the entrance of the Riverside Farm Campsite, she was almost certain she recognised the dark blue Ford Mondeo that was parked a little further up the road. Instead of turning into the campsite as she’d intended, she drove past the Mondeo, noticing the two men in the front seats. One was reading a newspaper, and the other seemed to be asleep. She carried on until she came to a dirt track on the left, which ran alongside the six-foot chainlink fence of the campsite. She took the turning and drove slowly, partly because of the rough surface and partly because she was trying to spot Trevor’s camper van through the fence.

She still hadn’t seen it by the time the track opened up into a parking area and ended next to a river. She stopped the car and got out. There was a narrow footpath between the river and the bottom fence of the campsite, and she walked along it until she reached a small wooden jetty that jutted out at right-angles to the riverbank. Half a dozen rowing boats were tethered to it, pitching and bobbing in the water, and a faded metal sign indicated the hourly hire rate.

Opposite the near end of the jetty there was a steel framed gate set into the fence with another, less faded, sign fixed to it, announcing that the gate was FOR THE USE OF CAMPSITE RESIDENTS ONLY. Sandra slid back the bolt and stepped inside. Almost immediately, she saw the object of her quest. The white VW van was parked near to the fence and about fifty or sixty yards to her right.

Lazy bugger must still be asleep, she thought when she noticed the camper’s curtains were all closed. So much the better. The element of surprise is always a bonus.

She strode across the grass and banged the palm of her hand several times against the side of the van. When there was no response, she repeated the action and called out, ‘Come on. I know you’re in there. Open up.’