Part 23 (1/2)

19.

At Bridge End Farm, Matt Cooper looked round for Amy and Josie, then drew his brother across the yard towards the machinery shed, to be out of earshot.

The big shed where the tractor and equipment were kept had always been Matt's territory, and he treated it like a den, a place to go when he wanted to get away from the family for a while. Certainly, the girls had been well taught as children that they had to stay away from farm machinery.

'You know what it's like,' said Matt uneasily.

'No. Tell me.'

'The thing is,' said Matt, 'not everybody has much faith in your lot these days.'

'My lot?'

'Yes, your lot. You know what I mean.'

'The police.'

'Yes.'

'You can say it, Matt. It's not a dirty word.'

'Well, that's a matter of opinion.'

'Oh?'

Matt rubbed the sleeve of his s.h.i.+rt against the side of the big green John Deere, as if trying to wipe away a speck of dirt. It looked a bit futile given the amount of mud caking the wheel arches. The tractor was overdue for a wash.

'Some of the lads ...' he said. 'Well, they don't have anything good to say about the police these days. There have been far too many farms in this area targeted by thieves, and the cops have done nothing about it, except hand out crime numbers for insurance claims. It's no use when you've lost a vital bit of kit, or your best calves have vanished in the back of some toerag's trailer. People are finding that it's affecting their businesses, and their families are getting frightened, and there's no one they can turn to for protection.'

'I've heard all this before,' said Ben.

'Yes. Well you're going to hear it again, a lot more. And it won't just be from me. I'm warning you, that's all.'

Ben could see that Matt was nervous. The fact that his brother was a police officer had always been a bit of problem for him, constantly putting him in an awkward position where he was trapped between a rock and a hard place. The turning point had come last year, when Matt had taken the law into his own hands and shot a burglar in his yard. The moment he was handcuffed and arrested for attempted murder was the point when he decided whose side the police were on.

It was a common enough story. Ben himself felt uncomfortable sometimes when he heard about normally law-abiding citizens who found themselves on the wrong end of the criminal justice system for defending themselves and their property, or who got a speeding fine for doing forty-two miles an hour on an open road. These were the same people who saw burglaries and criminal damage being committed without any apparent effort by the police to investigate, and whose lives were made miserable by antisocial behaviour carried out with impunity.

For months now, he'd been hearing complaints that the Metropolitan Police had been happy to baton-charge peaceful pro-hunting marchers from the Countryside Alliance, but had stood by and watched as rioters burned and looted half the city.

In this country, policing was supposed to be conducted by consent. But more and more often it seemed that the police were losing the support of the public. Whose side are they on? was a common cry.

'I'm sure you're able to talk sense into these lads, if they got the wrong idea,' said Ben.

'Well ...'

'Aren't you, Matt?'

'I've tried. But it's a losing battle. I'm sorry, Ben, but that's just the way things are going.'

'So they won't talk to me.'

'They say they have nothing to tell.'

'Then the conversation won't take long.'

'There are two people still missing, Matt. And Aidan Merritt a did you know him? He got his head bashed in at the Light House the other day.'

'Yes, I know.'

Matt looked over his shoulder, fiddling with the tools on his workbench. Ben found himself beginning to get irritated by the pointless clatter. His brother had called him to the farm, so he must have something useful to say.

'Matt, you understand a it's either me or someone else they'll have to talk to.'

His brother sighed. 'Okay, I can set something up. They've said, as a last resort, that they'll meet you on neutral ground.'

'What is this? Neutral ground? Are we at war now?'

'That's what they said.'

'And these are people who were at the Light House the night the Pearsons were there?'

'At the Young Farmers' do, yes. They were down in the bar part of the time, playing pool. They know pretty much everyone. It's the best I can do.'

'All right, I suppose I'll have to take it. What neutral ground?'

'The old field barn on the Foolow road.'

'I know where that is. Tonight?'

Matt looked at his watch. 'Yes, if you can manage it. I just need to make one phone call.'

Ben nodded. So Matt's contacts were just waiting for the call to come out and meet him. It had all been a bit of play-acting really, that show of reluctance. They had both known the outcome.

Cooper was on a quiet stretch of road half a mile from Bridge End Farm. The road became very narrow and winding here, and the surface deteriorated, as if it was about to peter out into a farm track, the way some Peak District roads did. Only if you were familiar with the area did you know that you had to drive on for a few hundred yards to emerge on to a decent surface again, where the road crested the brow of the hill and began a descent into the valley.

The lights of the town would come into view by the time he reached that point. But here, with the trees overhanging the dry-stone walls, there was no light to speak of.

He glanced in his mirror.

'What the heck ...?'

The car behind him was approaching too fast.

He felt a violent b.u.mp, and the Toyota slewed sideways, the nearside front wheel almost slipping into a shallow ditch just short of the stone wall.

Cooper fumbled to unfasten his seat belt. But by the time he'd opened his door and struggled out of the car, the vehicle that had b.u.mped him was gone, disappearing into the darkness. He knew it was white, that was all. A white pickup. He couldn't be sure of the make, though he vaguely thought it looked j.a.panese. He had no clue about the number plate. It might have been obscured with mud. He might just not have been looking.