‘Few years ago, maybe, but they’ve all jacked it in. Now it’s just me. Far as I know.’

‘Is that all you do?’ she said. ‘To scare people off.’

He nodded. ‘I started by wandering past, stopping to tell stories about how fucking haunted the place is, but that was a waste of time. Only encouraged the buggers.’

‘So you decided to shoot at them instead.’

‘Works on the casuals. Though there’s no discouraging the real zealots.’

Frank grunted. ‘Been chased into the woods a few times, have we?’

He looked up at the DI, apparently unimpressed by his insight. ‘Once or twice.’

Hawkins relaxed slightly, unable to convince herself this man was capable of triple homicide. ‘How often are you there?’

He thought, head lolling as if he might drop off. ‘Depends on the time of year. Few times a week at the moment.’

‘Would you recognize the people you’ve fired at?’

‘I might.’

She showed him the three photographs, albeit unconvinced that he’d recognize his own mother at this stage. ‘Three men in their twenties. We think they’ve been to the church in the last couple of months. Did you see them?’

‘Can’t say I did. Why the interest?’

‘We need to trace their movements.’ She swallowed her frustration, moved on. ‘Have you ever seen anything illegal happen down at the church?’

‘We don’t get none of that dogging business, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Not exactly. I was thinking more of drug dealing.’

‘Far as I can tell, most of ’em are off their faces when they get here.’

‘No short visits?’ Frank added. ‘Small parties arriving and leaving separately, like?’

The farmer shook his head. ‘Not that I’ve seen.’

‘OK,’ Hawkins said. ‘That’s it for now, but we’re giving you a lift home.’ She held up a hand when Albone looked pleadingly back into the pub. ‘You’re lucky I’m not arresting you for unlawful discharge of a weapon. But we’re confiscating that rifle of yours, and any others you have at home.’

She reached for his arm, pulled him upright. ‘Plus, I want to know where you live.’

30

Hawkins gritted her teeth, braking as the Alfa crashed through the larger ruts halfway up the track.

‘Howay, man,’ Frank squawked from beside her. ‘This jalopy busted, is it?’

‘Of course not.’ She selected comfort mode to soften the suspension. ‘It’s sporty.’

Her DI snorted. ‘Feels bloody busted to me. Chop it in for something French or Swedish, I say. Keep hold of yer blessed teeth.’

Hawkins ignored him. She watched the lights of Crouchfield Farm dance in her rear-view mirror, reassuring herself that her decision not to arrest an increasingly worse for wear Benjamin Albone was right.