‘And how long have the Cowleys held the lease?’ Travis continued.
‘Charles Cowley and my grandfather agreed a deal back in the sixties. Jeffrey Cowley had just been born. Charles Cowley turned the land into a successful farm. At its height the farm was turning over one and a half million pounds in revenue with a net profit of around four hundred thousand.’
Kim wondered how Dale Preece knew the Cowley’s financial situation in such detail.
‘My grandfather was an investor in the farm,’ he explained, reading her expression.
‘The farming industry died a literal death in the nineties with the BSE outbreak. The farm was hit hard. Jeffrey worked alongside his father; the staff were fired, and their entire stock was burned. They lost everything. The Cowley girl and boy were pulled from private school and shoved into the local comprehensive.’
She found his description of the Cowley children offensive. ‘You mean Fiona and Billy?’
‘Of course,’ he said, impatiently, not understanding her point at all.
Travis coughed, and she allowed him to continue.
‘Go on,’ he urged Dale Preece.
Kim could now see that the woman outside was pushing a wheelchair.
‘Jeffrey’s wife left him, and his father died of pneumonia six months later. Ever since, it’s been just Jeffrey and the children.’
They were hardly children any more, Kim thought, remembering the figure in the ambulance and the officious woman at the hospital.
‘Never tempted to sell the land?’ Travis asked personably, surprising Kim. That sounded dangerously close to an investigatory question. She would check him for fever later.
‘My grandfather won’t hear of it,’ Dale Preece said.
From his tone, Kim guessed that Dale would sell at the earliest opportunity and turf the family out on their ear.
‘Insists it was a gentleman’s agreement made back in the day and he will not renege on it, regardless.’
Kim guessed the insistent grandfather was the elderly male being pushed around the garden.
‘Paternal or maternal grandfather?’ she asked.
‘Maternal,’ he said, as the woman outside smoothed the blanket over the old man’s knees.
She saw Bart approach from the left, followed by the faithful Labradors. He bent his head slightly, addressing the older man. The grandfather did not respond or lift his head. Kim guessed he must be extremely frail. Bart looked to his mother, who reached across and touched his arm before he strode away.
‘Do you all live here?’ Kim asked.
He nodded. ‘My brother, mother, grandfather and I each have our own wing. We occasionally meet for dinner.’
She moved her gaze from the window to the man before her, searching for a trace of humour in his words. There was none. He was stating a simple truth.
Dale Preece appeared to joke even less than she did.
Travis leaned forward. ‘Are you aware of the Cowleys having any work done to the property – any building or excavation?’
He shook his head. ‘They would need our permission for that, and no request has ever been received.’
‘But you wouldn’t really know, would you?’ Kim interjected.
‘We carry out an annual inspection of the property,’ he said.
‘Every year?’ she asked.
‘Most years,’ he countered. ‘We have a substantial portfolio of properties.’
‘So, the last inspection was done in?…’
He clicked on the mouse a couple of times, spurring the enormous Apple flat screen into life.
He frowned and clicked again.
‘It was in 2011,’ he said, doubtfully, checking again.
Kim was not surprised. Within their vast empire of land and property, the Cowleys and their farm were no bother to anyone.
‘So, no one has been to check for over five years?’
‘It appears so,’ he frowned, still clicking as though some new information would appear.
Five years is a long time, Kim thought, as the woman and the wheelchair went out of view.
‘And you now run the family business?’ Kim asked.
He nodded, his expression saying who else is going to do it?
She remembered that a boating accident had claimed one of his parents and had the sudden, inexplicable feeling this man could have done with having a father.
‘Well, thank you for your time,’ she said, standing.
In all honesty she was eager to get out of the room. The office was not to scale with the rest of the building. The small space was full of heavy wooden panelling from floor to ceiling. A wrought iron fireplace dominated the shorter wall. The window pointed north, away from the cold sunshine.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help,’ he said, offering his hand again. This time Travis took it. ‘But I do hope you find out what happened to those poor people.’
‘Thank you for your concern,’ Travis said, as Kim headed towards the door.
She paused, remembering something he’d said.
‘Sorry, just one last question, Mr Preece,’ she said, turning. ‘You used the word “regardless” when referring to your grandfather’s refusal to sell the Cowley’s land. “Regardless” of what?’ she asked
Dale Preece frowned deeply. ‘Regardless of the fact they’ve paid no rent in almost thirty years.’
THIRTY-TWO
‘Put your face straight before the wind changes,’ Bryant said, as they chose another camera. It was something his grandmother had always said if he was sulking.
They had been in the CCTV viewing room at the rear of Sedgley Police Station for more than an hour, and Dawson hadn’t spoken once.
From this location they had access to 187 cameras around the borough. Less than half were public space cameras covering high streets and car parks. A quarter covered local housing estates, and the rest were monitored on behalf of organisations like Centro.
‘You still bothered by the thing with Stacey?’ he asked.
‘Leave it, Bryant,’ he said, selecting another bank of cameras and typing in the date and time of interest.
‘Why has it bothered you so much?’
‘Because I’m not a fucking racist,’ he snapped.
‘Jesus, Kev, she knows that. She was just making a point.’
‘Yeah well, her point has pissed me off,’ he said.
Bryant knew better. Stacey’s words had forced him to consider something about himself, and he didn’t like that one little bit. Dawson didn’t mind introspection, but on his own terms.
‘Fucking waste of time,’ he raged, pushing the mouse halfway across the desk. ‘This guy is invisible.’
Bryant retrieved the mouse and nudged Dawson to the side. With a few taps he was back to the view of the car park entrance at the time the figure exited. He continued backwards for fifteen minutes to the time the attacker skulked around the building and into the car park.
‘Now, is there any indication of his direction of approach? It may help…’
Dawson shook his head. ‘We only see him against the wall. He could have come from anywhere.’
Bryant allowed the tape to continue playing.
‘Okay, let’s consider this logically—’