Deal with one thing at a time, and Jack’s wild assertions could be dealt with tomorrow.
Laurel
She was numb.
A little from the chill in the night, but mainly from the fact that George Hibbert thought she was awful enough to try and destroy her business.
He may well have succeeded.
She’d have to draft an email to send to all the Pick Your Own bookings tomorrow. The insurance company would have to be called. The local policeman, David, was on his way, but he was useless so she’d have to escalate that. The graffiti would have to be cleaned, but not until evidence photographs had been taken and who knows when that would be?
This was a family farm and it had swear words tracked all over it in big black spray paint.
Tears pricked at Laurel’s eyes and she swallowed heavily. She’d been so happy with the endorsement from the BAS and now this had happened.
She was scanning back through the digital CCTV when Nate came in and she glanced up, giving him a worried smile.
‘Any luck?’ he asked, perching next to her on the edge of her desk so he could see the screen too.
She shook her head silently, eyes glued to the screen.
After what seemed an age, there he was; George Hibbert scrabbling backwards through the different screens as she rewound to when he first arrived, bold as brass, climbing on the five-bar gate to spray paint the Little Willow Farm sign. He was wearing a black hoodie and black shorts, holdall slung across his chest, but she would recognise him anywhere.
‘It’s him, yeah? George Hibbert?’ Nate asked, squinting at the figure running across the farmyard to the admin building.
She nodded slowly. That waste of space police officer David wouldn’t do anything with this unless it was definitive that it was George. Laurel watched intently as he headed into another camera shot towards the irrigation shed. He crouched on the ground and opened the holdall, pulling out the weedkiller. Laurel stopped the playback and zoomed in on his bare calf as close as she could without distorting it too much.
‘It’s definitely him, that’s his tattoo,’ she said, tapping the screen.
‘What is it? Looks like a red and green smudge from here,’ Nate leaned towards the monitor.
‘It’s Vision, as in the comic book thing? Marvel, I think?’
She pressed play again, watching as George found the water butts and emptied the entire container of weedkiller into them, then headed to the irrigation controls, dropping the empty cannister on the floor.
He sauntered out of that shed and out of her farm like he was shit on a stick. Like he’d just pleasured a woman so well she’d never forget it. Well, newsflash, he needed a lot more practice before he allowed himself that amount of swagger.
Laurel put her head in her hands. This was deliberate sabotage because she didn’t fancy George Hibbert.
What a fucking mess.
She felt a strong hand rubbing her back between her shoulder blades, but Nate didn’t say anything and for that she was grateful.
After allowing herself a couple of shuddering sobs and a few deep breaths, Laurel straightened.
‘I need to make a list.’ Her voice was hoarse.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘What can I do?’
She gave him a little smile. ‘Nothing, Nate. Why don’t you go home, get some sleep, prep whoever it is for moving into Robin’s house tomorrow.’
There really wasn’t anything he could do.
‘I’m just going up to check the site.’ He hesitated. ‘I know it doesn’t seem like he’s gone up there, but I just want to check, you know, make sure.’
Shit. She hadn’t even thought about that. It was clear from the CCTV that he hadn’t taken the winding road up to the archaeological dig site, but that’s not to say that this was his first trip. That’s not to say that he was the only one here. Perhaps he had recruited someone else into his scheme.
She gave Nate a slow, sad nod.
