He believed an awful lot of things, it seemed, most of which anyone in their right mind would dismiss as a load of old shite.
Despite the natural scepticism of both locals and any visitors to the area who made the mistake of getting into conversation with him, for the past few years, Bernie had been producing a quarterly newsletter he called ‘The Beacon,’ which he claimed shone a light on the everyday deceptions of the government, the machinations of the evil lizard race living beneath our feet, and the dangers of high speed internet access.
It also usually contained a recipe for pheasant, venison, or—depending on what recent pickings had been like on the B roads around Acharacle—badger.
The publication was generally well-received in the area, though not for the reasons Bernie may have hoped. It was routinely mocked and derided, and occasionally spoofed with counterfeit editions that were no more or less ludicrous than the real thing, and so completely pointless as an attempt at satire.
“And he hasn’t been seen since when?” Logan asked, regarding the caravan like it was something toxic. Which, given the state of it, it probably was.
“Ten days. Two weeks. Thereabouts,” the constable said. “It’s hard to be sure with Bernie. Your mind sort of shuts him out when you see him. Pretends he’s not there, sort of thing. It’s a form of self-preservation, I think. If you make eye contact, you’re basically inviting him to come and talk to you, so most people round here just instinctively try not to see him. Easier all round.”
He had a tent, she’d told him. A small, one-man pop-up number whose description fit the remains of the one they’d found with the body. He spent much of the year wild camping, telling locals that the caravan was his office, while the wilderness was his home.
“Want me to break the door down?” the constable asked, the look on her face suggesting she was dying for the opportunity. “Always wanted to see what he’s got going on in there. Bet it’s mental.”
Logan considered the offer for a moment, then shook his head. “Give me a minute while I check something first,” he said, taking out his phone. He swiped to his contacts, grimaced at the very sight of Geoff Palmer’s name, then tapped to call.
Nothing happened.
“Who are you with?” Constable Tanaka asked, indicating the phone.
“Vodafone.”
The PC shook her head. “Won’t get a signal with Vodafone. Won’t get a signal with Three, either. Or EE.” She shrugged. “In fact, any of them, really. It’s a bit of a blackspot.” She tapped the radio on her shoulder. “We’re old school here.”
“Right. Aye. Fair enough,” Logan said, returning the phone to his pocket. “Are you able to call over to someone at the scene?”
“Yeah, one of the local lads is up there. Why?”
This, in many ways, was better, as it would save him the task of having to talk to Geoff Palmer himself. Once was bad enough. Twice in a single day? He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
Well, maybe Tyler.
“Get him to talk to the Scene of Crime team. See if they found anything on the remains.”
“Like what?”
“Just anything,” Logan said.
While she made the call, he picked his way up the slope and through the jungle of grass that surrounded the caravan. It definitely felt empty. It felt abandoned, in fact, with the weeds and moss combining to give the impression that Mother Nature herself was claiming squatter’s rights on the place.
Up close, he could confirm that the windows were blocked on the other side, although not with curtains as he’d originally thought. Cardboard had been taped over the already barely semi-transparent acrylic, fully shutting off the inside of the caravan from the world beyond its flimsy walls.
If they had to break into the place, it wasn’t going to take much effort. With a bit of huffing and puffing, Logan was convinced he could blow this house down.
“Copy that, Chris, ta.”
Logan turned away from the caravan as Constable Tanaka ended her conversation. “Well?” he asked.
“Not much on the body, sir. Almost everything’s burned away.”
“But?”
“But I think you already know what I’m going to say,” Suzi replied.
“They found a key,” Logan said.
“They did,” the PC confirmed. “Chris, the new guy, is bringing it over.”
Logan nodded. “Good stuff.”
“I was to pass on a message to you, too. When you hear the helicopter in a minute, you’ve to look up.”