Yaxley Farcett was still sitting at the desk in Reg Dixon's study, poring over the contents of his diary. He had just read the entry for January 31st which almost certainly pointed to Fiona Morgan's politician dad, Cedric, being up to something very fishy indeed. The diary indicated that Morgan, in cahoots with Graham Trent had approved the sale of Thompson's Wood in Cauliflower Drove, to a consortium called Lorimer Holdings. As there were only three people present at the meeting; Morgan, his wife and Trent, it seemed fairly likely that the three of them were, in fact, 'Lorimer Holdings'. Wouldn't take much investigation to work that out. Although Yaxley had virtually no knowledge of the internal workings of councils, he knew that there was no way a field belonging to the people of the village could be sold during a meeting under the banner, 'any other business'. Farcett sat back in the chair and closed his eyes. It was obvious that Anne Worthington had inadvertantly stumbled upon something which would cause great problems to both Morgan and Trent. But was it cause for murder ? And how could the two men have known that both Anne and 
Dixon were aware of their fraud ? The other question was, what plans did they have for the wood? It was at that point that Yaxley Farcett sprang forward in his seat as he remembered something from the night before on his moonlit walk with Fiona. What was is she had said.....'We don't want a bloody great big shit belching factory down here !'
Dixon were aware of their fraud ? The other question was, what plans did they have for the wood? It was at that point that Yaxley Farcett sprang forward in his seat as he remembered something from the night before on his moonlit walk with Fiona. What was is she had said.....'We don't want a bloody great big shit belching factory down here !' So that was it. Cedric Morgan had appropriated the land some eighteen years previously along with Graham Trent for the princely sum of one pound knowing full well that there might come a time when the land would be worth a great deal more. They couldn't go wrong. If they failed to sell the land, the trees would grow, the wood would flourish and no one would be the wiser. However, now that the Power station had been proposed, Morgan could use his influence as local MP to get it built and sell the land for a fortune. By the time the public found out that the profits had gone to Lorimer Holdings rather than the council, Morgan and Trent would already be sitting at a beach bar in some far flung corner of the world, considerably richer.
Yaxley put Dixon's diary to one side and returned to the computer. He clicked the E-Mail back up on the screen and searched through the incoming messages file. There was a message from Graham Trent dated the 17th of May, only two days previously:
FROM: Graham Trent Date: 17/05/98
TO: Reginald Dixon
Cc:
Subject: Pathetic Attempts To.......
TO: Reginald Dixon
Cc:
Subject: Pathetic Attempts To.......
DixoN !!!! Give it up will ya ! You aNd the WorthiNgtoN womaN are startiNg to grate Now. You're like a couple of sad old dogs gNawing at aN old boNe. For the last time: There is No coNspiracy. No Fraud. No ill doiNgs goiNg on. Your pathetic attempts to trap Mr.MorgaN aNd myself iNto admittiNg somethiNg are taNtamouNt to HARRASSMENT. My advice to the both of you is FORGET IT ! You are Not JohN bloody Pilger and she is Not Miss bleedin' Marple. ReturN to your sad lives or someoNe will eNd up gettiNg hurt. I will Not aNswer aNy more of your questioNs. My regret is that I ever asked you to write for Ealham on The Net. ANd by the way, all the stuff you wrote for me was CRAP !! Graham Trent: Editor, Ealham on The Net (Electronic News Gathering in The Fens)
Yaxley picked up the phone on Dixon's desk and quickly discovered the Worthington's phone 
number by dialling directory enquiries. He made a note of the number and bashed out the digits, tapping the table with a pen impatiently as the phone rang. After thirty seconds or so, which felt like thirty minutes, a voice said 'Yeees. Who is that'. Farcett guessed that the phone had been picked up by Anne's Mother in law, Old Daisy, so he said, as firmly as possible, 'Mrs. Worthington, it's DI Farcett. Remember, I was at the farm yesterday. Well, I need to speak to your daughter in law, Anne, urgently'.
number by dialling directory enquiries. He made a note of the number and bashed out the digits, tapping the table with a pen impatiently as the phone rang. After thirty seconds or so, which felt like thirty minutes, a voice said 'Yeees. Who is that'. Farcett guessed that the phone had been picked up by Anne's Mother in law, Old Daisy, so he said, as firmly as possible, 'Mrs. Worthington, it's DI Farcett. Remember, I was at the farm yesterday. Well, I need to speak to your daughter in law, Anne, urgently'. There was a pause from the other end as the old lady digested what Farcett had said. She eventually replied, 'Well yew can't. She's not bloomin' here. She's at Ealham Cathedral sorting out the flowers for tomorrow's special concert'. As the word 'Cathedral' was finishing, Yaxley was already hanging up. With Dixon already dead, he needed to get to Anne Worthington before there was any more bloodshed.
