labourer.’
‘The one who found the body?’
‘That’s him. He’s over there, at the outer cordon.’
‘That’s odd.’
‘Normally, I’d say it was downright suspicious,’ said Fry. ‘Members of the public who find dead bodies shouldn’t still be hanging around the crime scene next day – especially when they live miles away, as Jamie does. It makes you look guilty.’
‘But Jamie can’t be a suspect. Maybe he’s come back with some more information.’
‘We’ll see.’
Fry strode over to the cordon. Jamie looked more relieved than startled when he saw her.
‘I didn’t recognize anyone else. I’ve been waiting to speak to you,’ he said.
‘Go ahead, then, Jamie. I’m here now.’
‘I want to show you something.’
Jamie led her to the back of the farmhouse, skirting the police tape that had been strung from gatepost to gatepost and unrolled across the top of a wall. Fry could only see the large yellow skip, a lot of digging, and a cement mixer and wheelbarrows left by the builders. She made a mental note to chase up that search of the skip. God alone knew what evidence could have been dumped in there.
‘See this area here?’ said Jamie. ‘Some of the crew have been getting ready to connect the new drains up.’
‘Yes, I see.’
‘But next to it there’s a disturbed patch of ground. It’s obvious when ground has been disturbed. The subsoil ends up on top, and it looks different. It’s one thing I’ve learned.’
‘So what do you think happened here?’ asked Fry.
Jamie frowned uncertainly. ‘I don’t really know. I think there must have been a change in the plans some time – there was a trench here, but it’s been filled in.’
‘When would this trench have been dug?’
‘One day last week, I suppose. I didn’t see it being filled in again. I reckon Nikolai must have got somebody else to do it while I was busy round the front.’
‘Well, thanks, Jamie. I’ll make sure it’s noted. Our diggers are a bit busy right now, but we’ll be at the scene for a good while yet.’
* * *
With Cooper at the wheel, they drove towards Rakedale on a dark, jungle-green road bordered by stone walls, muddy cattle and a rushing stream. When they reached the hill into the village, Cooper found water running towards him down the road, streaming into two rivulets under his wheels.
‘Oh, great,’ said Fry when she saw the water. ‘It’s like the village is pissing on us already.’
The road was very narrow, barely wide enough for one vehicle, and the stone walls left no room for error. It wasn’t used much, though – grass was growing down the road in the middle of the tarmac. There was better visibility on these roads in the winter than the summer, because the trees were so bare. But the surfaces were always slippery, especially if you had to pull over on to the verge to let another vehicle pass.
Cooper was taking care to look for any possible passing places as he went. Most of the wider verges and gateways that might have been usable in the summer were too muddy for the average car, which would be certain to get bogged down or slide off into the ditch. It was lucky he had four-wheel drive. Even luckier that Diane Fry had agreed to take his car. Her Peugeot would hardly have made it up the hill.
‘Why are you driving so fast on a road like this?’ asked Fry.
‘There are no passing places. We don’t want to meet anyone coming the other way on these straight stretches, or someone would have to reverse a long way.’
Fry sighed. ‘I suppose that makes sense, of a kind.’
The place everyone referred to as a village was no more than a T-junction where the side road from Pity Wood met the B5012. There were farms either side of the road, the entrance to an old quarry, fenced off and blocked with limestone boulders. On the southwest corner of the junction, a stile provided access to a footpath that snaked off across the fields between the dry-stone walls, probably heading
‘The one who found the body?’
‘That’s him. He’s over there, at the outer cordon.’
‘That’s odd.’
‘Normally, I’d say it was downright suspicious,’ said Fry. ‘Members of the public who find dead bodies shouldn’t still be hanging around the crime scene next day – especially when they live miles away, as Jamie does. It makes you look guilty.’
‘But Jamie can’t be a suspect. Maybe he’s come back with some more information.’
‘We’ll see.’
Fry strode over to the cordon. Jamie looked more relieved than startled when he saw her.
‘I didn’t recognize anyone else. I’ve been waiting to speak to you,’ he said.
‘Go ahead, then, Jamie. I’m here now.’
‘I want to show you something.’
Jamie led her to the back of the farmhouse, skirting the police tape that had been strung from gatepost to gatepost and unrolled across the top of a wall. Fry could only see the large yellow skip, a lot of digging, and a cement mixer and wheelbarrows left by the builders. She made a mental note to chase up that search of the skip. God alone knew what evidence could have been dumped in there.
‘See this area here?’ said Jamie. ‘Some of the crew have been getting ready to connect the new drains up.’
‘Yes, I see.’
‘But next to it there’s a disturbed patch of ground. It’s obvious when ground has been disturbed. The subsoil ends up on top, and it looks different. It’s one thing I’ve learned.’
‘So what do you think happened here?’ asked Fry.
Jamie frowned uncertainly. ‘I don’t really know. I think there must have been a change in the plans some time – there was a trench here, but it’s been filled in.’
‘When would this trench have been dug?’
‘One day last week, I suppose. I didn’t see it being filled in again. I reckon Nikolai must have got somebody else to do it while I was busy round the front.’
‘Well, thanks, Jamie. I’ll make sure it’s noted. Our diggers are a bit busy right now, but we’ll be at the scene for a good while yet.’
* * *
With Cooper at the wheel, they drove towards Rakedale on a dark, jungle-green road bordered by stone walls, muddy cattle and a rushing stream. When they reached the hill into the village, Cooper found water running towards him down the road, streaming into two rivulets under his wheels.
‘Oh, great,’ said Fry when she saw the water. ‘It’s like the village is pissing on us already.’
The road was very narrow, barely wide enough for one vehicle, and the stone walls left no room for error. It wasn’t used much, though – grass was growing down the road in the middle of the tarmac. There was better visibility on these roads in the winter than the summer, because the trees were so bare. But the surfaces were always slippery, especially if you had to pull over on to the verge to let another vehicle pass.
Cooper was taking care to look for any possible passing places as he went. Most of the wider verges and gateways that might have been usable in the summer were too muddy for the average car, which would be certain to get bogged down or slide off into the ditch. It was lucky he had four-wheel drive. Even luckier that Diane Fry had agreed to take his car. Her Peugeot would hardly have made it up the hill.
‘Why are you driving so fast on a road like this?’ asked Fry.
‘There are no passing places. We don’t want to meet anyone coming the other way on these straight stretches, or someone would have to reverse a long way.’
Fry sighed. ‘I suppose that makes sense, of a kind.’
The place everyone referred to as a village was no more than a T-junction where the side road from Pity Wood met the B5012. There were farms either side of the road, the entrance to an old quarry, fenced off and blocked with limestone boulders. On the southwest corner of the junction, a stile provided access to a footpath that snaked off across the fields between the dry-stone walls, probably heading
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