already half completed and with a far greater likelihood of finding something? She couldn’t bring herself to ask the questions, though. If he was going below the ridge, he would be nowhere near her, and that could only be a good thing.
He shouted across to her as the group began to break up. “You got your whistle, Jensen? I’d hate to have to tell the boss we lost the little one.”
She smiled sweetly at him. “No chance of losing you, is there?”
Several of her team sniggered as he jammed a cap over his conspicuous red hair and turned his back on them. Nelson managed not to react, but when no one was looking he grinned and dropped a toffee into her palm.
She stuffed the sweet into her mouth and spoke around it. “Are we set then?” An urge to get started and see what was out there had replaced her earlier weariness.
Nelson opened his arms, encouraging her to take the lead. “Ready when you are, partner.”
*
Sanne took the tea from Nelson and sipped at it where she stood. Aching, sticky all over, and thoroughly disheartened, she felt like sinking onto the nearest peat hag instead.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yep.” She swallowed the dregs from the plastic cup and gave it back to him. Other officers and volunteers were nearby, so she was reluctant to stop for long.
“You can take a break, you know. Most folk have already had a sandwich or something.”
“I’ll eat mine in a bit.”
Her tone ended the exchange. She didn’t want to tell him she was afraid that she would never get up again if she sat for any length of time.
It was late afternoon, and the haze had burned off hours ago, leaving the skies blue and the sun tempered only by a brisk but tepid wind. With nowhere for the team to shelter, energy levels were flagging. Nelson had already called up for fresh water supplies and then for a Mountain Rescue medic to treat two volunteers who were verging on heat exhaustion. The morale, so high at the outset, had been quashed by the enormity of the task: mile upon mile of inhospitable terrain, which had so far yielded no clues, but which was liable to snap ankles on a whim. Many of the volunteers were familiar with the moors and had known what they were letting themselves in for, but even they were stopping for more and more frequent breaks.
A perspiring young woman jogged over to present Nelson with an evidence bag containing a weather-faded crisp packet. As he nodded his thanks, the woman strode away, her head held high.
“I blame Gil Grissom,” he said, dropping the bag into his rucksack. He unwrapped a Twix and shared it with Sanne. “Everyone thinks a crime can be solved in forty-five minutes or less.”
The Twix melted all over Sanne’s fingers. She sucked them clean before she spoke. “You mean that the telly lies about us? That we’re not all stunningly photogenic and accompanied by a thumping soundtrack and moody yet flattering lighting?”
Nelson grinned. “Have you taken a close look at some of the SOCO lads recently?”
“I try not to. A couple of them scare me.”
They stopped laughing as someone waved them over to a dirty mass of white fluff, wedged among rocks near a small pool.
Sanne sighed. “Sheep or hare?”
“Sheep,” Nelson said without hesitation. “Unless it was a bloody massive hare.”
The volunteer was evidently pleased with his find. “Think it might mean something?” he asked as they approached. To their credit, the three older men standing with him rolled their eyes and smirked. The ewe had met her demise some weeks ago, and little other than teeth, bones, and fleece remained.
“You’re a bleedin’ halfwit, Ned,” one of the men said.
Ned looked hurt. “Lots of violent criminals start off by slaughtering household pets,” he said piously.
Sanne crouched by the carcass. “I think she probably lost her footing on these rocks, maybe trying to get to the water.” The position of the skeleton suggested the poor creature had ended up
He shouted across to her as the group began to break up. “You got your whistle, Jensen? I’d hate to have to tell the boss we lost the little one.”
She smiled sweetly at him. “No chance of losing you, is there?”
Several of her team sniggered as he jammed a cap over his conspicuous red hair and turned his back on them. Nelson managed not to react, but when no one was looking he grinned and dropped a toffee into her palm.
She stuffed the sweet into her mouth and spoke around it. “Are we set then?” An urge to get started and see what was out there had replaced her earlier weariness.
Nelson opened his arms, encouraging her to take the lead. “Ready when you are, partner.”
*
Sanne took the tea from Nelson and sipped at it where she stood. Aching, sticky all over, and thoroughly disheartened, she felt like sinking onto the nearest peat hag instead.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
“Yep.” She swallowed the dregs from the plastic cup and gave it back to him. Other officers and volunteers were nearby, so she was reluctant to stop for long.
“You can take a break, you know. Most folk have already had a sandwich or something.”
“I’ll eat mine in a bit.”
Her tone ended the exchange. She didn’t want to tell him she was afraid that she would never get up again if she sat for any length of time.
It was late afternoon, and the haze had burned off hours ago, leaving the skies blue and the sun tempered only by a brisk but tepid wind. With nowhere for the team to shelter, energy levels were flagging. Nelson had already called up for fresh water supplies and then for a Mountain Rescue medic to treat two volunteers who were verging on heat exhaustion. The morale, so high at the outset, had been quashed by the enormity of the task: mile upon mile of inhospitable terrain, which had so far yielded no clues, but which was liable to snap ankles on a whim. Many of the volunteers were familiar with the moors and had known what they were letting themselves in for, but even they were stopping for more and more frequent breaks.
A perspiring young woman jogged over to present Nelson with an evidence bag containing a weather-faded crisp packet. As he nodded his thanks, the woman strode away, her head held high.
“I blame Gil Grissom,” he said, dropping the bag into his rucksack. He unwrapped a Twix and shared it with Sanne. “Everyone thinks a crime can be solved in forty-five minutes or less.”
The Twix melted all over Sanne’s fingers. She sucked them clean before she spoke. “You mean that the telly lies about us? That we’re not all stunningly photogenic and accompanied by a thumping soundtrack and moody yet flattering lighting?”
Nelson grinned. “Have you taken a close look at some of the SOCO lads recently?”
“I try not to. A couple of them scare me.”
They stopped laughing as someone waved them over to a dirty mass of white fluff, wedged among rocks near a small pool.
Sanne sighed. “Sheep or hare?”
“Sheep,” Nelson said without hesitation. “Unless it was a bloody massive hare.”
The volunteer was evidently pleased with his find. “Think it might mean something?” he asked as they approached. To their credit, the three older men standing with him rolled their eyes and smirked. The ewe had met her demise some weeks ago, and little other than teeth, bones, and fleece remained.
“You’re a bleedin’ halfwit, Ned,” one of the men said.
Ned looked hurt. “Lots of violent criminals start off by slaughtering household pets,” he said piously.
Sanne crouched by the carcass. “I think she probably lost her footing on these rocks, maybe trying to get to the water.” The position of the skeleton suggested the poor creature had ended up
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