The Flesh Tailor by Kate Ellis

are a few interesting anomalies.’
    This was what Neil wanted to hear. This was something that would potentially keep the paperwork at bay for a few more days.
    With the Persimmons’ permission Dave was using one of the outhouses as a base. Neil followed him inside. The place was filthy
     but they’d worked in worse surroundings. At one end of the room was a dusty door half covered with flaking green paint and
     barred by a pile of old tea chests. Neil had moved the debris and tried the door, just out of curiosity, and when it had creaked
     open he’d found himself in a windowless room containing an old table, an array of rusted knives and cleavers and a row of
     meat hooks hanging from the cobwebbed ceiling. Once he’d peeped inside he’d shut the door and never opened it again. He’d
     assumed it was an old slaughterhouse and now it reminded him uncomfortably of the strange attic room.
    He turned his attention to more pressing matters. A laptop screen was glowing on top of an ancient cast-iron boiler. Dave
     pressed a few keys and they both stared as the results appeared on the screen.
    ‘Look,’ said Dave pointing. ‘There’s where the skeletons turned up and here … it looks like the ground’s been disturbed. And
     here too. And there. And there’s another onehere, slightly smaller than the others. I mean it could be something else, burying rubbish or dead animals, but it’s not linear
     so we can rule out pipes and drains.’
    ‘You’re right,’ said Neil, squinting at the patterns on the screen. ‘It’s worth having a look, isn’t it?’
    ‘Those are definitely the right size for graves in my opinion.’ Dave raised his eyebrows. ‘Reckon we might have ourselves
     a serial killer here?’
    Neil didn’t reply. He was going over the possibilities in his mind.
    ‘You up to a bit of digging?’ he said after a few moments.
    Dave nodded. ‘Why not?’
    Wesley and Gerry were just making for the car when they heard a voice. ‘Yoohoo.’
    They both turned round. Ruby Wetherall was standing there waving enthusiastically. She looked smart, as though she had dressed
     up for the occasion and Wesley guessed that having a police constable stationed there to fuss over and keep supplied with
     cups of tea and home-made cake was rather a treat for her.
    Wesley began to walk towards her, Gerry following behind. ‘Hello, Mrs Wetherall. What can we do for you?’
    She looked from left to right, as though she was afraid of being overheard, before leading them into her house and, once inside,
     she insisted that they sat down and made themselves comfortable.
    ‘So what is it?’ Wesley asked, taking a surreptitious glance at his watch. Chief Superintendent Nutter – usually referred
     to irreverently as ‘the Nutter’ by DCI Heffernan who had little faith in his superior’s abilities asa crime fighter – wanted an update on their progress. The murder of a local doctor, a respected member of the community, had
     to be seen to be dealt with swiftly and efficiently, he’d said, ignoring Gerry when he’d pointed out that every victim deserves
     justice, not just the professional classes.
    Ruby touched Wesley’s sleeve. ‘They’ve gone. Done a moonlight flit.’
    ‘Who’s gone, Mrs Wetherall?’
    ‘Those two men renting the house on the other side of Dr Dalcott’s. Said they were father and son.’
    Wesley and Gerry looked at each other. The neighbours in the third house in the terrace of cottages had been questioned as
     a matter of routine but no suspicions had been raised. They identified themselves as Syd and Brian Trenchard, a widowed father
     and his son, and told the DC who’d interviewed them that they’d moved from Plymouth a couple of weeks ago and were renting
     the house while they looked for a new place in the area. The son worked in Dukesbridge – something to do with cars – and,
     as Mr Trenchard senior had recently been widowed, they’d decided to look for somewhere more rural.
    In