Another fifteen minutes or so and it would be pitch black — no street light of any kind out here. He could already pick out a few stars in the sky, and the temperature was dropping. He sounded his horn three times, in the hope that the dog handler would get the message. When he heard a whistle, he reckoned it was in response, but it came again, and again after that — more urgently. It wasn’t the sort of sound you made when you were communicating with your dog, and it was followed by a shout from somewhere the other side of the field. Rebus couldn’t see anything. He knew from the search team’s footwear that the field was far from dry. No torch in his Saab, meaning he’d only have the light from his phone’s screen if he happened to get lost.
Another cry.
‘Bollocks,’ Rebus said to himself, setting out through the gate.
The field contained dips and shallow hollows, and this was where it was most treacherous. Rebus felt himself sink up to his ankles. He cursed again but kept moving, breathing heavily. A fence separated the field from the trees beyond. It was the best part of four feet in height, topped with a strand of barbed wire. Rebus peered beyond it.
‘You there?’ he called out.
‘Here,’ the dog handler said.
‘Where?’
A thin beam of light appeared. The woods were deeper than Rebus had expected. Ruby and her master were somewhere within. Rebus looked at the fence, then to left and right, seeking a stile or another gate. Seeing neither, he shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the barbed wire, easing one leg over the fence, then the other. His trousers snagged on something and he heard them tear. One jagged tine had pierced coat and trouser leg both.
‘Bastard,’ he said under his breath. He sank up to his ankles again, almost losing a shoe as he pulled himself up a low bank and into the woods.
‘Where the hell are you?’
‘Here,’ the dog handler said, shining the small torch again. ‘Can you go fetch a team?’
‘They’ve all gone.’ Rebus could see both dog and man. Ruby was seated on the damp ground, tail wagging, tongue lolling. ‘What is it?’ Rebus asked, trying to catch his breath. In answer, the handler directed the torch to a spot just beyond Ruby. The dog turned her head in the same direction, licking her chops. The earth had been disturbed, and Rebus knew what it was he was being shown.
An all-too-human hand, jutting up from the makeshift grave.
‘Christ,’ he hissed.
‘Thing is,’ the officer said, playing the torch over the clearing, ‘I don’t think Ruby’s done yet — not by a long chalk.’
44
The diesel thrumming of the generators. Half a dozen arc lamps illuminating proceedings. Officers reeling out lengths of crime-scene tape. A mud track led from the lane into the trees. This track was now out of bounds, bordered by the blue-and-white-striped tape. A vehicle must have been used; doubtful the bodies had been dragged or carried all the way.
‘Has to be all-wheel drive,’ Rebus had posited to Clarke. ‘Mind you, that probably accounts for three quarters of the cars in these parts.’
She had nodded, staring at him.
‘What?’ he had asked.
‘I just can’t believe you were
To which he had offered only a shrug.
Page was in consultation with Dempsey. He had done well to borrow boots from somewhere. Rebus’s own shoes needed drying out — either that or chucking away. Clean socks wouldn’t be a bad idea either, and as for his trousers. .
‘You bleeding?’ Clarke asked as he checked the damage.
‘Just a scratch.’
‘Might need a tetanus shot.’
‘Tot of whisky’ll do me fine.’
They were discussing anything but what lay in front of them. Ruby had located three bodies so far, and was now on a break, her handler having fetched a bowl and a bottle of water from the van. The scene-of-crime team had arrived and were busy. A doctor had been found, and a couple of evidence officers were busy with video cameras.
‘So how was your day?’ Rebus made show of asking Clarke.
‘Oh, you know, just the usual.’ She folded her arms across her chest in an attempt to stay warm.
‘Checked into the hotel yet?’
‘Seems all right.’ She shuffled her feet. They were standing well away from the three graves, there being not enough overshoes and the like to go round. Trace evidence again; the ‘integrity of the locus’ had to be maintained — Page had used those exact words when explaining to Clarke why she’d have to stay this side of the tape for now. Rebus hadn’t merited any such apology, or even an acknowledgement of his existence.
Even though he’d been the one to call it in.
Or maybe
Dempsey had thanked him, though, Rebus reminding her that it was Ruby’s result more than his.
‘Sore point,’ Clarke had said to him afterwards. ‘As I was hearing at HQ, not much love lost between Northern Constabulary and their neighbours in Grampian. .’
She was looking at her phone now, reciting the time. ‘Ten fifteen.’
‘Feels later,’ Rebus offered.
‘How long have you been out here?’
Rebus didn’t like to think. Instead he moved aside to let more SOCOs through. They ducked beneath the tape, dressed in their hooded white overalls and elasticated shoe covers, making a rustling sound as they walked. They carried cases and folded plastic sheets. The mortuary van had yet to arrive. It would bring the body bags. But nothing was being moved just yet.
Rudimentary tents had been erected over only two of the graves, someone having been dispatched to Inverness for more.
‘This is interminable,’ Clarke said, shuffling her feet again.
‘We could sit in the car,’ Rebus offered. She dismissed this with a firm shake of the head. ‘If Page needs you, he’ll know where to find you.’
‘He’ll find me right here,’ she stated.
‘Well, I’m going for a cigarette.’ She nodded and he left her to it, emerging on to the road and lighting up. Looking back, he saw the long shadows of the players as they moved around the clearing. One of the generators was really making a hellish racket, but it was better than silence, better than overhearing snatches of the discussions the SOCOs would be having.
It was a lonely spot. He couldn’t help wondering if they’d been brought here alive, bound and gagged perhaps, or in a stupor. Or maybe already dead. Trace evidence again — there had to be some of it in the vehicle. Fibres of clothing; strands of hair; maybe even saliva or blood.
Did they arrive here in daylight or at night? He guessed the latter. But a car left on the lane at night would look suspicious to anyone happening to drive past — another reason to take it into the woods.
Where it might have left tyre tracks, scrapings of paint against a trunk or branch.
The forensic team would get busy in the morning; they needed daylight for their work.
A cordon had been put in place at both ends of the road, diversion signs posted. When a man approached on foot, Rebus tensed. His shoes and trouser bottoms were soaked, meaning he’d got past the guards by crossing the fields.
Journalist.
