shiny white plastic, overprinted with blue text in four languages, and it could be sealed by peeling off an adhesive strip and folding down the flap, the way some envelopes were sealed. A set of symbols on the back made it clear that the bag should be disposed of in the bin, not in the toilet bowl. For some reason, these instructions were given in six languages, rather than four.
‘There’s a Novotel in Sheffield,’ he said. ‘On Arundel Gate, near Hallam University. That’s the nearest one I can think of.’
‘There’s another at Long Eaton, near Junction 25 of the M1.’
‘The M1? Well, that would be convenient, too. I suppose it’s the sort of thing you might take away with you from a hotel, like those little bars of soap, and hand towels.’
‘Yes,’ said Fry. ‘But only if you’re female.’
‘So we’ve found evidence to suggest that at least one female was living at Pity Wood Farm. One of our victims, Diane?’
‘Impossible to say, until we have an ID.’
‘We need to get SOCOs into this kitchen,’ said Cooper. ‘If violence was committed, this is a likely place for it to have happened.’
‘Yes, I suppose we might hit lucky — old bloodstains on one of those knives, or in between the tiles of the floor.’
‘Or poisons in the fridge.’
Cooper opened the door of the Electrolux and let her have a glimpse of the jars with their unidentifiable crystallized residues.
‘Jesus. Did people really live in this house?’ said Fry. ‘Or did they just turn it over to the animals?’
‘If we can establish a primary crime scene, Diane, it would change everything.’
‘Yes, you’re right. I’ll suggest it as a priority.’
Fry stood in the middle of the room and turned slowly on the spot, examining the kitchen — its stained walls, its old armchairs, its cast-iron range, and even the still dripping tap in the sink.
‘What do you think, Diane?’ asked Cooper.
‘To be honest, I think you must be Doctor Who, and you’ve just zipped us off to another place and time in your Tardis.’
‘I do know where there’s a police box,’ he said helpfully. ‘But it hasn’t moved for years, to my knowledge.’
‘Ben, I don’t recognize this world. These people are an alien species to me. I feel like an anthropologist examining the remains of a vanished civilization.’
‘I know what you mean.’
Fry stepped over a heap of muddy straw on the kitchen floor. ‘Actually, “civilization” is putting it a bit strong.’
She was trying to make a joke of it, but Fry really did feel out of her own place and time. The sensation was very disturbing, as if the time machine had left her travel sick and nauseous.
And she had the suspicion that it wasn’t the Suttons who were the aliens around here.
Just as she was thinking about aliens, Wayne Abbott put his head round the door. His shaved head bristled aggressively.
‘Oh, there you are,’ he said. ‘I was just wondering whether you’d knocked off and gone home. I thought you might like to know — there’s an extensive burnt area behind the poultry sheds. Do you want us to start sifting through it?’
‘How large an area?’ asked Fry.
‘Like the size of several bonfires. It could have been an entire building that went up, if it was made of wood. But there’s no sign of a concrete or brick base. I’d guess someone was burning rubbish, and used accelerant to make a good job of it. The ash is several inches deep in places.’
‘I suppose you’ll need more resources for that job?’
‘You bet.’
‘Contain it for now, and we’ll let you know.’
‘No problem. Oh, and the builders’ foreman is here. The Polish bloke. He says you wanted him.’
Nikolai Dudzik nodded cautiously, sensing from Fry’s manner that he was in a difficult position. Instead of his yellow hard hat, he was wearing a shapeless woollen cap, indicating that he was off duty.
‘Bones,’ he said. ‘A few bones, that was all.’
‘Yes, bones, Mr Dudzik.’
‘The skeleton of an animal, yes? It’s a farm, after all. There must have been lots of animals buried here, I think.’
‘So you got the men to fill the hole in again and cover it up?’
‘Yes.’
‘For God’s sake, why?’
Dudzik raised his hands apologetically.
‘I knew there would be a lot of fuss if we reported it, Sergeant. It would have delayed the job too much. We’re already behind schedule, you see. Because of the weather.’
‘The skeleton of an animal wouldn’t have delayed anything,’ said Fry. ‘You knew it was human.’
‘History,’ he said. ‘They send in the scientists. They don’t let you build for weeks, for months.’
‘You’re saying you thought the discovery would involve archaeologists coming here to dig up an ancient graveyard?’
‘Yes, exactly.’
Fry could see the second body tent in the background. The thought of an entire graveyard at Pity Wood Farm made her skin go cold.
‘But this isn’t history, Mr Dudzik.’
‘I’m sorry. We thought we were doing the right thing.’
‘Jamie Ward seems to be the only one who wasn’t let in on it.’
‘No, we didn’t trust him. He was different, he would want to speak to the authorities.’
‘Thank goodness he was around.
Fry sighed. It was still too late, wasn’t it? The grave had already been disturbed, and crucial evidence could have been lost.
‘Am I in trouble, Sergeant?’ asked Dudzik, anxious now to get away.
She looked at him thoughtfully.
‘We could sort it out, if you’re co-operative, sir.’
‘Anything I can do to help. I’m at your disposal.’
‘Your workmen — they must sometimes pick up small items for themselves. Things they find, that look as though they aren’t wanted by anyone.’
‘Ah, yes. They do like these old places, particularly. Sometimes they find little bits of treasure.’
‘I’m looking for a specific bit of treasure.’
‘Oh?’
Fry told him about the broken cross that Jamie Ward had dug out of the first grave, which hadn’t turned up in the skip with the rest of the debris. He’d described it as a cheap crucifix on a chain, with part of the base chipped away.
‘Whoever has it, Mr Dudzik, I want it returned,’ she said.
Dudzik pulled his cap back on.
‘Leave it with me, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘I’ll find it for you.’
When he finally got back to his desk in Edendale, Cooper took a return call from his contact in Norfolk, where the horticulture business was totally reliant on transient workers.
‘You don’t need as much accommodation for illegals as you might think, Ben,’ he said. ‘Most gang masters practise a hot-bedding system.’
‘Two men sharing the same bed, working and sleeping in shifts?’
‘Right. It’s incredibly difficult and time consuming to check them all for forged documents. Some are very good forgeries, in any case. There’s nothing special about those IND documents they’re supposed to produce for
