‘Yet you say that the body will not be there.’
‘No, Victor, it could be miles away. The killer would know in advance where the search would take place. To cover his tracks, I suspect that he took the body well away from the area.’
‘Then it could be anywhere in the North Riding,’ said Leeming in despair. ‘It would take us years to search an area of this size.’
‘I’m hoping that we may not have to do it entirely on our own,’ said Colbeck. ‘This is walking country. People are out and about all the time. It was broad daylight on the day she went missing. If she is indeed dead, whoever murdered her wouldn’t have taken the chance of digging a proper grave. He’d have concealed the body as quickly as he could then got away from there fast. My guess is that Miriam Tarleton probably was killed and that she’s waiting to be found,’ he concluded. ‘Sooner or later, someone is going to stumble on her remains.’
When they left the farm, their hearts were beating fast. They couldn’t believe their boldness in sneaking out in the middle of the night. Hand in hand, they ran through the darkness until they felt it was safe enough to laugh aloud. The girl was a milkmaid and her swain was a labourer. All that they’d done so far was to exchange warm smiles and meaningful glances. Yet a bond had gradually developed. When the friendship evolved gently into a form of romance, they both yearned to be together and this was their moment.
As their eyes eventually became accustomed to the gloom, he stopped to kiss her for the first time. Stirred by passion, they laughed gleefully and ran on until they skirted the woods. He led the way, looking for a grassy spot where they could lie beside each other. They went into the trees until they came to a suitable place. When they sank down on the soft grass, it was too dark for them to notice the low mound of earth beside them. The time alone together for which they’d both longed had at last come and they relished it. He rolled her onto her back and began to caress her body but she suddenly stiffened in fear. Something protruding from the mound had just brushed against her face. It was a human hand.
Her scream was heard a mile away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Word of mouth travelled swiftly. Almost everyone in the North Riding seemed to know that detectives from Scotland Yard had arrived. Wilf Moxey, the young farm labourer, had caught wind of the news in the local pub. There was a dead body in the wood. The detectives had to be told. His first task, however, was to comfort his sweetheart, Lorna Begg, who was close to hysterics after the discovery. As he walked her back to the farm with his arm around her shoulders, he could feel her shivering with fear. They agreed that they’d say nothing about their nocturnal tryst. It would not only preserve the secrecy of their love, it would save Lorna from having to recount the heart-stopping moment when she was touched by a corpse.
They parted near the farm with a kiss. Lorna crept back to her loft above the stables, musing that she would have to be up in a couple of hours to milk the cows. Moxey, meanwhile, was running at a steady pace in the direction of South Otterington, downcast that his rendezvous with Lorna had been such a disaster and hoping that it was not a bad omen. When he finally reached the Black Bull, he was lathered with sweat and panting for breath.
‘Where exactly did you find it?’ asked Colbeck.
‘In the wood, sir,’ said Moxey, ‘just beyond Thornton.’
‘Would that be Thornton-le-Moor?’
‘No, sir – Thornton-le-Beans. I work on a farm nearby.’
‘And did you see if the corpse was that of a female?’
‘I daren’t look that close, sir. It gave me such a shock.’
Colbeck didn’t mind in the least being roused from his slumbers and he thanked Moxey for coming to alert him. Leeming was less happy about being dragged away from dreams of his wife and family. By the time he clambered onto the cart hired from the blacksmith, the sergeant was still not fully awake. Colbeck drove with Moxey beside him. Leeming sat disconsolately behind them on some sacks. Colbeck questioned the labourer gently.
‘What were you doing out at that time of night?’ he wondered.
‘I went for a walk, sir.’
‘And were you alone?’
‘Oh, yes,’ replied Moxey, hurriedly. ‘I was looking for rabbits. I’d set a few snares some nights ago. That’s the only time I get to slip away from the farm, sir.’
Colbeck knew that he was lying but that didn’t concern him. He had no wish to pry into the other’s private life. All that mattered was that a body had been found and that it was possibly that of Miriam Tarleton. Moxey was nervous, intimidated by someone as important as a detective inspector from London and terrified that he might somehow be under suspicion. He was already regretting his decision to run to the Black Bull. Sensing his unease, Colbeck spent the journey trying to make him relax.
‘What do you do at the farm?’
‘Just about everything, sir,’ said Moxey.
‘This must be a busy time of the year for you.’
‘It’s always busy.’
‘What – even in winter?’
‘We’ve sheep and dairy cows to look after. Then there are fences to mend, walls to rebuild, timber to cut and a hundred other chores. Farm work never ends.’
‘All the more surprising, then,’ observed Colbeck, ‘that you can find time to go out after rabbits at night. I’d have thought you’d be exhausted at the end of the day.’ Moxey said nothing. ‘How many of you are employed at the farm?’
‘Five of us, sir,’ said the other, ‘though that’s not counting Mr Higginbottom’s sons – he’s the farmer. They look after the stock. There’s three of us work the land and we’ve got two milkmaids.’
There was something about the way his voice lingered on the word ‘milkmaids’ that gave Colbeck a clue as to who had been his companion in the wood. He didn’t express the thought. The further they went in the jolting cart, the less tense Moxey became. Colbeck had no wish to unsettle him.
‘Have you always worked there?’ he asked.
‘No, sir, I started out with my father.’
‘Does he have a farm?’
‘It’s only a smallholding and there’s not enough work there for me and my brother. So I moved away.’
‘And where is this smallholding?’
‘Leeming,’ said Moxey.
The sergeant’s ears pricked up. ‘Did I hear my name?’
‘It’s a place, Victor,’ said Colbeck.
‘Yes,’ explained Moxey. ‘It’s a village further west, sir, over towards Bedale. I was born and brought up there.’
‘Is that so?’ said Leeming with a chuckle. ‘I didn’t know they’d named a village after me. I must go over there some time.’
Dawn was making its first gesture when they reached the wood and they could see the trees silhouetted against the sky. Not wanting the cartwheels to destroy any potential evidence, Colbeck brought the horse to a halt well short of the place indicated by Moxey. The three of them dismounted and moved forward in a line. Colbeck was carrying the oil lamp that he’d just lit. Approaching with great trepidation, Moxey took them to the place he’d visited earlier with Lorna Begg. When they got near to the mound of earth, the labourer came to a halt and let them go on together.
The lamp illumined both the protruding hand and parts of the body. After carefully scooping back the earth with his hands, Colbeck exposed the face of a woman, her hair matted with filth, her features hideously distorted by the work of insects. He then examined the area around the shallow grave. Leeming had brought a spade with him.
‘Shall I dig her up, sir?’ he asked.
‘By the look of it,’ said Colbeck, ‘animals have already started to do that. Hold on a minute, Victor. I want to
