Harry found himself warming to the surgeon. She was clearly someone who spoke first and thought later, but probably without much of the thinking, because she had the air about her of someone who had done so much thinking in her time that when she spoke, she absolutely expected everyone to listen.
‘Well, I’ll be off, then,’ Margaret said, making her way back to the tape. ‘Need to get this blasted thing off somehow, fix whatever seam my fat arse just split, and get it sent back. I’m pretty sure God doesn’t care whether I wear this or not, but the church is a stickler for protocols and silly uniforms.’
‘I hope you get your money back,’ Harry said.
‘Oh, I will,’ the woman said, then having seen who was approaching, she turned and leaned in close to Harry and added, ‘good luck with the pathologist.’
Harry’s heart sank as he looked past the surgeon to see Rebecca Sowerby striding towards them. She was, just like the rest of the CSI team now approaching, fully dressed up in PPE, the white paper suits making them look like ghosts. ‘You know her, then?’
‘She’s my daughter,’ Margaret said, and gave the wickedest wink Harry had ever received in his life.
Harry took a moment, then said, ‘Sowerby’s her married name, then?’
‘Oh, good god no!’ Margaret said, the works barking out of her like the cry of a startled wolf. ‘Can you imagine? I’m the one who got married! Three times, actually! Seems I can’t get enough of it. Anyway, have fun, inspector!’
And with that, she was gone.
Harry watched as Margaret Shaw tacked her way down the field towards the entrance, and he was put in mind of a galleon sailing off into battle. She paused briefly to chat with her daughter, reached over with an enormous hug, which judging by the reaction it received clearly made Rebecca feel very awkward, then was on her way again.
Harry stepped outside the cordon tape just as Rebecca arrived.
‘If this is as much of a shit show as last time . . .’ the pathologist said.
‘Oh, it’s worse,’ said Harry. ‘Your mother seems nice, by the way. Apple fell far from the tree, did it?’
The face Rebecca then presented to Harry was one of a mix of emotions all fighting for dominance and none of them quite winning. Which made Harry feel a little warm inside.
When they’d first met a few weeks ago, on the shore of Lake Semerwater, following the discovery of the body of local woman, Martha Hodgson, the pathologist had put Harry’s back up immediately. And it was pretty clear now to Harry that that wasn’t a one-off.
‘Where’s the body?’
‘I’m pretty sure you can see where for yourself,’ Harry said, and held up the tape to let Rebecca through, who pulled her mask over her mouth and made her way over to the body.
Harry followed as a call came out from behind.
‘Hold up!’
Harry and Rebecca turned to watch someone else dressed all in white duck under the tape and jog over.
‘He’s the photographer,’ Matt called over, though that was more than obvious from the equipment the person was carrying.
The photographer came to stand with Harry and Rebecca. ‘How long have I got?’
‘How long do you need?’ Harry asked.
The photographer glanced over Harry’s shoulder. ‘I’ll be taking photos and a video, so maybe ten minutes here, then I can move on down and cover the rest.’
‘Right you are,’ Harry said, then turned to Rebecca. ‘While he’s doing that, I can brief you on what we found so far if you want? Might give you a bit of context.’
Rebecca gave a sharp nod and Harry led her back to where Matt was standing. As he did so, something caught his eye, the sparkle of sunshine glinting in the distance, from down among the few houses of Oughtershaw. Harry stared at it.
‘What’s up?’ Matt asked, turning to look where Harry was gazing.
‘You see that?’ Harry asked.
‘See what?’
Harry used his whole hand, held flat and vertical, instead of just a finger, to point, a habit he’d picked up in the paras and never been able to quite drop. A finger in the middle of a firefight wasn’t really very noticeable, but a whole hand was considerably clearer.
The glint came again.
‘That,’ Harry said.
‘It’s just the sun reflecting off something,’ Rebecca said.
Harry wasn’t so sure and called behind them for the photographer. ‘You got a zoom lens?’
‘Of course.’
‘Have a look at that glint over there if you can. Tell me what you see.’
The photographer quickly changed lens on his camera.
‘See anything?’
‘Not sure,’ the photographer said, then, ‘Yep. Got it.’
‘Well?’ Harry asked. ‘What is it?’
‘Someone definitely has eyes on us,’ the photographer said.
Harry folded his arms and stared down towards the village, giving the okay for the photographer to get back onto the job in hand.
‘Matt?’
The detective constable glanced at Harry.
‘I want you to keep Ms Sowerby company for a while, if that’s okay. And keep an eye out for a phone, okay?’
‘No problem. Where are you off to?’
‘I’m going to catch me a spy,’ Harry said.
Chapter Nine
Harry walked out of the field, just in time to hear the musical lilt of a female Scottish accent call over to him with the words, ‘Aye, that’s right, you may as well bugger off home, now that we’re here to get on with the real work.’
Harry looked to where the voice had come from to see two women approaching him: Detective Inspector Gordanian ‘Gordy’ Haig, and Detective Constable Jenny Blades.
Harry gave a wave as they approached.
‘Busy here, isn’t it?’ Gordy said, coming to stand in front of Harry, and gazing around to take in the scenery. ‘And it’s not like there’s much to see. Oughtershaw isn’t exactly a tourist attraction, now, is it?’
‘Not even a pub,’ Harry said with a smile, remembering Matt’s observation.
Jenny said, ‘The DSI is on
