‘According to the farmer that wasn’t the original but the goggles were. We’re uncertain as to the CDs. Originally, they were just old music CDs that were damaged but I’m assured the jacket, trousers and boots are not those clothing the original figure which was an old shop mannequin. There are similar figures dotted around the farm but this one, according to the farmer, was placed closest to the public road because it was most lifelike. They were apparently brought here when a local shop closed and they were throwing them out.’
‘Prophetic,’ Skeeter uttered, a degree of cynicism to her tone.
It was April who heard the faint intermittent buzzing. She paused, turning in the direction of the noise. She scanned the farmland and out towards the main road some distance away. A motorbike appeared from behind some trees which ran along the road’s edge; the engine note, a growing whine, was amplified before falling away again as it disappeared from view. Silence returned. She continued to look but could observe nothing other than a few birds.
‘It’s amazing how sound travels out in the open. Did you hear that buzzing?’ Skeeter questioned. ‘The Goddess Nike ...’
April nodded but Mason shook his head in confusion.
All eyes fell on her.
‘Goddess Nike. What?’ Mason muttered.
‘… the swoosh on the cap she was wearing. Well, if my knowledge serves me well, the winged goddess Nike flew around the battlefields honouring the victors with glory and fame. Her main attributes were victory, speed and strength.’
Mason looked across at her. ‘I think Sharpe will get her fame. The press will be as eager as the gulls and the crows to get here to spread this story all over the front pages and the internet tomorrow. In place of glory, we just need to get rid of the ‘l’.’
‘Vultures, sir. The press was already on the outer barrier as we arrived. They smell stories like this.’
Mason laughed out loud. ‘We utilise the press, don’t ever forget that. Let’s get on. We have the farmer’s statement and once we get this body away, we can close up here. We need the post mortem results urgently as well as forensic results on the clothing and the discs. I also want a comparison on the shoe. I’ve a feeling most of the clothes will be from charity shops and therefore the DNA tests will be up the shoot before we begin, but we can live in hope. It’s in your hands, Decent. Good call with this. Didn’t go unnoticed.’
The screen images taken from the drone were as sharp as could be expected considering its height and distance from the scene. The tent and the three figures positioned some way from the main activity were visible but their faces unclear. The drone had hovered long enough and the battery was running low. With the left lever on the control panel, he turned the drone away and then pressed the button to stop recording. Within two minutes the drone was directly above its take-off point; the satellites and compass had done the job. As it came in to land, he held out an outstretched flat right hand. The drone hovered momentarily, the belly sensors keeping it away. A further press of the left lever and an automated voice from the handset speaker announced the drone was landing. Fingers wrapped the body and the rotors came to a stop. Silence reigned. Replaying the footage, the scene had a surreal appearance but even on enlarging the paused image the figures’ faces were too pixilated to identify.
Bill Rodgers sat looking at Fred and Lucy. He had accepted the offer of a coffee. He ran his first finger around the lip of the mug, the motion slow and deliberate. Although Fred and Lucy had been informed of the latest development in Carla’s case, it would not be mentioned. She would remain missing for the duration of this interview at least.
‘It must have been a shock hearing of Cameron Jennings’s death and Carla Sharpe’s disappearance. I believe they were both good friends of yours?’
Rodgers continued to study the cup and his finger slowly stopped rotating. ‘It was. Any news on Carla?’
‘Your friendship with Carla. How long have you known her?’
‘A few years. We had a fling before she met Mr Handsome, Callum Smith. It was nothing too serious.’ He paused and a slight laugh caught his throat. ‘Funnily enough, when they split, she rejoined our group. Good for a laugh, our Carla. Bit of a piss head though on occasion.’
‘What do you know about the breakdown of her relationship with Smith?’ Lucy enquired whilst flicking over the notes placed in front of her.
‘It went really smoothly initially, their relationship I mean. They moved in together and all seemed well. He was a bit of a bugger with other women, his clients from what I heard. It happened a few times, but they seemed to patch it up. I only heard things about that side of it from gossip – from other friends – mutual friends.’ He drained his coffee.
‘I asked specifically about the breakdown of the relationship but I’m interested in what you’re telling us. Go on.’
‘Like I said. It was mostly heard from mutual friends. That’s it really.’
‘Any violence involved? Did you hear about that from these mutual friends?’ Fred stood and leaned against the wall. His stance changed the dynamic of the room and he felt it gave him the high ground.
‘I know she could be a bit of a spitfire when she’d had a few. I’d seen that before and after that relationship. She could goad others into starting trouble easily too. She’d be the one to strike
