Syn (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 2) - Malcolm Hollingdrake (world of reading TXT) 📗

end was heavily overgrown. There appeared to have been no one there and he dropped the bag. It vanished within the undergrowth in the area between the gardens and the track.

Moving to the centre of the bridge, the view of the helicopter announced Stuart Groves had been found. Leaning on the rough concrete his gaze followed the black-and-yellow craft until it disappeared from view. He turned his attention to the railway lines that appeared littered with boots, bottles and cans, the flotsam and jetsam of human laziness. If they can’t move that from the tracks, they’ll not find what’s in the bushes and brambles, he thought. Groves was the third person. It left one more and now the challenge would begin. They were now warned, but also hopefully concerned, if not frightened. After all, that was the purpose, to do to them what they happily did to others. ‘What’s round comes around and we reap what we sow,’ he mumbled to himself as he dropped down the steps as if nothing had happened. The last would reap the whirlwind, he was certain of that no matter what happened to him. Considering his actions of the last hour he felt quite victorious and there was a skip in his step.

Chapter 17

Skeeter glanced at the field that had held Carla Sharpe’s corpse. There was no trace of the murder but in her mind’s eye the image of the scarecrow was clearly visible. The furrows had been repaired, the blood-drenched soil turned and lost to history. The pigeons were back at work collectively searching and occasionally pecking green shoots. The deterrent had been removed. She drove on parking in the cobbled farmyard where she was quickly greeted by a woman who launched herself from the door of the farmhouse.

‘We’ve nothing to say. The police have told us to say nothing, so please, if you’re a reporter just go.’

Removing her ID from her pocket Skeeter held it out. ‘I am the police, Mrs Unsworth. I met you briefly when DCI Mason called on the day of the discovery.’

She took the ID and looked directly at Skeeter. ‘I remember you, the eyes. Sorry. We’ve had a few people telephone and a couple have turned up here asking for information. One was even seen down by the field. Worse than the bloody birds! My husband will be so angry if he sees any treading the crops!’

‘The reporting restrictions will be lifted later so it might get worse. You’re sure to get flowers left if gossip leaks the location … people do both, I’m afraid. They’re probably doing it with the best of intentions but it has to be said, you’re a bit isolated here, so hopefully you’ll not get too many. Believe me, Mrs Unsworth, it doesn’t last. I need five minutes with your husband if he’s about.’

‘He’s in the bottom barn. Come. I was taking him a brew. Fancy one, do you?’

Skeeter carried both mugs in the direction she had been instructed to take. A Jack Russell bolted from the large open doors but paused on seeing her, giving a sharp bark and then holding its ground.

‘Quiet, Jack!’ The instruction from within the barn made no difference. The dog barked again.

Original name, Skeeter thought as she called the farmer’s name, causing the dog to run towards her.

‘Jack! He’s bloody soft. All piss and wind. You’re the copper who was here the other day. Is one of them my brew, love? It’s the Bowie eyes if that’s not too rude to say. No offence intended.’

She walked forward as the dog nipped at her ankles, but he did not bite. She handed the farmer his mug. ‘I was, and everyone says it, so no offence taken. DS Warlock, Serious Crime. Firstly, we’ve lifted press restrictions so you should expect a few unwelcome visitors. Always happens, but I didn’t come here to tell you that. When I was here and we were all down by the body, I thought I heard a kind of buzzing, like a drone. I searched in the direction of the buzzing but I couldn’t see anything neither did it last long. I wondered if there’s anything locally that might generate a noise like that. Machinery, pumps, anything?’

Unsworth paused. ‘Any relation to the old Archbishop of Liverpool?’

‘No.’ Skeeter sighed. This was getting to be like hard work.

‘Not a common name, that.’ He sipped his tea before throwing the dregs across the yard. ‘Noise? Funny you asked. I thought it was my bloody ear wax. When I went to take a look that day, once the racket of the birds had calmed, I heard a similar noise. I looked to see what it was as it seemed to come from over yonder.’ He pointed in the direction of a copse of trees positioned a good half-mile away, ‘Could see nothing. Like you said, it didn’t last long. I’d forgotten about it to tell you the truth.’

‘Have you seen anyone flying a drone recently?’

He shook his head. ‘No, apart from the CSI lot, but that was late in the day when you’d gone. If I had I’d have stopped them. I want to get one to check and photograph the crops. I was going to ask them, but they were far too busy. For me, I could get a clear view of areas where there’s crop failure – bird’s eye view, like. I read about using one in the farmers’ magazines. A couple of fellow farmers I chat to at meetings have them. So, no, not seen anyone here with one. Saying that, love, I’ve not been looking. Haven’t heard it since either.’

Skeeter reached and took his mug. ‘I’ll take it back. Thanks for your help. I’ll have a word with the local lads to pop in over the next few days to make sure you’re not pestered. Once the report goes out, they will come.’

‘Aye, and they’ll get a tongue thrashing if they do, love. Worked too hard on that field to get it