‘It is,’ Harry said. ‘I think you arriving caught someone in the act of trying to clean up what went on in there. And right now, having had a look around for myself, I’m more than a little relieved that you weren’t here any earlier to actually see what was going on in there.’
‘Really?’ Dave asked. ‘Why?’
‘Because,’ Harry said, ‘I’m fairly sure that whoever was out here, doing what they were doing, well, let’s just say that they wouldn’t have been all that happy to be discovered, if you know what I mean.’
‘Bad then,’ Dave said, and Harry gave a shallow nod.
‘Very. Their sharp exit on seeing you turn up is the only contact you ever want to have with these kinds of people, I promise you.’
‘So, now what?’
Harry turned round to face his friend and lifted the evidence bag for him to see. Inside was a dog collar and on it hung a brass tag engraved with a telephone number.
‘A phone call, then,’ Dave said.
‘The first of many, I fear,’ Harry replied.
Chapter Two
Rebecca Sowerby, pathologist, perfectionist, and secret collector of absolutely anything to do with her favourite classic television show, Murder She Wrote, threw her phone across her bedroom and slumped back down into her bed. The phone thunked against her laundry basket, the vintage one she’d been very happy to find while rummaging through an antiques shop over in Richmond, then dropped to the floor with a dull thud.
She was tired, no, she was exhausted, and the last thing she needed right now was an early morning call to head out into the darkness and on into the dales. A beautiful place it was, but the attraction wasn’t really there at this hour. This was the job she had chosen, though, one that she loved, and one that she did better than anyone else, of that she was pretty damned sure, so she pushed herself out of her bed and headed through to the bathroom, stubbing her toe on the way. And that didn’t help her frame of mind at all.
Dressed, her toe still throbbing, and quickly fed on a smoothie containing banana, turmeric, spinach, pineapple, and an almost dangerous amount of fresh ginger, Rebecca was soon behind the wheel of her car. The vehicle was some metallic-grey hybrid thing that she’d been persuaded to buy, thanks to a very good salesperson and a momentary lapse of self-control.
Dawn was still some time off, and the vehicle’s piercingly bright headlamps didn’t so much cut through the darkness ahead, as eradicate it, burning through it like a thermal lance.
To get her brain into gear, Rebecca enlisted the help of a personal Spotify selection she’d entitled Get The Hell Out Of Bed, and soon she was feeling a little more energised, the ginger and turmeric doing their thing, and the music driving her on.
When she eventually flew out of the other side of Leyburn, heading on up through Wensleydale to her destination, Rebecca pulled herself out of the music and thought for a moment about what she was driving towards. That didn’t really make her any happier, because in the grand scheme of things, the death of a dog, though upsetting, wasn’t the kind of crime that got the pulse racing. Not that she would ever admit to finding her job thrilling, that would be crass, but there was no denying the adrenaline, the buzz of a crime scene, of trying to piece together the puzzle of what had happened, to whom and by whom. But a dog?
It was hard to pull in resources at the best of times, which was why, right now, she was heading over on her own. The rest of her team didn’t need to be called out for this one, and she would handle it easily on her own, including taking the photographs. And if any additional help were required, there was always DCI Harry Grimm—a detective who was not only Grimm by name, but grim by nature in almost every conceivable way.
As the DCI’s name rattled around in her mind, Rebecca rested her head in her right hand, rubbing her temples in the hope of easing, not just her tiredness, but general disquiet about the detective. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Harry, just that he, like a lot of detectives she’d worked with, didn’t seem to quite understand what it was that she or her team did. And if they did, they didn’t exactly show it.
What she did wasn’t simply a case of pitching up a nice big tent, scratching around in PPE, and as if by magic finding all the evidence needed to make an arrest within hours of the crime being committed. It was considerably more subtle than that, more detailed, and more time-consuming. It was fair enough that those charged with solving the crime were impatient, but sometimes she found herself wishing that they’d just acknowledge the complexity of what she did and give her enough time to do it.
Outside, the night was still dark, the sky a swallowing vastness of black pricked through with the glint of stars, like diamonds cast upon the thickest velvet. And below the sky, the dales were darker still, the ominous silhouettes of the fells rising up around her to touch the sky.
When she eventually came into Hawes, Rebecca found herself wishing it was a few hours later, the shops open. The smoothie had been enough to get her going, but her stomach was crying out for something more substantial. And one of the things she’d learned about Grimm and his team was that they knew where to get a good bacon roll or two, or a tasty pie. Cake as well, though it was perhaps a bit early for that. As for having cheese with it? That was a most emphatic no. Cheese and cake was wrong.
Hawes kicked her out the other side and she headed off up a hill, a caravan park on her right, before leaving the small market town to disappear in her rearview mirror.
About three miles out of Hawes, Rebecca slowed for a turning on her left, heading up Snaizeholme Road. Though she thought calling it a road was stretching it a bit, the lane little more than a well-used gravel farm track.
Driving on, shadows approached from the left as woodland loomed out of the dark. The trees leaned out as though to snatch her from the road, their branches shivering in the breeze as if some other force commanded them.
The trees soon gave way, their dark silhouettes replaced with open fields and rough moorland ahead. Then the track split, and as directed, Rebecca took the right fork, the lane changing to a narrower, rougher track. It squeezed in from both sides to the point where she found that she was holding her breath as she followed the line of a craggy and grey drystone wall on her left. Ahead she saw more trees, though this was a considerably smaller plantation than the one she had passed just a few minutes ago, and beneath the canopy of the leaves, she saw vehicle headlamps shining out into the gloom.
Rebecca pulled her vehicle to a stop, switched off the engine, and climbed out to meet the least welcoming face she had ever known in her life.
‘Grimm,’ she said, a yawn chasing the word away as soon as she’d said it. It came on so quickly that she didn’t even have a chance to cover it, instead, blessing the DCI with her wide open mouth as a greeting.
‘Sorry about this,’ Grimm replied, his voice as gruff as usual, though Rebecca could hear in it the same tiredness she was feeling. ‘And I know you’re probably thinking it’s just a dog, but—’
‘Actually, no, I’m not,’ Rebecca said, walking round to the boot of her car to collect her equipment, as another yawn came in for an attack.
‘Really? Oh, right, well that’s good, then,’ Grimm said. ‘It is early though, but it’s not like crime has to happen during waking hours, is it?’
‘Sadly, no,’ Rebecca said. ‘It would be a whole lot more convenient if it did.’
‘I don’t think criminals are into convenience,’ Grimm said. ‘Unless it’s inconvenience and just how much of it they can cause other people.’
Rebecca, now dressed in her PPE, her various bags unloaded from the rear of her car, slammed the boot shut.
‘So, where are we going, then?’ she asked.
‘Just down that way a while,’ another voice said. ‘There’s a barn, you see. Well, I mean, you can’t see it right now, because it’s dark, but you will when we get there, if you know what I mean.’
Rebecca was rather surprised that she hadn’t noticed the other man before, see
ing as he seemed to be about the size of a house. His voice was gentle and friendly though and his smile was certainly genuine.
‘This is Dave Calvert,’ Grimm said, introducing the large man to Rebecca.
‘It’s the badgers, you see,’ Dave said. ‘And the red squirrels. That’s why I was up here and ended up seeing what I saw, if you know what I mean. Then I called Harry and he called you. So, blame me if you want. Or the badgers. Though they do get grumpy, so that’s probably not the best of ideas.’
Rebecca had no idea what Dave was talking about and her expression must have said it all because Grimm spoke next.
‘Dave has a few wildlife cameras set up near here, you see,’ he said. ‘They look over a badger sett. He was up here checking on them. Isn’t that right, Dave?’
‘It is, that,’ Dave said. ‘There’s otters on the Ure, now, you know? It’s a wonderful place, is Wensleydale. Always something to see. I’m going to be showing Harry here some of the videos I’ve got of the wildlife we get up here one evening. Aren’t I, Harry?’
‘You are?’
‘Yes,’ Dave said, then he looked at Rebecca and added, with an enormous smile, ‘And you’re welcome, too. Any friend of Harry’s is a friend of mine!’
‘Right,’ Rebecca said with a nod, trying not to think about her cosy bed back home and how it had been replaced by a dour detective and an enormous nature lover. She also found herself somewhat surprised to be in the presence of someone who was clearly Grimm’s friend. Up to that point, she’d just assumed that the DCI wasn’t someone who, well, had any.
‘Ready, then?’ Grimm asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer, and headed off, his torch picking out the way for them all.
As they were walking, Grimm pointed out tyre tracks in the field. ‘Looks like there were a few vehicles up this way earlier,’ he said. ‘There’s scuff marks at the front of the barn as well.’
Rebecca agreed and made a note to collect photos and hopefully some casts where she could.
When the barn came into sight, Rebecca’s first thought was that it would be a lovely place to convert into a little bolt hole, somewhere to just escape to, away from the daily grind. Though she couldn’t quite make out the surrounding area yet, beyond the looming outlines of the fells, she had no doubt from the quiet of the place and the rich scent of peat and grass and tree in the air, that it was beautiful, the kind of place that would recharge her soul.
‘Remind me where are we again?’ she asked.
‘Snaizeholme,’ Dave said. ‘But don’t ask me where that name comes from. Keep an eye out though, if you can, not just for badgers, but red squirrels.’
‘Aren’t red squirrels pretty much extinct in this country?’ Rebecca asked.
‘There’s a growing number of them in Snaizeholme,’ Dave said. ‘Those woodlands you just drove past, that’s where they are. They’re beautiful little buggers when you catch sight of them.’
‘Never seen one,’ Rebecca said.
‘Same here,’ said Grimm.
‘Well, this is the place to do so,’ Dave said. ‘Like I was telling Harry earlier, this whole valley is now a designated reserve for them. The Woodland Trust owns a fair bit of Snaizeholme now and is raising money to plant trees.’
‘Sounds like you know quite a bit about it all,’ said Grimm.
‘Like I said,’ Dave said, ‘it’s a hobby.’
Now only a few metres away from the barn, Rebecca came to a stop and looked at Grimm.
‘Best you tell me again what you found, then,’ she said. ‘Just so I have an idea of what I’m walking into.’
Grimm then described everything he’d seen in and around the barn. When he got to the dog, Rebecca was sure the tone of his voice changed, dropping to a deeper growl, if that was even possible. It was a voice that sent words out into the world only after they’d been ground up with gravel, but right then she heard somewhere in it the sound of cliffs giving way, boulders tumbling down mountainsides. And there was something just hiding behind his eyes, wasn’t there? A look, not just of disgust at what they both had a strong suspicion had happened in the barn, but of deep-seated anger, the kind that bubbled and boiled constantly, the lid containing it barely able to do so.
When Grimm had finished, Rebecca pulled the white hood of her protective overalls up and over her head then fixed the regulation face mask over her mouth.
‘That’s an interesting look,’ Dave said. ‘Like you’ve just walked off the set of a dodgy Sixties sci-fi movie.’
‘I’ll see you in an hour or two,’ Rebecca said.
‘Watch out for the owls,’ Harry said.
‘Owls?’
‘Gave me quite the scare,’ Harry said.
With a confused nod, Rebecca turned from the two men, and walked the final few metres towards the barn, camera at the ready, all of her senses now on full alert.
Chapter Three
Dawn was breaking by the time the pathologist had finished at the barn. In between times, and having sent Dave back home for some shut-eye, Harry had taken the opportunity to try and catch up on the sleep he’d lost that night himself. He could’ve headed back to the flat, but there was something about where he was right then which just made him want to stay. He wasn’t sure if it was the countryside, the air, or the sense of solitude and space, but it held him fast. And he didn’t want to go waking his brother Ben up, either.
With the seat back in his old Rav4, Harry quickly dropped off. Only to wake up what felt like minutes later, and yet three hours had somehow passed. Outside, a clear sky of the lightest blue hung above him, wisps of clouds stuck to it here and there like tufts of wool blown into the air.
At first, the snooze seemed to have only made him feel worse, so to wake himself up properly, he pulled his aching body out of his vehicle and into the morning, his muscles complaining as he stretched to try and get them working again. He’d not been running for a couple of weeks at least and the looseness that came with keeping on top of his average fitness had already left him. He made a note to head out again that week, even if it was only a 5K run around Hawes. He’d do it early morning, as well, before his body and brain realised what he was doing and could stop him.
It was in the bright, crisp light of the morning, that Harry was finally able to see for himself the lonely, windswept beauty of Snaizeholme, and once again he found himself at a loss. Indeed, it was as though no matter where he went in the dales, which corner he turned, hill he climbed, path or road he travelled, the place always had something special to show him, a secret to be revealed. And Snaizeholme was no exception.
The first thing that struck Harry was the sense of openness to the valley, which rose gently to each side of him, the earth blanketed in numerous shades of green and patched with faded hues of a peaty, earthy brown. On the wind he heard the cries of birds of prey high up, and straining his eyes he saw them circling, searching for food. Other bird calls joined in, and beneath that came the far off bleat of sheep, though he could see none in the valley before him.
Turning, he gazed back along the way he had driven in, seeing the woodland a way ahead and on his right. As sanctuaries for rare wildlife like the red squirrel went, Harry figured there were worse places on Earth to end up.
Footsteps caught Harry’s attention and he turned round just in time for a yawn he hadn’t realised was approaching to force itself out of him with an almost desperate sense of urgency.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said, too late to cover the yawn with a hand.
‘Don’t be,’ Sowerby replied, then she started to yawn herself. ‘I did the same to you when I arrived.’
‘That you did,’ Harry said, though from the look Sowerby then gave him, he wished he hadn’t.
‘Thanks for the heads up about the owls,’ Sowerby said.
‘They were there, then?’ Harry asked.
‘Well, there was one, yes,’ Sowerby replied. ‘High up. Stared at me the whole time. Bit unnerving.’
‘There were
three in there when I went in,’ Harry said, remembering his encounter. ‘These massive eyes came at me out of nowhere. Nearly gave me a heart attack!’
Sowerby laughed, though the laugh quickly morphed into a yawn.
Harry asked, ‘What have you got, then?’
‘More than enough to be getting on with, that’s for sure,’ Sowerby said and Harry noticed how the words carried enough weight with them to cause her shoulders to sag just a little. ‘Plenty of photos, blood samples, soil samples. I’ve got some casts of the tyre treads, shoe prints, samples of the soil from each of those areas as well, just in case we can trace something back at some point to their origin.’
‘Contamination, you mean?’
Sowerby nodded. ‘Even after hundreds of miles, a tyre can carry the residue of where it was parked, that kind of thing. Sometimes, it can help give you a geographical area for where a vehicle’s been or spends most of its time.’
‘A lot of work for just one person,’ Harry said.
Sowerby shrugged.
‘It wasn’t too bad.’
‘Did your team not want to bother with this, then?’ he asked.
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing at all,’ Harry said. ‘It’s just that you’re on your own and usually, you’re not.’
‘If you think it means we don’t take this seriously—’ Sowerby began, but Harry held up a hand to stop her.
‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned about you,’ he said, ‘it’s that you take everything very seriously.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment, whether it was meant as one or not,’ Sowerby said.
‘Well, that’s how it was meant,’ Harry said. ‘As a compliment, I mean.’
Sowerby raised an eyebrow.
‘Compliments aren’t your strong point, are they?’
‘Not really, no,’ Harry said. ‘A work in progress, you might say.’
For a moment, neither Harry nor Sowerby spoke, an awkwardness hanging in the air between them.
Blood Sport: A Yorkshire Murder Mystery (DCI Harry Grimm Crime Thrillers 7) Page 2