Buried in the Country

by Carola Dunn

  “Perfect.”

  “There are the mine engine houses all over the place, not to mention bogs—”

  “Tariro and I encountered a couple. People will just have to avoid them and keep the line as much as they can. Thanks, Aunt Nell.” She leaned over to kiss Eleanor’s cheek, then got out and walked back to join Barnicot and Dawson.

  Eleanor turned to Tariro, who had settled in the back of the car. “I can’t just sit here. I’m going to go and take a look for myself. Before Mr. Scumble arrives.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Tariro said eagerly.

  “Better not. He’ll be angry that I’ve gone, but if you went missing, he’d burst a blood vessel. You can tell him I’m searching, not kidnapped. And as Megan already let you go with her, I daresay she will again. She’s going to need everyone she can get.”

  He sighed. “If you say so. Don’t get lost.”

  “The fog seems to be lifting a bit.” In fact, it appeared to be crawling up the slope. The blanket of cloud was rising to higher elevations for some obscure but doubtless explicable meteorological reason.

  “What will you do, out there alone, if you find one of them?”

  “I’ve got the torch I used for reading the map. A police torch. It’s really bright. I’ll wave it until someone sees it. Also—” She felt in her pocket. “Yes, I’ve got a little whistle. A friend gave it to me. She’s a vicar’s wife and rather old-fashioned in some ways. She doesn’t think it’s quite dignified for an old lady like me to be shouting in public for my dog. I promised to try to remember to take it when I walk Teazle, though I’m afraid I’ve never taught her to come to it, so I never use it. Between the torch and the whistle, someone will notice.”

  “That’s all very well, but you’re forgetting you may find the crooks, not your friends.”

  “Don’t you worry about that,” Eleanor said with confidence. “I can handle them.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “The guv’nor’s on his way,” Megan told Dawson as he handed her a two-way personal radio. The one already weighing down her pocket was a twin to the one she had lent Ken, on a different frequency and useless to her now. She must remember to dump it in the car. “So let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Sooner the better.”

  “We’re going to have a lot more cars arriving.” Dawson’s car was close behind hers, its boot not quite clear of the narrow ravine. “They’ll have trouble getting out of their vehicles back there, even though the fog seems to be just about gone. Barnicot, take the car up the track to where the van turned off.”

  “Can I use the headlights, Sarge?”

  “Umm … yes. They’ll know very soon we’re here, if they haven’t worked it out already.”

  Dawson told the constable who had stayed with him to drive on, following Barnicot. Before Megan’s car started to move, Tariro jumped out and came back to join Megan and the DC.

  “Who the—”

  “Mr. Anonymous,” Megan said quickly. “Don’t ask. He’s part of an unrelated job I was on when this business came up. T—Mr. Anon, this is Detective Constable Dawson.”

  “Alias the Speed Demon?” Tariro’s grin flashed.

  “That’s me. I’ll take you for a spin sometime and—”

  “Come on, fellas, enough gossip. We’ve got a job of work to do.” Megan hurried them along after the cars.

  Both motors shut off. Their footsteps, even Dawson’s heavy tread, made very little sound. In the hush, a distant hum made itself heard.

  Dawson cocked his head. “A car.”

  “Coming this way.” Tariro swung round, his hand cupping his ear. “Fast. From the way we came, I’m pretty sure, Megan.”

  “Reinforcements from Liskeard. I hope they’ve had the sense to bring a six-inch map. I didn’t think to suggest it to the guv’nor.”

  “Six inches to the mile?” Tariro asked. “Wouldn’t they keep them in their cars? For when they have to rescue hikers lost on the moors?”

  “That’s mostly volunteer search-and-rescue people,” Dawson explained. “They must have at least one at the Liskeard nick, though.”

  “Nick?”

  “Cop shop. Police station.”

  “I hope so,” said Megan, “and that they think to bring it, because any sketch map I produced from what my aunt’s told me wouldn’t be detailed nor, probably, very accurate.”

  Tariro was a step or two ahead when they reached the cars. He stopped and looked back. Megan and Dawson also turned to watch for the Liskeard car. Some trick of the atmosphere had dissipated the ground mist. The cloud cover had thickened, though, and hung low overhead. It now hid the moon, and the night was appreciably darker.

  Barnicot and the other uniform joined them. Megan expected Aunt Nell, too, but she didn’t come. She must be tired. She usually had so much energy, one forgot her age, but she had had a very active day accompanied by exhausting emotions.

  “I hope my aunt isn’t getting cold, sitting in the car.”

  “Mr. Barnicot gave her a rug,” said Tariro.

  “She must’ve got into the backseat and gone to sleep—the little dog, too, ’cause I didn’t hear a peep out of either of ’em just now.”

  “That’s funny. Teazle—”

  “Look!” Tariro interrupted. “Isn’t that headlights turning off the road?”

  They were high enough on the hillside to see over the eastern slope of the mound through which the route had been blasted for the railway. The five watchers saw the car come up the track, hesitate at the Y-junction, take the left branch, and disappear into the cutting, the sound of its engine muffled.

  The Liskeard driver was a cautious man, taking the rock-strewn path at a snail’s pace. It seemed a long time before the twin beams appeared at the mouth of the ravine and approached up the slope, bumping over the sleepers.

  “Dang it!” he said when he got out of the panda. “That’s not done my bleddy suspension any good.” He caught sight of Megan. “Begging your pardon, ma’am.”

  The uniformed sergeant who emerged from the front passenger seat said crisply, “DS Pencarrow? Sergeant Roberts, from Liskeard. We’re at your orders.”

  Megan had already decided not to wait for her entire force to arrive. Her sense of urgency was far too great. “Thank you, Sergeant. This is DC Dawson.”

  “We’ve met. Wotcher, mate.”

  “Have you got a large-scale OS map?”

  Roberts dived headfirst back into the car and produced a map. Megan unfolded it on the warm bonnet of his car. She, Roberts, and Dawson pored over it, with Tariro peering over their shoulders.

  The lie of the land was just as Aunt Nell had described it, here shown in detail, footpaths, bogs, and all. Seeing it didn’t alter Megan’s plan, which was as devoid of specifics as her sketch map. She would make sure all searchers had a good look at the section of the OS map for the area they were responsible for covering. After that, it was up to them to avoid the hazards they were bound to come across.

  “Megan, the van just disappeared.”

  She swung round to stare at Tariro. “What the hell…” She followed his pointing finger. “Disappeared? What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been keeping half an eye on it.”

  “It drove away?”

  “No, no. The light started flickering a couple of minutes ago, and it just went out. Sorry to alarm you.”

  “It wasn’t the doors closing? You’re sure?”

  “Ninety-nine percent.”

  “Battery ran down, I shouldn’t wonder,” said the Liskeard bobby, “or the lightbulb’s kaput.”

  “Could be. Ta—Mr. Anon, can you pinpoint its position on the map?” Megan was already pretty sure she could, but she wanted to know if he agreed.

  He bent over the map, studied it for a minute, then pointed. “Just about there?” he said uncertainly.

  “That’s more or less where I’d put it. You”—she turned to Roberts’s driver—“what’s your name?”

  “Johnso
n, Sergeant.”

  “Johnson, you were bemoaning possible damage to your transmission. Does that mean you know about cars?”

  “Spends all his spare time tinkering with ’em,” said Sergeant Roberts. “He’s got ambitions to be another Speed Demon, too.”

  “Does he, now!” Dawson exclaimed.

  “Johnson, can you read maps?”

  “Er … road maps, Sergeant.”

  “So you can’t read this map? Mr. Anon, take a good look at it, please, and then escort this would-be demon to the van, preferably by a shorter route than you and I took.”

  Tariro studied the map, consulted the key to the symbols, traced out a route with his finger, and announced confidently, “I foresee no insuperable difficulty, if we may use torches. It’s much darker now.”

  Megan wondered what Scumble would do. If the killers were on the lookout, they must know by now that there was a significant police presence. “Yes, use torches. And look about you on the way. As we have no idea why they took hostages, or why they removed them from the van, they could have left them absolutely anywhere. When you get there, I want to know whether it is in fact disabled, and what’s wrong with it. And if either of you smudges any prints or destroys other evidence…” She left the threat hanging. “Oh, and if the keys are in it, I want them. Pick them up carefully with a handkerchief and bring them here. Come back here to report anyway, unless someone urgently needs your help.”

  “Right, baas. Let’s go, Officer.”

  While she gave them her orders—or in Tariro’s case, instructions—Roberts was talking on the radio in his car. He came back and told her, “Two cars from Bodmin just reached Minions. They weren’t sure where to turn off the road, but I’ve set ’em straight. Should be here in a couple of minutes.”

  “Did they bring Sergeant Nayak and the dog?”

  “Yes, and there’s an ambulance following them.”

  “Good.” But it was an unpleasant reminder that at best Nick and Freeth would be found suffering from concussion; at worst … She wasn’t going to think about at worst. She had a job to do.

  Her own car’s radio called for attention.

  “I’ll get it, Sarge.” Dawson hurried to the front of the queue of cars. A moment later he called, “The chief inspector wants a word, Sarge. Launceston’s patched his car through.” He handed over the mike.

  “Pencarrow, sir.”

  “Give me an update, Pencarrow.”

  She told him about the Bodmin contingents, those present and those about to arrive. “Including the dog and his handler, sir.”

  “Your Indian pal, eh? Good, good. How’s the African gentleman doing?”

  “Cheerful, sir.” Enjoying himself no end.

  “I’ve heard through channels that Sir Edward Bellowe is not happy. Too bad. I told him we can’t spare a driver to take his chap back to Tintagel. You’ve got my backing if he kicks up a fuss. But that’s by the way. Two of our patrol cars are nearly with you. I’m inclined to tell ’em to block the road a mile or so outside Minions, in both directions. It strikes me that your villains, if they’re not completely clueless, will make for the village, hoping to pinch another vehicle. Assuming theirs really is disabled.”

  “I sent one of the Liskeard officers, a car nut, to check the van, sir. I hate to lose any searchers, but roadblocks sound like a good idea.”

  “Right. Carry on. I’ll be with you in about ten minutes.”

  Megan remembered to drop off the superfluous two-way in the car. That was when she realised her aunt wasn’t there.

  “Aunt Nell?” No answer. She’d probably “gone behind a bush” not too far off, but a discreet distance from the swarms of coppers. No doubt she’d be back any minute, begging to be allowed to join the search. Megan hadn’t time to worry about her. She hurried back to greet the newcomers.

  One of the Bodmin vehicles was a minibus with a dozen or so officers aboard, including a uniformed sergeant in charge, the other a car into which they had crammed five large men. They had brought three more six-inch maps of the area.

  A moment later, a van drove up behind them: Sergeant Nayak with his black-and-tan Alsatian.

  Megan reminded them all that two murderous crooks were out there, as well as the two victims. She quickly sorted them into pairs and sent them off in different directions to start combing the moor, all but DC Dawson and Jay and his dog. Kali sat at attention and watched, her eyes alert.

  “Jay, it’s my understanding that Kali needs a scent to follow, right?”

  “It is more efficient, certainly. Otherwise, she is not a great deal better than a man.”

  Dawson snorted.

  “You’ll have to let her sniff around inside the van, then. It’s more important to find these people than to preserve trace evidence. Anyway, I’m an eyewitness.”

  “I myself need not enter the vehicle, Megan. Kali’s paw prints will not confuse the SOCO team. They are not here yet?”

  “No. I assume they’re in Tintagel, where the murder took place. If you haven’t heard the whole story, DC Dawson can tell you, as he’s about to show you the way to the van. Dawson, I hope you were watching when Ta—Mr. Anon pointed out the way.”

  “Uh…”

  “Come and look now.” Megan heard herself using Scumble’s too-patient tone.

  “Stay,” Jay told Kali, who sat still while Megan showed the two men the path Tariro had traced.

  “Jay, you’ve done searches on the moor before? You’re aware of the dangers?”

  “Yes, to be sure. Kali will not let me step into a bog.”

  “I hope not. Dawson, call me on the two-way when you meet the two who went to the van. They should be on their way back by now, if Johnson is half as clever as he claims. And when Sergeant Nayak—or rather, Kali—is finished with the van, stick with them.”

  “Sure you won’t need me back here, Sarge?” Dawson asked hopefully.

  “I need you to assist Sergeant Nayak with whatever Kali finds.”

  They left. Megan weighted down the map with several stones and returned to her own car.

  “Aunt Nell?” Where the hell had she got to?

  She heard a car approaching, and a moment later saw the headlight beams emerge from the ravine. The detective chief inspector had arrived. Shielding her eyes against the glare, Megan hurried down the row of cars to meet him.

  As Scumble heaved his bulk out of the passenger seat, the driver also got out, as well as three large constables who had somehow squeezed into the backseat. The car’s suspension groaned in relief. So did Scumble, who disliked being driven.

  He gestured at the cars ahead, still illuminated by the headlights. “You sent ’em all out already?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Fast work. Denton, turn the damn lights off, will you, so our eyes can get accustomed to the dark. Pencarrow, tell this lot what you want them to do; then we can talk.”

  She led them to the map and directed them to two gaps in her line of searchers. “You’ve all got torches?… Good.” As the constables trudged off, she said to Scumble, “I wish we had a personal radio for each pair.”

  “Tell that to the ratepayers. I wish we had one for every man—and woman—on the force. Didn’t you take a pair of two-ways to Tintagel?”

  “Yes, sir, and mine’s in my car, but it’s no use here because DS Faraday has the other. Dawson brought two with him. He kept one and I have the second. He’s gone with Sergeant Nayak and the dog to the van. I’m expecting him to call any minute.”

  “Lucky the fog’s dissipated. The Met says a southeasterly breeze will begin to break up the cloud layer, too.” Scumble and Megan both looked up. The moon was faintly visible now, as if the thick blanket had worn as thin as a sheet.

  “It’ll make the search easier,” said Megan, “but if—when—someone wants to attract our attention with a torch, it won’t be as visible in full moonlight.”

  “Every cloud has a silver lining, and every rose has its thorn. Explain to me how y
ou’ve set up this—”

  “Sergeant!” the radio in Megan’s pocket bleated tinnily.

  “Excuse me, sir. Yes, Dawson?”

  “We met Johnson—the bloke that wants to be a second Me—and … the bloke you sent with him.”

  Megan appreciated his caution. The longer she could put off Scumble’s discovery of the use she had made of Tariro, the better. “Yes?”

  “He says the van won’t be going anywhere without a new transmission and a new oil pan. They drove it over a rock that was bigger than they reckoned. Or, likely, they didn’t even see it in the fog.”

  “Tell him thanks.”

  “Too late, Sarge. They’ve gone off to join the hunt. Made a bet with Sergeant Nayak they’d find someone before the dog does. Me, I wouldn’t bet against her. She’s already tracking something, and they’re moving fast. I better get going or I’ll lose them.”

  “All right, Dawson. Keep in touch.” As she returned the radio to her pocket, she exclaimed, “Damn! You heard that, sir?”

  “The van’s out of action and the dog is in action.”

  “And that twit Johnson has ‘joined the hunt’ off his own bat, without waiting to be told where to go.” Though she guessed that the initiative had been Tariro’s, regarding both the wager and the unauthorised departure. He was afraid if he returned, he too would be out of action. She sighed. “Still, given the terrain, the pattern’s probably all fouled up by now anyway.”

  “Bad, is it?”

  “It’s Bodmin Moor, sir. Here comes another car. Good. Whoever it is can be my partner. It’s time I got going.”

  “Searching, you mean? No, Pencarrow, I need you here, for liaison.”

  “Sir, you can’t be serious! Nick’s out there somewhere, and Freeth. You sent me to find Freeth. I’ve got to do my bit!”

  “Your ‘bit’ is organising. You’re doing a good job. Stick with it. I’m going to join your auntie in the car—the first car, I take it?—to find out what she knows about Freeth and Mrs. Mason. This isn’t the primary crime scene, remember?”