Buried in the Country

by Carola Dunn

“Small wonder she’s confused,” said Megan.

  “It is, perhaps, the most difficult task she is asked to do, to find not a person or an object, but where that person or object came from.”

  “The reverse of the usual search.”

  “Add that some or all of the others from the van may have followed the same path—”

  “And the job becomes impossible.”

  “Oh no, just complicated and requiring patience. Kali will try again.”

  Kali, who had been sniffing the body, came back to Jay and whined.

  “What’s she saying?” asked Dawson. “‘Look, here he is, you daft buggers’?”

  Jay smiled. “She says, ‘I am ready. Let’s go.’”

  “Just a minute. I’ve got to make sure of the identification, if possible; then I’ll go with you.”

  “You will be welcome, Megan, but you must stay behind us, so as not to confuse the scent.”

  “You’re in charge.”

  She stepped closer to the body, turned her torch on the face, and bent over it. The grotesque mud mask resembled a facial beauty treatment, except that the man’s eyes and mouth were covered, his nostrils plugged. Drowned or suffocated? Not that it mattered. He was dead.

  Insofar as she could make out the features, the face was Stone’s, and the burly body-type matched his.

  “The Sandman.” The torch beam moved down his back. “That looks as if it could be a footprint. You know how to use one of these, Dawson?” She handed him the mini-camera.

  “Sure, Sarge.”

  Her light swept over the bog, stopped, and moved back to a rock on the edge. A polythene bag was draped over it, held down by several smaller stones. “Dawson?”

  “I reckoned maybe it tripped him, so I took a look. There’s a sort of scuff mark that could be leather from his boots, and part of a footprint. Thought it’d better be protected for SOCO.”

  “Well done. Take some snaps of that, too. All right, when you’re done with the photography, leave a man here on guard and report to the guv’nor. Tell him I’ll be in touch on the two-way. The rest of you, get back to your search areas as best you can. All right, Jay.”

  He brought the harnessed dog to take another sniff at the body, to refresh her memory, then commanded, “Track.”

  Kali set off with apparent confidence, tail held high, making Jay trot after her. Megan followed about twenty feet behind.

  They were in a shallow valley, gently sloping up, the bog being in the lowest part. The going was smooth. In the fog, Stone had probably had little idea where he was going, so he took the easiest path leading downhill. With the van out of commission, he must have hoped to reach the road sooner or later. She could think of only one reason for his having come this way in the opposite direction.

  The dog began to cast about, as though she had lost the scent. Jay let out the line she was on, giving her more freedom of movement. He watched her intently. She raised her head, sniffing the air, then stopped and looked back at him.

  “From the way she moves, I think the trail splits here, Megan. She does not know which branch to choose.” He pointed straight up the valley, then diagonally to the right, where the hillside rose comparatively steeply. “Have you a preference?”

  “I wish she could talk! I wish I had some idea what they were doing, and whether they had Nick and Freeth with them. I just don’t understand what was going through their minds.”

  “Nor I.”

  “Does Kali show the slightest preference for one way over the other?”

  “Straight up the valley, if anything. Perhaps the scent hangs in the air longer down here than up on the hillside. Or perhaps the scent is that of the dead man, the most recent she was introduced to.”

  “Any reason is better than none. We’ll go straight ahead.”

  “Straight ahead it is. Heel.” Jay gathered up the long leash as Kali came to his side. When he started walking, the dog moved with him as if her nose were glued to his leg.

  As she started to go after them, keeping her station twenty feet behind, Megan was suddenly aware of motion behind her. Why hadn’t Kali alerted them to someone following? One-track mind, perhaps: When tracking, she tracked, and had no attention to spare for her surroundings. Turning swiftly, Megan was about to shout for Jay and his dog.

  A long, narrow shadow stretched from her feet, leading straight towards the moon. It took a moment to realise that the last couple of yards of the black stripe were not shadow, but Tariro.

  “What the hell are you doing here? You were supposed to go back to the cars.”

  “You can’t send me back now, on my own. I might get lost. What would Sir Edward say? Besides, I’ve never before had an opportunity to watch a police dog at work.”

  “How long— Were you lurking down there?” She gestured in the direction of the fatal bog.

  “The body? Yes. I didn’t get too close.”

  “Did you see my aunt?”

  “I did, though my attention was on DC Dawson and the bobbies when she left, so I didn’t see which way she went. I haven’t spoken to her since you sent me to show PC Johnson the way to the van.”

  Reminded that she herself had involved Tariro in the business, Megan didn’t question what she felt was a somewhat evasive reply. “All right, come along. Just don’t for pity’s sake get in the way, or I swear you’ll go back by yourself, Sir Edward or no Sir Edward.”

  He laughed. “So much for Sir Edward.”

  Jay and Kali were at the head of the valley. As Megan and Tariro hurried after them, Jay took off the dog’s collar. She dashed over the brow of the hill and disappeared. Jay looked back.

  “Come on,” he called. “She is now certain of the trail.” He plunged over the ridge.

  Tariro overtook Megan, running with long, loping strides. “Cross-country team,” he said consolingly as he passed.

  She redoubled her efforts to stay at his heels. At the top, she had to stop for a moment to relieve a stitch in her side. From here, she could see that the land continued rising on her right, up to the Cheesewring tors. Lit by the moon, they stood out against the starry sky. The fog and clouds were gone.

  The chilly breeze that had cleared them was welcome, hot as she was from running.

  The hillside below her was dark. She switched on her torch and, breath regained, started downward after the men. Ahead, she saw their bobbing torch beams, both moving slower now, more cautiously.

  Suddenly Kali barked, and went on barking.

  Jay’s torch found her. She was on a more or less level stretch of ground, grassy, with patches of bracken, new green beginning to spring through the old, withered brown. What interested Kali was a dark blotch nearly surrounded by bracken, with a leafless bush on one side. About a third of the circumference was grass. Here the barking dog danced sideways back and forth, facing the dark patch, her attention focussed on something in the middle invisible to Megan.

  As Megan reached the level ground, she could tell that Kali was looking downward. Jay a step ahead, he and Tariro approached her together.

  “Sit!” Jay commanded.

  Kali obeyed, and stopped barking, but she continued to stare down into what appeared to be a hole. The two men both shone their torches into it. Jay spat out what sounded like a curse in his own language.

  “Megan, it is Nicholas. And another man.”

  “Dead?” She forced the word past the lump in her throat.

  Two more steps took her to his side. They stood on the brink of a cup-shaped hollow, six or eight feet deep and about a dozen wide, a sink-hole or perhaps an aborted mine shaft. It was half-full of bracken, with a small, bent hawthorn tree—what Megan had taken for a bush—on the far side. A few blood-red berries still clung to the sheltered lower branches, among the pale nubs of leaf buds.

  Megan made herself look down. The bottom of the bowl was grassy, not bog or water, thank goodness.

  Nick lay curled up on his side. Freeth was sprawled on his back. Both faces were deadly pale
in the torchlight, but their eyes were closed, not open in the fixed, blank stare of death.

  Which didn’t mean they were alive. Instinct screamed at Megan to rush down and do whatever she could to help them. Training urged caution, learning as much as she could from observation before she jumped in and perhaps destroyed evidence.

  She handed her two-way radio to Jay. “Report to Dawson, please. Two stretcher parties, as fast as they can get here, and a doctor if possible. Lend your torch to Tariro for the moment.”

  With three torch beams directed into the dell, it was well lit. Megan could see that Nick’s ankles were still tied with gauze bandage. His wrists were free, though. A tangle of white gauze lay beside him, suggesting that he had freed himself after arriving here. So he was alive! Or he had been when dumped in this spot.

  Freeth had a cut on his cheekbone that had bled freely. Sprawled was the wrong word for him. He was still trussed at both wrists and ankles, so he lay quite neatly, except that his head was bent at an angle that would give him a bad crick if he stayed long in that position. His neck was not twisted enough to be broken, Megan assured herself. But it could be.

  “I’m going down.” She felt in her pocket. “Damn, I left my penknife in my bag in the car. Either of you have one?”

  Jay, the radio to his ear, put his other hand in his pocket and produced a Swiss Army knife.

  “Thanks.”

  “Shall I come?” Tariro asked.

  “Not yet. There isn’t much room.”

  Jay handed her the radio. “Dr. Prthnavi just arrived. DC Dawson will put him on.”

  “Thanks, Jay.” The radio joined the knife in her pocket. She sat down on the edge and let herself go. It wasn’t so much a drop as a slither down the steep grass-grown side.

  Landing, she knelt between the two men. Finding Nick’s pulse took only a moment. Its beat was strong and regular. She let out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding and turned to Freeth.

  Jay’s knife slashed through the string binding the lawyer’s wrists. Moving his arms as little as possible, in case his neck actually was injured, Megan searched for a pulse. She gave up on the wrist and tried for the carotid artery. She couldn’t feel it. She moved her hand to try again, and again, concentrating fiercely. Was that it? Wishful thinking? The echo of her own heartbeat? No, her own heart hammered in her chest, faster than usual but strong and steady, nothing like the weak, erratic flutter beneath her fingertips.

  She sat back on her heels and took out the radio. “DS Pencarrow here. Dr. Prthnavi?”

  “Prthnavi speaking. Tell me what you see, Miss Pencarrow.”

  “Mr. Freeth—he’s unconscious, and his pulse seems to me very weak and uneven. What should I do?”

  “Is he bleeding?”

  “Not that I can see. His head, his neck is at an angle, but his neck is not broken, I’d guess.”

  “Do not move him. The most important thing is to keep him warm, as warm as you possibly can. Coats, jackets, whatever you have.”

  “Okay. Hold on a minute, Doctor. Jay, Tariro, I need your coats for Freeth.”

  She set down the radio and torch and took off her own jacket in the near darkness as the men’s torches were also laid down. A moment later, theirs coats landed next to her, along with Jay’s scarf and gloves. Light restored, she swathed them over and around Freeth, easing the gloves onto his hands as gently as she could.

  “Megan, Kali is trained to lie quietly close to a person in trouble such as this. I remember, you see, that what my cousin needed most when you pulled him from the sea was warmth.”

  Megan hesitated. The big dog might scare Freeth to death if he came round—but her warmth might make the difference between life and death. “All right, send her down. Doctor, we’ve done what we can for him. Nick, Nicholas Gresham—” She glanced at him as she said his name. His eyes were open.

  “Megan,” he whispered, and gave her a twisted smile.

  “Oh Nick!” She leaned over and kissed him very softly on the mouth. “Doctor, Nick is conscious now. His pulse is strong.”

  “Check his pupils.”

  “Right. You heard, Nick? I’m going to turn the torch on your face. Try to keep your eyes open for a moment.… Doctor, they’re odd. Uneven. I mean, unequal, not the same size. Concussion?”

  “So it would seem. He, too, should stay still.”

  “May he talk?”

  “If he chooses. The stretcher parties are here. If you have no more questions, I shall be on my way to join you.”

  “Thank you, sir. Be careful, please! The last thing we need is for you to break an ankle.”

  “Pencarrow?” Scumble’s voice.

  “Sir.”

  “Dawson’s guiding the medics, as he knows at least how to get to the bog. Can you send Sergeant Nayak back there to show them the rest of the way, or do you need him?”

  Megan explained that the dog was sharing her body warmth with Freeth. “I’d rather not withdraw that, sir, and I think her handler should stay near her. I can send Ta—the other person with me. Or go myself,” which she emphatically did not want to do.

  A long, windy sigh came through the radio. “Him! I don’t know what the super is going to say. But there’s the lawyer to consider, as well as Sir Edward. Beggars can’t be choosers. If he’s willing, go ahead.”

  Megan looked up at Tariro, almost invisible behind his torch. “You heard?”

  “At your orders, baas.”

  “He’s willing, sir.”

  “Convey my thanks. Gresham’s able to answer questions?”

  “A few, at least.”

  “I’ll leave it to you, Pencarrow.”

  “Yes, sir.” She pocketed the radio and took out Jay’s knife. “Nick, I’m going to cut the bandage round your ankles.”

  “Bandage!” His voice seemed a little stronger. “Is that what they used? I undid the one round my wrists with my teeth, and I couldn’t make out what the hell it was.”

  She sliced through the gauze. “Don’t move your legs.”

  “I doubt I could if I tried.”

  “Well, don’t try.” She cut Freeth’s ankles free and turned back to Nick. “Are they very painful?”

  “They? My legs? I don’t know. I hurt like hell all over. How is Freeth?”

  “Not good.”

  “The bloody bastards left us tied and unconscious rolling about loose in the back of the van. I came round—I have a very hard head. When I played rugger at school, I took several hard hits, and they were always surprised I wasn’t concussed. In the van, I could protect myself a bit, but Freeth was out and I couldn’t do much for him. Have you nabbed them yet?”

  “One of them is dead.”

  “Good! You know they killed Mrs. Mason?”

  “We know.”

  “I suppose you don’t happen to have any water with you?”

  “Nick,” said Jay from above, “I carry water for Kali. I pour it into her mouth, but I cannot swear she has not touched the neck of the bottle.”

  “What’s a little dog slobber between friends? Pass it down.”

  Jay knelt and reached down, and Megan took the metal bottle from him. As she unscrewed the cap, attached by a short chain, she tried to work out how to give Nick a drink without choking him, given that he wasn’t supposed to move. He raised his head an inch or two and she hastily moved to support it.

  “If you can do that, your spine seems not to be injured.”

  “It hurts to breathe.”

  “More likely ribs than spine. Shall I raise you a little more, or would you rather I just pour and hope not to drown you?”

  “It’s not the drowning; it’s getting wet. I’m already bloody frozen.”

  Cautiously, slowly, Megan raised his head a little farther. He managed to sip some water.

  “Enough?”

  “Thanks. Thanks, Jay, but before your next rescue, teach the dog to drink hot tea and carry a thermos!”

  He gave a slight moan as Megan c
arefully lowered his head to the cold, damp ground. “We took quite a beating, one way and another. Is Freeth going to be all right?”

  “I don’t know, Nick. Dr. Prthnavi and the ambulance men are on their way.” She felt for Freeth’s pulse. It hadn’t changed, but his skin felt slightly less icy. Kali, stretched out alongside him, was putting out a good deal of warmth. Megan turned back to Nick and held his hand as they waited. His eyes were closed again, so she didn’t speak to him.

  Where were the medics? Had Tariro lost his way?

  It seemed a long time before Kali growled to announce their approach. A word from Jay brought the dog scrambling from the hole. Megan dropped a kiss on Nick’s forehead. Tariro appeared, and he and Jay together hauled Megan out of the hole as Dr. Prthnavi came up, the stretcher party close behind him.

  Megan moved back to give them room. Jay and Tariro helped the little doctor safely down into the hole and handed down his black bag. He bent over Nick and Freeth, muttering to himself, then started to issue orders to the stretcher-bearers.

  Megan was taking out the radio to report their arrival when it suddenly called for attention.

  “Pencarrow!” Scumble, not Dawson.

  “Sir?”

  “The doctor arrived yet?”

  “Yes, sir, I was on the point of calling in.”

  “I thought you might be interested in a report that’s just come in.”

  “Sir?”

  “Someone is up at the top of the quarry blowing a whistle. And as whistles are not standard police issue these days, the only person on this bit of moor known to possess one is your auntie.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  At last! Eleanor was getting chilly. She had been sitting still, blowing her whistle at intervals, for what seemed a very long time; at last it looked as if someone had heard and worked out roughly where the sound was coming from. Two of the torch beams that had been bobbing around down below were now directed at the cliff-top. More joined them.

  She wondered how she could show herself without giving her captive a chance to jump while her attention was elsewhere. Alternatively, despondent and penitent as he seemed, he might regain his nerve and decide to shove her over the edge.

  Ever since she had pulled him back from that edge, he had lain meekly where she had deposited him. And most of the time, he had been talking.