yard to the other. He takes up his shovel and begins to load the wheelbarrow. You are not really sure why you asked him to move the stuff, but it gives him something to do.
Best not wear out your workhorse though, as you’re going to need his help and you don’t want him tired. Not with what’s coming.
Chapter Seven
Princetown, Dartmoor. Monday 16th June. 12.37 p.m.
As Enders drove out of the prison car park and back through Princetown, Riley opened the file the Governor had given them and began to leaf through the bundle of paper.
‘Not much more in here, Patrick. Nothing to suggest a reason for him going missing. Not on his kid’s fifth birthday. I mean, even if you are having an affair or something you don’t leave like that, do you?’
‘Darius?’ Enders jabbed a finger at the windscreen.
They had left Princetown and were heading westward across the moor. The road wound into the distance, climbing a low rise next to a stand of pines. A queue of cars snaked back towards them. At its head a patrol car was drawn across the road, blue light strobing. A Volvo estate had pulled onto the verge near the copse, the rear door up, a jumble of plastic containers and toolboxes in the back.
They approached the queue and overtook, coasting by on the right and ignoring the glares from inside the stationary cars. They stopped next to the patrol car and got out. There was no sign of Campbell and the rescue group, but it appeared as if they’d found something. The patrol officer inspected Riley’s ID and pointed down the road. A series of white lines had been spray-painted onto the tarmac and John Layton knelt next to one of them, tweezers in one hand, plastic container in the other. Riley walked down the road to the CSI officer. Layton glanced up as he neared, tipped his battered Tilley hat back with one finger and held up the tweezers.
‘Good of you to come out, John,’ Riley said. ‘From what I hear you’ve got a lot on your plate.’
‘Dog’s dinner, mate, but I didn’t have much choice. Got a call on my phone. Only the bloody CC. He was quite firm on the matter.’ Layton’s eagle-like eyes darted from Riley back to the tweezers as he held them over the container and dropped a glittering shard of plastic in. He screwed on a lid and shoved the container into one of the many deep pockets in his tan raincoat. ‘Red and silver plastic. From a reflector. Some metallic blue paint on there. Could have come from a collision with a car.’
‘Bit of a long shot, isn’t it?’ Riley said. ‘It might be from anywhere.’
‘There’s some blood on the road surface too. Plus the rescue bods found a bicycle pump away from the road, down in a clump of heather, as if it had been thrown there.’
‘Corran’s?’
‘A Bontrager Air Support pump. Distinctive, and according to his missus, Corran’s bike had one.’
‘No sign of the bike though?’
‘Nothing.’
‘So what do you think happened?’
‘Well …’ Layton spotted another piece of plastic on the road and bent and repeated his tweezer, container, pocket action of earlier before standing and pointing to a clump of heather encircled with blue and white tape. ‘That’s where the pump was found. Apart from the marks made by the person who found the pump, nobody has walked the ground nearby in the last few days. My guess is Corran was knocked off his bike and whoever hit him picked up the bike and took it with them. Corran as well. The pump probably came dislodged from the bike and they flung the pump out there thinking no one would ever find the thing.’
‘Or Corran did.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Corran knew what was happening,’ Riley said. ‘He flung the pump away thinking it might be the only thing marking the spot where he’d disappeared.’
‘You’re implying this wasn’t an accident, not a hit and run?’
‘Can you get some prints off the pump?’
‘If there are any, yes. I’ve got a team coming from Plymouth. We’ll do a search of two
Best not wear out your workhorse though, as you’re going to need his help and you don’t want him tired. Not with what’s coming.
Chapter Seven
Princetown, Dartmoor. Monday 16th June. 12.37 p.m.
As Enders drove out of the prison car park and back through Princetown, Riley opened the file the Governor had given them and began to leaf through the bundle of paper.
‘Not much more in here, Patrick. Nothing to suggest a reason for him going missing. Not on his kid’s fifth birthday. I mean, even if you are having an affair or something you don’t leave like that, do you?’
‘Darius?’ Enders jabbed a finger at the windscreen.
They had left Princetown and were heading westward across the moor. The road wound into the distance, climbing a low rise next to a stand of pines. A queue of cars snaked back towards them. At its head a patrol car was drawn across the road, blue light strobing. A Volvo estate had pulled onto the verge near the copse, the rear door up, a jumble of plastic containers and toolboxes in the back.
They approached the queue and overtook, coasting by on the right and ignoring the glares from inside the stationary cars. They stopped next to the patrol car and got out. There was no sign of Campbell and the rescue group, but it appeared as if they’d found something. The patrol officer inspected Riley’s ID and pointed down the road. A series of white lines had been spray-painted onto the tarmac and John Layton knelt next to one of them, tweezers in one hand, plastic container in the other. Riley walked down the road to the CSI officer. Layton glanced up as he neared, tipped his battered Tilley hat back with one finger and held up the tweezers.
‘Good of you to come out, John,’ Riley said. ‘From what I hear you’ve got a lot on your plate.’
‘Dog’s dinner, mate, but I didn’t have much choice. Got a call on my phone. Only the bloody CC. He was quite firm on the matter.’ Layton’s eagle-like eyes darted from Riley back to the tweezers as he held them over the container and dropped a glittering shard of plastic in. He screwed on a lid and shoved the container into one of the many deep pockets in his tan raincoat. ‘Red and silver plastic. From a reflector. Some metallic blue paint on there. Could have come from a collision with a car.’
‘Bit of a long shot, isn’t it?’ Riley said. ‘It might be from anywhere.’
‘There’s some blood on the road surface too. Plus the rescue bods found a bicycle pump away from the road, down in a clump of heather, as if it had been thrown there.’
‘Corran’s?’
‘A Bontrager Air Support pump. Distinctive, and according to his missus, Corran’s bike had one.’
‘No sign of the bike though?’
‘Nothing.’
‘So what do you think happened?’
‘Well …’ Layton spotted another piece of plastic on the road and bent and repeated his tweezer, container, pocket action of earlier before standing and pointing to a clump of heather encircled with blue and white tape. ‘That’s where the pump was found. Apart from the marks made by the person who found the pump, nobody has walked the ground nearby in the last few days. My guess is Corran was knocked off his bike and whoever hit him picked up the bike and took it with them. Corran as well. The pump probably came dislodged from the bike and they flung the pump out there thinking no one would ever find the thing.’
‘Or Corran did.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Corran knew what was happening,’ Riley said. ‘He flung the pump away thinking it might be the only thing marking the spot where he’d disappeared.’
‘You’re implying this wasn’t an accident, not a hit and run?’
‘Can you get some prints off the pump?’
‘If there are any, yes. I’ve got a team coming from Plymouth. We’ll do a search of two
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