one, it’s for sale? I understand that you are the owner. We’d like to take a look inside if you don’t mind.’
‘Sure, no problem, though nobody’s been in there. And those two over the road,’ Drew points to the middle pair of terraced cottages, ‘they’re owned by weekenders. They usually come up from London for the racing, but I haven’t seen them lately. Must be the cold weather keeping them away.’
‘Yes, we’re already looking into that. But it’s you we’d like a word with at the moment. Do you mind if we go inside?’
Lacey follows them in, to Fletcher’s obvious annoyance. I was here first, she thinks, and you know you can’t order me to leave. Besides, she wouldn’t feel comfortable going over to the schoolhouse while the police were hanging about. She needs to speak with Triss in private. So, with the four of them cramped into the living room of the tiny cottage, Sergeant West takes notes while Inspector Fletcher quizzes Drew on what he knows of the Caxtons and what happened on Tuesday. It isn’t much, and nothing that Lacey hasn’t heard already.
They are outside by the van again. Lacey looks up at the weather vane on the schoolhouse. It judders and swings in the wind. Sudden gusts whip along the roadway, making miniature whirlwinds from the dirt. There’s dust everywhere here; it blows off the fields, the dry topsoil constantly rising and shifting, paying no respect to houses and cars, but covering everything with the same fine, grey veil.
After thanking Drew for his co-operation and bidding Lacey a good day, the two detectives had headed straight over to Mr Abercrombie’s place. They’d disappeared around the back several minutes ago, so must have had some success following Drew’s advice.
‘Right,’ says Drew, ‘I’d better go and get some work done.’
‘Mind if I hang on here until Noddy and Big Ears have gone? I do want to see Triss again this afternoon, and I’d rather they didn’t see me going over there.’
‘Sure. Drop the door catch when you leave.’
‘Burrows, hello there!’ Bill Henderson’s front door is open and he is crossing the road in the nearest he can manage to a run. ‘Them men that were here a moment ago, were they police?’
‘Yes, how did you guess?’
‘Spot one a mile off, ‘specially the plain-clothes sort. I was hoping to have a quick word with them.’
‘Well, they shouldn’t be long. They’re trying to interview old Mr Abercrombie.’ The two men exchange a grin.
Lacey’s ears prick up. ‘You’re Mr Henderson, aren’t you? Your son runs the farm at the end of the lane. I expect you’ll want to talk to them about the disappearance?’ She feels Drew nudge her, the nearest he can manage to a kick on the shins. Well, it’s his own fault for dating a reporter.
‘Told them everythin’ I knew yesterday, which didn’t ‘mount to nothing at all,’ says Bill. ‘No, it’s something else, as if that’s not enough.’ He looks directly at Drew. ‘It seems we’ve got them vandals again. Bloody idiots.’
‘Why, what’s happened?’
‘Damn crop circles. ‘Scuse my language, Miss, but we’re sick to the back teeth of it. Every dammed summer’s the same. You’d think they’d have gotten tired of it by now.’
‘You mean you’ve got one?’ Lacey is halfway to her car, about to find her camera. On second thoughts, it won’t run away. Better to get a photographer around. She scrambles in her bag for her cellphone.
‘Hold it.’ Drew stops her, takes her firmly by the shoulders and turns her in his direction. Bending down, he brings his face level with hers. ‘Now, pay attention. Listen carefully and watch my lips. There will be no publicity. We do not do crop circles in Covington. Got it?’
‘But—’
‘I’m sorry, Bill. You’re probably not aware that my girlfriend here works for the Fenland Herald.’
‘Oh, Christ, that’s all we bloody need.’ Bill removes his flat cap and wipes his hand over his
‘Sure, no problem, though nobody’s been in there. And those two over the road,’ Drew points to the middle pair of terraced cottages, ‘they’re owned by weekenders. They usually come up from London for the racing, but I haven’t seen them lately. Must be the cold weather keeping them away.’
‘Yes, we’re already looking into that. But it’s you we’d like a word with at the moment. Do you mind if we go inside?’
Lacey follows them in, to Fletcher’s obvious annoyance. I was here first, she thinks, and you know you can’t order me to leave. Besides, she wouldn’t feel comfortable going over to the schoolhouse while the police were hanging about. She needs to speak with Triss in private. So, with the four of them cramped into the living room of the tiny cottage, Sergeant West takes notes while Inspector Fletcher quizzes Drew on what he knows of the Caxtons and what happened on Tuesday. It isn’t much, and nothing that Lacey hasn’t heard already.
They are outside by the van again. Lacey looks up at the weather vane on the schoolhouse. It judders and swings in the wind. Sudden gusts whip along the roadway, making miniature whirlwinds from the dirt. There’s dust everywhere here; it blows off the fields, the dry topsoil constantly rising and shifting, paying no respect to houses and cars, but covering everything with the same fine, grey veil.
After thanking Drew for his co-operation and bidding Lacey a good day, the two detectives had headed straight over to Mr Abercrombie’s place. They’d disappeared around the back several minutes ago, so must have had some success following Drew’s advice.
‘Right,’ says Drew, ‘I’d better go and get some work done.’
‘Mind if I hang on here until Noddy and Big Ears have gone? I do want to see Triss again this afternoon, and I’d rather they didn’t see me going over there.’
‘Sure. Drop the door catch when you leave.’
‘Burrows, hello there!’ Bill Henderson’s front door is open and he is crossing the road in the nearest he can manage to a run. ‘Them men that were here a moment ago, were they police?’
‘Yes, how did you guess?’
‘Spot one a mile off, ‘specially the plain-clothes sort. I was hoping to have a quick word with them.’
‘Well, they shouldn’t be long. They’re trying to interview old Mr Abercrombie.’ The two men exchange a grin.
Lacey’s ears prick up. ‘You’re Mr Henderson, aren’t you? Your son runs the farm at the end of the lane. I expect you’ll want to talk to them about the disappearance?’ She feels Drew nudge her, the nearest he can manage to a kick on the shins. Well, it’s his own fault for dating a reporter.
‘Told them everythin’ I knew yesterday, which didn’t ‘mount to nothing at all,’ says Bill. ‘No, it’s something else, as if that’s not enough.’ He looks directly at Drew. ‘It seems we’ve got them vandals again. Bloody idiots.’
‘Why, what’s happened?’
‘Damn crop circles. ‘Scuse my language, Miss, but we’re sick to the back teeth of it. Every dammed summer’s the same. You’d think they’d have gotten tired of it by now.’
‘You mean you’ve got one?’ Lacey is halfway to her car, about to find her camera. On second thoughts, it won’t run away. Better to get a photographer around. She scrambles in her bag for her cellphone.
‘Hold it.’ Drew stops her, takes her firmly by the shoulders and turns her in his direction. Bending down, he brings his face level with hers. ‘Now, pay attention. Listen carefully and watch my lips. There will be no publicity. We do not do crop circles in Covington. Got it?’
‘But—’
‘I’m sorry, Bill. You’re probably not aware that my girlfriend here works for the Fenland Herald.’
‘Oh, Christ, that’s all we bloody need.’ Bill removes his flat cap and wipes his hand over his
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