Read Online Guardians Of The Haunted Moor by Harper Fox - Free Book Online

fringe-dwellers, with the Hurlers and the
Cheesewring and the mysterious tors. Really it needed its own
full-time constable, to keep the lunacy under some kind of control,
and offer education as to why it wasn’t all right for strangers to
come up here, leave the footpaths and tramp into other people’s
wages, rent and grocery funds.
    “ There. There. Do you see?”
    Gideon
caught hold of Darren’s T-shirt and pulled him back before he could
compound the damage. “I see someone’s been buggering about up here,
yes.”
    “ That bit there, where the corn’s flattened down. Do you
see?”
    It was
only a small patch. “What are you talking about, Darren? That’s
just a dead hare, or a...” He took a few steps into the field,
careful not to harm any more of the grain. Then he stopped, looking
down. “Oh, Jesus.”
    “ I told you. I told you. And that patch there, and there,
and—”
    He was
tipping back into hysterics. Gideon turned him sharply round and
shoved him towards the stile. A strange huffing sound from the
track caught his attention. Leaning through the hawthorns, he saw
Bill Prowse lumbering up the hill towards them, bright red in the
face and as incongruous in this landscape as a hot-dog stand.
Gideon had never in his life thought he’d be pleased to see him.
God only knew what had gone through Bill’s mind on seeing his
eldest pass by the house in company with the village bobby, what
grassings-up he’d imagined. “Bill,” he yelled, hoisting Darren
bodily over the wall. “Take him home. Do it now, and for once in
your life look after him.”
    “ What’s happened? What’s he been telling you?”
    “ Nothing. I just want you to...” Gideon had to stop to take a
deep breath. He’d seen quite a lot in his time as a copper, but
he’d never encountered one of his neighbours as nothing more than
an arm in a chequered sleeve, expensive wristwatch still
attached. Motive not robbery,
then... “I want you to get out of here, and
Darren, you keep your mouth shut.” That was a hopeless request, but
Gideon had to try, or he’d have the whole village up here gawping.
“Do you both hear me? Go!”

Chapter Three
     
    At half
past six in the morning, Gideon made his way back home. Behind him
on the peaceful hillside, as much of John Bowe’s cornfield as
practicable had been marked out with crime-scene tape. He could
still hear it fluttering in the early breeze, a festive sound for a
Lammas dawn. First of August, he thought distractedly. Lughnasadh.
The beginning of the Guldize festival that would continue here in
Dark across the barley and wheat harvests and on to Allantide. The
day was going to be a scorcher—he need not have worried about the
sulphurous cast to the sunset after all. The honeysuckle swayed,
and he inhaled its untainted freshness. Once the morning wind from
the moorlands died, the village would roast on its harvest-time
anvil.
    Ezekiel’s car was parked outside the flat. That didn’t seem
odd, by comparison with everything else Gideon had seen over the
last few hours, and he entered quietly, closing the door behind
him.
    Voices
were coming from the kitchen. He identified his mother’s. Rubbing
his eyes, he walked into the sunny room, where Zeke and the old
lady were seated at the little breakfast bar, and Lee—pale, almost
translucent in the brilliant light—was handing round toast and tea.
He took one look at Gideon. “Morning, love,” he said, came up and
kissed him on the cheek. “Your breakfast’s ready. Or would you like
to go and have a shower first?”
    Gideon
was covered in soil-dust and bits of corn. He’d spent all night
under arc lights, picking his way up and down Farmer Bowe’s furrows
along with the forensic and SOCO team. “No, I’d love some
breakfast. But you don’t look as if you should be on your
feet.”
    “ I’m fine.” Lee pulled out a stool opposite Ma Frayne and Zeke.
“Here, sit down.”
    “ Do you see?” the old lady said wonderingly. The