Ann Cleeves - The Crow Trap

“Perhaps he’s done his own deal with Godfrey Waugh?” Vera said. She laughed unpleasantly. “Or perhaps he’s developed his very own chat-up line?” When Rachael still looked blank she added, “It’s obvious he’s trying to impress you.”

After lunch, in an attempt to escape Vera and her mother, Rachael went with Anne to gather in the wooden quadrat frames from her survey areas.

It turned out not to be much of an escape.

“How did it go last night then?”

She should have realized that Anne wouldn’t let it go. “Fine. We went to see Charles Noble. Bella tried to contact him the week before she died. His stupid cow of a wife didn’t pass the message on.”

“Not that. I know about that. How did it go with Neville?”

The sun was still shining. After spending a spring in the hills Rachael was fit. She moved easily, felt she could go on for miles at the same pace without discomfort. She loved the rhythm of movement and didn’t want to break it. They came to a thicket of gorse in full flower with its sweet scent of roasted coconut. After what Neville had implied the night before, Rachael had niggling questions about Anne’s relationship with Godfrey Waugh, but she wasn’t going to bring that up now. She might be thinking about Neville but she didn’t want Anne asking about him. She didn’t want words at all. All she wanted was to walk on against the breeze with the smell of gorse, damp peat and crushed heather, the sound of skylark, curlew and distant sheep.

“Well?” Anne asked.

“Fine,” she said again.

“Don’t you find him really spooky?” Anne went on. “For one thing he doesn’t have any friends, does he? Not that I could tell. You said there didn’t seem to be any of his mates at Bella’s funeral.”

“So? I don’t have many “mates”!” She lengthened her stride, tried to pull ahead but Anne kept pace with her.

“I think he gets off on power, manipulating situations behind the scenes. You know your trouble, Rache, you won’t face up to things. It wouldn’t surprise me if he were still working for Lily Fulwell. The Fulwells are the people who’ll get most out of the quarry. And Neville’s definitely pulling Godfrey Waugh’s strings.”

“How do you know?” Now it was impossible to ignore the conversation.

Rachael stopped abruptly. She was wearing shorts and bent to massage the muscles in the back of her legs.

“What do you mean?” Anne stopped too.

“How do you know what’s going on between Neville and Godfrey Waugh?

Anyone would think you had some sort of inside information.”

That shut her up at last. She walked on without answering but for Rachael the walk was spoiled.

The final quadrat to be collected was in the lime spoil close to the mine building. From the hill they looked down on the site. With the grey block of the mine, the dark moss of conifer, the pale snake line of the burn, it was like looking down onto a map. They could see the curve in the burn where Grace’s body had been found. All the debris used by the police the blue and white tape, the plastic sheeting had been cleared, but it had been there long enough for Rachael to pinpoint the spot accurately. Neither of them mentioned it, even when they had to walk close by.

They couldn’t see the quadrat from the hill because it lay in the shadow of the engine house, next to the mill chimney.

“Someone’s moved it,” Anne said as they approached. The frame looked as if it had been kicked or tripped over. “It’s just as well the survey’s finished. That could really have cocked things up.”

“Perhaps it was the police?”

“No. They haven’t been here for days. Besides, I brought Vera up the day the investigation started and showed her what was going on. She told them to be careful.”

“A walker then.”

“Perhaps. Some ghoul interested in seeing where the murder took place.

Or a protester from Langholme wanting a closer look at the mine before it’s turned into Godfrey Waugh’s operations centre.”

“Or a ghost.” “I thought you were a scientist. Never had you down as a believer in the supernatural.”

“I’m not.”

“What’s with the ghosts then?”

“Nothing. A flip remark.”

“There must be more to it than that.”

“Occasionally, when I’ve been walking the burn I’ve had the feeling of somebody watching me. Or following. And I saw a woman once on top of the cairn.” “Who was it?” Anne asked. Rachael looked at her, thinking she must be taking the piss but she seemed serious.

“I don’t know. Couldn’t tell.”

“You must have an overactive imagination, pet. Living with Grace was enough to give anyone the willies.”

Anne crossed the culverted stream towards the square, stone room which had once held the engine which powered the mine. She turned back towards Rachael. Reflected fragments of light from the water bounced onto her face.

“Could it have been Grace?” she asked. “We never knew exactly where she was.”

“Perhaps.” Though Rachael knew it hadn’t been Grace she had seen by the cairn that day.

The room was almost intact. It had been roofed with corrugated iron.

At the mouth of the ragged rectangle where once the door had been, flowers had been laid hothouse blooms, white daisies and huge white chrysanthemums. They were perfect. They hadn’t started to wilt, despite the heat.

“It must have been a walker then,” Anne said, ‘ the spot of Grace’s death. Or near enough. That’s touching. Perhaps we should have thought of it.”

“There were flowers here before. The day the woman was on the cairn.”

“Your ghost again?”

“No.” Rachael was irritated. “Of course not.”

“Well, it wasn’t a ghost this time.” Anne had walked into the building. The floor was of bare earth covered by loose stone flags.

“Unless ghosts eat chocolate digestives.” Anne came back towards the door, holding up a biscuit wrapper.

“Perhaps that’s why Grace was never hungry. She pigged out on chocolate.”

“It couldn’t have been dropped by Grace. The police searched here and took everything they found away. It must be more recent than that.”

Anne had moved further into the room. She was poking in a corner with one of her marker canes. “I think someone’s been camping out. This looks like ashes. The remains of a campfire.”

“Wouldn’t we have seen the light?”

“Not from Baikie’s. Not if they stayed inside.”

“Someone’s been watching us then.” Rachael backed away from the building so she was standing in sunlight and had a clear view all around her. The crow, she thought. The driver of the white car. He’s been here all the time watching every move we make. He’ll know when the police are in Black Law. He can see the cars moving down the track. He can see us sitting in the garden or setting out for the hill. “Come on,” she called to Anne. “We should go.”

But Anne seemed unaware of any danger. She lingered by the entrance, looking in. “Unless this is where Edmund Fulwell’s been holed up.

Imagine him here, all the time, while Vera Stanhope’s been chasing round the country after him. Though you saw a woman, didn’t you?

Perhaps cross-dressing is one of his vices too.”

“The woman was weeks ago.” Rachael wanted to run back to Baikie’s, couldn’t understand Anne’s lack of urgency.

“But Edmund’s a boozer and there aren’t any cans or bottles. And if it was him, where is he now?”

They found Vera in Black Law with her team. When they told her about their find at the mine she erupted into a violent and entertaining fury directed at the colleagues who stood around her.