Logan thumped his free hand on the dashboard. ‘That’s us.’
Polly’s face was fixed in a pained rictus grin. ‘Oh thank God for that!’ She hauled on the handbrake and sagged in her seat, arms dangling by her sides, head drooping, eyes shut.
He didn’t have the heart to tell her they’d probably have to reverse most of the way down again. Well, it wasn’t as if they’d be able to do a three-point turn up here.
Directly in front of the van, the track narrowed even further. To the right, Ben Rinnes stretched away uphill, to the left, it fell towards a line of trees, four, maybe five hundred feet distant.
Charlie poked his head between the front seats and frowned at the drenched landscape. ‘Good a place as any, I suppose.’
Logan undid his seatbelt. ‘What about trace evidence?’
‘In this?’
Bouncer snorted. ‘You’ll be lucky. If it’d been dry: yes.’
Polly nodded. ‘Anything viable would’ve washed away days ago.’
‘Right, people,’ Shirley clapped her hands together, ‘get your waterproofs on. We’ve got a deposition site to find.’
It didn’t matter that the rain had downgraded itself from a full-on torrential downpour to the standard Scottish drizzle, Logan was still soaked. Bulbous clumps of heather grabbed at his legs, hiding roots, rocks, puddles, holes, and other assorted fun ways to break an ankle.
Every step came with the sibilant squish of waterlogged socks.
He picked his way through yet another clump — no dead body — then turned, looking uphill.
The Transit marked the middle of the search area, lurking on the path about eighty feet away. Which meant there was still another eighty-odd to go. God, this was going to take forever.
Five fluorescent-yellow figures inched their way through the treacherous undergrowth. All spread out across the downhill side of the search area. Maybe he should have split the team and got one half searching the uphill side at the same time? The sun was already sinking towards the hills. They only had, what, an hour and a half before it set?
But then, three people would take twice as long to search the same area, so in the end it would’ve made sod-all difference.
Thank you very much, Detective Chief Inspector Stephen ‘I can’t spare anyone’ Hardie. How was Logan supposed to—
‘The Imperial March’ blared from his phone, partially muffled by the thick high-viz jacket. He hauled it out. The words ‘HORRIBLE STEEL’ filled the screen. He answered it anyway. ‘Have you found something?’
‘I just stood in a dirty great puddle!’
‘So watch where you’re putting your feet.’
‘I’m cold and I’m wet and how are we supposed to find anything in this godforsaken hellhole?’
‘Keep looking.’ He hung up.
About seventy feet away one of the high-viz figures made very rude hand gestures in his direction.
Heather grasped hold of his right ankle and Logan toppled forward, arms outstretched, a bush rushing up to punch him in the face.
And BANG! Right into it, branches and leaves scratching at his cheeks and hands. An eruption of water as the rain-soaked undergrowth gave up a fair portion of its moisture.
‘Arrrrrrrrgh!’ He struggled on to his soggy knees. Wiped the water and bits of vegetation from his face. Spat out some peaty-tasting soil. ‘Sodding heathery bastards!’
He forced himself upright, bellowed in frustration, then gave the traitorous bush a serious kicking. ‘AAAAAAAAAAAARGH!’ Kick, bash, boot, batter, thump.
Logan stopped and bent double. Hands on his knees. Face and shoulders prickly with heat, panting out great billows of steam. ‘Argh...’
This was impossible. Completely and utterly—
His phone rang again and he yanked it from his pocket. Stabbed the button. ‘No, you can’t go back to the van for a kip! You can search like the rest of us!’
Silence from the phone.
Water dripped from the hem of his high-viz jacket.
‘What, no sarky comeback?’
‘Erm... Guv?’
Oh. It wasn’t Steel, it was Shirley.
‘Sorry. Thought you were someone else.’
‘By my reckoning, we’ve gone a hundred and eighty feet from the van.’
Logan turned. The Transit was a lot smaller than last time he’d checked, the rest of his team were all spread out, the ones in the middle distance like tiny Lego figures. ‘OK. We head back and try the other side of—’
‘HEY!’ A voice bellowed out across the hillside. ‘HEY!’ The Lego figure furthest away jumped up and down, waving her arms in the air. ‘OVER HERE!’
Logan waded into the heather, fought his way past a clump of broom, more heather. Yet more heather...
Everyone fought their way through the undergrowth, all converging on where Polly stood, still waving. As if they wouldn’t be able to find her by the glow of her massive fluorescent-yellow coat.
Logan clambered over a ridge and stopped.
Polly stood in the middle of a natural hollow, surrounded by heather that looked a lot browner and droopier than the stuff around it.
He took one step down into the hollow and stopped. What was that horrible smell? Rotting sausages and... He retreated a couple of steps, breathing through his mouth. Urgh, you could taste it — rancid and greasy. ‘Dear Lord...’
Charlie lurched up beside him. ‘What’s...’ Then his eyes bugged and he slapped a hand over his nose and mouth, hiding the scarlet lipstick. ‘Aw, Jesus, that stinks!’
Polly pointed to a bush, three feet from her foot. ‘He’s had to grub up the heather to get at the soil for digging. That’s why it’s all brown. Dying.’
Shirley stumbled to the brow of the hollow. Narrowed her eyes and wafted a hand in front of her. ‘Can’t be a very deep grave if it smells this bad out here.’
Bouncer sagged. ‘Not again.’
And last, but not least, Steel appeared. Hands in her pockets. She stopped at the edge, flared her nostrils, and took a good sniff. Then nodded. ‘I ate a kebab that smelled like that once. Tell you, my arse was like a Niagara Falls of oxtail soup for a whole week.’
Everyone stared at her.
‘Oh, like you’ve never done it.’
‘...absolutely stinks. And I mean spectacularly.’ Logan shifted in the driver’s seat, looking through the window and down the hill. Phone pressed to his ear.
A newly erected blue plastic marquee squatted over the deposition site, the walls glowing — Shirley and her team turned into monstrous shadow puppets by the crime-scene lights. It was one of the bigger ones, too. Could probably have parked a couple of minibuses in there.
Rain drummed on the van roof, its grey blanket hiding the fields and hills opposite. As if the setting sun wasn’t doing a gloomy enough job.
Hardie’s voice took on a hopeful edge. ‘Don’t suppose there’s any ID on the body, is there?’
‘Difficult to tell. According to the SE team, everything’s been swallowed by the adipocere. Victim looks like he’s been carved out of solid lard.’
‘Pfff... I don’t like it, Logan. I don’t.’
‘Only bright side is the ground around here isn’t as diggable as the stuff at Nairhillock Farm.’
‘Ding-Dong was one of us. It was bad enough he’d killed one person, but two?’
‘Body was barely three feet down. And they must’ve been three hard feet to dig.’