Page 78 of Making a Killing

‘And to be fair, they did come in for a shedload of shit when Ellie Harben went missing – not only is the camp less than a mile from the Rollrights, but a whole bunch of them pitched up a couple of hours after she disappeared to stage a “happening” to mark the summer solstice. Needless to say they weremajorlypissed off that we’d cordoned off the scene and only got more so when we started asking them for alibis.’

There’s the sound of raised voices now – things with the camp residents appear to be getting a little heated, fingers are being pointed and personal space invaded – and the young PC holding the line is starting to look decidedly flustered. Bradley and Asante exchange a glance and start to move towards them.

‘Could we be of assistance, Nicholls?’ says Bradley as soon as they get within earshot.

He glances round and looks relieved when he sees who it is. ‘No, it’s fine, Sarge –’

‘No it fucking isn’t,’ says the elderly man, fixing them with a beady stare. Bradley can smell the marijuana on him even at this distance.

‘We want to know what the fuck is going on. And why you’reyet againpreventing our lawful right of entry to a site of special spiritual significance.’

Spiritual significance, my arse, thinks Bradley, you’re just a nosey old sod. She smiles. ‘And you are –?’

His eyes narrow. ‘Ged,’ he says.

‘I see. Not Numinous Hieroplant of the Ninth Circle, then? I must have you mixed up with someone else.’

‘You taking the piss?’

‘Not at all,’ she says winsomely. ‘Just taking an interest. Anyway,Ged, this is a crime scene, which means we are within our rights to restrict access until evidence has been collected and investigations concluded. As a responsible citizen, I’m sure you understand.’ The smile is positively saccharine now; she can sense Asante’s amusement, but he’s keeping a stolidly straight face.

‘What crime?’ says the woman. ‘No one told us.’

‘Have you not seen the local news?’ offers Asante.

The man shrugs. ‘No telly, mate. No papers.’

No, but you all have bloody mobiles, don’t you, thinks Bradley. When they interviewed the people at the camp after Ellie disappeared there were half-a-dozenshould-have-been-at-school kids playing video games on their phones while the adults sat round smoking and scrappy dogs pulled and barked on their chains. One had a dirty scab where the heavy metal collar had dug in. Animal cruelty is the one thing Bradley really struggles with.

‘Is your group there fairly homogenous, would you say?’ she asks now. There’s a stain on the front of Ged’s dungarees she doesn’t want to think about too closely.

The old man is staring at her. ‘What are you getting at?’

‘It’s purely routine,’ she says sweetly. ‘We’re checking with all local communities – temporaryandpermanent – to identify anyone who might have gone missing, or disappeared unexpectedly. It would have been about five or six weeks ago – around the same time Ellie Harben disappeared –’

‘Nope, nothing like that,’ says Ged firmly before she’s even finished. Nor, she notes, does he ask whether it’s a man or a woman the police are looking for.

‘And do you have visitors?’ asks Asante, trying a different tack. ‘People who come and go? Young people, maybe, coming for festivals, that sort of thing –’

‘No,’ says Ged.

The woman puts her hand on his shoulder, though whether to stop him saying more or as a gesture of support, it’s hard to say.

‘Do you mean no visitors or no young people?’ says Asante, frowning.

‘He said no,’ says the woman. She pulls at Ged’s shoulder. ‘Come on, we’re wasting our time with these troglodytes. We’ll come back later.’

‘See what I mean,’ says Bradley as they watch them leave. ‘Vocal, but harmless.’

Asante looks across at her. ‘Could our vic have been staying there, do you think? Despite what he said? After all, it would be a good way to stay off-grid.’

She considers a moment. ‘It’s a possibility – definitely worthchecking. Though from wandering about in a beard and a white sheet to burying women alive is quite some leap.’

Asante nods slowly. ‘For most of them, sure. But all you need is a lone sociopath to decide it’s the End Times and all bets are off. Look at the Lori Vallow case – she thought her kids had turned into zombies andbothof them ended up in shallow graves.’

‘I know,’ says Bradley, all the humour draining from her face. ‘I know.’

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