Gone to Ground

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘It’s not the same though. You’ve got to admit, there’s something very summer-like having barbecue smoke wafting across the garden.’

  ‘It’s relaxing, too isn’t it?’ said Pia. ‘Takes me back to my childhood.’

  ‘Same here. And, anyway—’ Barnes broke off, his mouth dropping open before he recovered. ‘What the bloody hell is that?’

  A mournful bleat reached Kay’s ears, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she snorted cold beer up her nose.

  ‘Oh, my God,’ she said, spluttering. She reached out for a napkin and cleaned up, then turned as Adam appeared on the back step with a tray of meat in his hands.

  She pointed at the miniature goat that had burst through the door seconds before. ‘What on earth is that doing in our garden?’

  Adam put the tray on the table, said a quick hello to Barnes and Pia, then patted his hands on his jeans.

  The goat skipped across the lawn to him and butted against his leg while he scratched at its fawn-coloured coat.

  ‘This is Misha.’

  ‘What’s she doing here?’

  ‘Keeping the grass down.’

  Barnes laughed, and Kay glared at him.

  ‘It’s not funny.’

  ‘He’s outdone himself this time – admit it.’

  She fought to keep a straight face while she took in the wiry-haired animal. Despite her protestations, she had to admit Misha was cute.

  When the goat left Adam’s side and ambled over to her though, she noticed her limping.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’

  ‘I had to trim her hooves this morning – the rescue centre we sponsor took her in yesterday after her owner said he couldn’t look after her anymore, and the procedure has left her a bit sore in her front left foot. I picked her up after I’d been to the butchers on The Green. She’ll be fine in a week or so, but I thought she’d be happier here with a bit of company than stuck in a pen at the clinic while she heals up.’

  ‘Aw, poor thing.’

  She ignored the laughter from the others as she leaned over and scratched Misha between the ears, and realised she’d enjoy having the animal to stay. She usually did when Adam brought unusual guests home – except for the time he tended a sick snake.

  ‘Will she be safe here?’

  ‘Should be, yes – Ian, if you don’t mind I was going to ask if you’d give me a hand making an enclosure for her after we’ve eaten? I went to the hardware store this morning and got what we’ll need.’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’

  Kay straightened and noticed the ring of wire fencing Adam had already placed against the far side of the house. She loved the urban foxes that roamed the neighbourhood, but Misha would be no match for them. At least now while she stayed with her and Adam, she’d be safe at night, especially since he had also brought home one of the large crates from the clinic to put in a corner of the makeshift pen.

  ‘Sit down, I’ll grab you a beer,’ she said, and made her way into the kitchen.

  Kay could hear the others making a fuss of the miniature goat as she grabbed more drinks from the refrigerator, and by the time she’d returned to the patio, Adam had clipped Misha’s collar onto a long lead that he’d fixed to one of the downpipes on the side of the house.

  The goat glared at him, her position now several paces away from the table full of food.

  Even Kay had to laugh as she topped up glasses and handed Adam a pint of his favourite real ale.

  ‘She’s sulking.’

  ‘She can sulk all she likes. This salad looks fabulous, and she’s not getting any.’

  A mournful bleat reached their ears.

  ‘I have to say, I’m surprised you didn’t postpone this,’ said Pia as Adam moved to the barbecue and began setting out the meat to cook. ‘Ian said you have a particularly nasty one on your hands at the moment.’

  ‘I nearly did, but then I figured it might be a few weeks before we get together again,’ said Kay. ‘I imagine we’re going to be putting in some long hours for a while now.’

  Barnes leaned forward and dropped an olive stone in the ceramic pot in the centre of the table. ‘I’d second that. I’ve been looking forward to this. It was worth it anyway just to see the look on your face, Hunter, when that goat appeared.’

  ‘Very funny.’

  Thirteen

  Geoffrey Cornwell woke early after the promise of a perfect summer’s day broke through the cracks in the blinds over the bedroom window an hour before the alarm was due to go off.

  He didn’t mind; he made a cup of tea for his wife, left it on the bedside table and gave her a gentle nudge to wake her, before making his way downstairs and sitting on the patio with his coffee and the newspaper.

  Their dog, a Beagle by the name of Alan – a legacy of when the kids were too young to know any better, and too insistent for him to refuse – sat beside him, lazily snapping at any flies that bothered them.

  His shift started at seven o’clock.

  Arriving at the disused quarry site, he swiped his security card across the panel at the gate, guided his car through the gap, and transferred his lunch box and water bottle to the staff room before grabbing the keys for the plant machine he would be operating.

  He blinked and used the sleeve of his high visibility long-sleeved shirt to wipe at the sweat that tickled at his brow.

  By mid-morning, the temperature was soaring.

  Geoffrey adjusted the controls on the excavator and let his mind wander to the darts match he was due to compete in that night. Alan would accompany him, of course. The dog had a penchant for the cheese-flavoured snacks that were sold behind the bar of The Blue Anchor, and only got them when Mary wasn’t around to see.

  That was still six hours away though, and the day was proving to be a long one.

  The air-conditioning in the cab of the excavator had stopped working a couple of months ago, and no-one had worried then – summer was a late arrival to the south of England, and the thought of incurring an unnecessary expense was obviously not at the top of his employers “to do” list at the time.

  Now he wished he could strip the shirt off his back.

  The cab had small windows on each side, but these had been designed for adjusting the mirrors, and nothing else. He could only catch a breeze through them when he turned the plant machine to the left before swinging the bucket around and attacking the landfill before him once more.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Running his tongue over parched lips, he manoeuvred the controls over the waste vegetation and soil. He would work another ten minutes, then have a break and wander over to the site office to refill his water bottle.

  It was all right for Mary – she worked at one of the local car showrooms in a state-of-the-art office with ducted air conditioning, and often complained that it was too cold. Geoffrey had laughed that morning after she had appeared downstairs with a cardigan draped over her arm, and he wondered how she would cope with the heat in the cab.

  She’d probably relish it.

  He forced himself to concentrate, the scrape and pull of the bucket across the earth an unsteady rhythm that shook the cab whenever it encountered a rock.

  That morning, he had topped up the oil and refuelled the tank with diesel before beginning his shift. In the old days, whoever used the vehicle the day before would ensure the fuel tank was full for the next man’s shift but with the rise in theft, his employers’ recent stance and change to procedure made sense.

  Now, he kept an eye on the machine as it worked, his hands moving automatically on joysticks.

  He raised his gaze to where one of the other shift workers operated a second excavator a few hundred metres away.

  Each of the machines worked autonomously, its operator burrowing through the waste that couldn’t be sent to the incinerator at Allington and converted into energy for the surrounding area.

  Their role was to segregate what could be recycled, then bury what was left.

 
Since he’d starting working at the site two years ago, he and Mary had become increasingly aware of what they purchased – the sheer wastage he encountered every day had shocked him, and he’d been a staunch supporter when his employers had announced they’d be reclaiming more of the green waste the excavator now burrowed through and sell it on for garden mulch.

  Geoffrey swung the machine around to the right and angled the bucket at the next pile of tangled branches and soil, and then froze.

  Beyond the scratched and dirty front window of the cab, the boom of the excavator hung in the air, waiting for his next manoeuvre.

  He didn’t move.

  Half a metre under the bucket, the churned waste from the local area yawed before him.

  And, perched on top of the pile of soil he’d turned, was an object that would be the source of nightmares for weeks, if not months.

  He reached out, put the controls into a neutral setting, then switched off the engine and swung open the door.

  His legs shook as he lowered himself from the cab, his hands clutching at the safety rails on each side. When he reached the ground, he paused for a moment, his stomach churning.

  He swallowed, fighting down the bile that rose in his throat, and glanced towards the exposed ground.

  It could have only been there for a few days. His role at the landfill was to sort and transfer incoming waste so that it could be processed by others elsewhere on site, and a new pile was already forming on the other side of the office buildings.

  Geoffrey exhaled, set his shoulders, and moved towards it.

  He stopped before he reached the bucket of the excavator, his bowels turning to liquid.

  Before him, its teeth grinning at his unease and shock, was a scorched and blackened human skull.

  Fourteen

  Kay eyed the black crow as it strutted across the tangle of abandoned tree roots and branches. Every few steps, it paused and stabbed its beak into the decaying vegetation before resuming its path across the edge of the landfill site.

  Above her, seagulls spiralled in the air, their cries sending a shiver across her shoulders.

  ‘Here you go.’

  She turned and took the plastic coveralls that one of the crime scene investigators held out to her.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said, and slipped her feet into the matching booties. She straightened and turned to Barnes who was zipping up coveralls that he’d pulled on over his shirt and trousers. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Yes. Let’s take a look.’

  Kay raised her gaze to the group of people milling about at the far end of the site.

  An abandoned excavator towered over Harriet as she issued instructions to her team, while one of her photographers crouched at the foot of the pile of waste that had been encircled with crime scene tape.

  She was pleased to see that the first responders had taken the initiative and created a wide perimeter that included the excavator as well as the materials set aside for reclamation. One of the uniformed officers stood at the entry to the crime scene, a clipboard in his hand as he recorded each person’s name.

  When she and Barnes had arrived at the landfill site, four more uniformed officers were working their way through the roster and interviewing each member of staff as well as their managers.

  Due to the dangerous environment and the risk of the mountains of waste collapsing from the number of people in attendance, the owners had insisted on having a maximum of half a dozen of her team within the perimeter at any one time.

  It hampered progress, but no-one was going to argue. Safety had to come first.

  Kay wrinkled her nose at the stench of rotting vegetation, and envied Harriet’s team for their masks. She cursed under her breath as her ankle rolled on the uneven ground, then murmured her thanks as Barnes reached out to steady her.

  ‘I know you’re keen to see another dead body, guv, but slow down. It’s not going anywhere.’

  Kay’s lips thinned, and she squinted in the bright sunlight that reflected off the paintwork of the plant machine.

  ‘Where’s the driver?’

  ‘He’s the bloke over to the left of the excavator – the taller one. Been working here for two years; local to the area. Uniform have taken an initial statement.’

  ‘Okay. Let’s see what we’ve got, and then we’ll speak to him.’

  She waited at the crime scene tape while Harriet finished speaking to Charlie, her photographer, before turning to the two detectives and waving them over.

  Kay scrawled her name across the proffered clipboard, handed it back to the police constable and ducked under the tape.

  Harriet gestured to a path that had been pegged out through the crime scene to ensure none of the evidence was contaminated and waited while the two detectives negotiated it to reach her.

  ‘We’re going to be here a while, but I can confirm that the skull is human,’ she said. ‘We’ve found other remains, too – possibly sections from a femur, three fingers, and a scapula. All have been burned.’

  ‘Do you think it’s the same victim as our amputated foot?’ said Barnes.

  Harriet eyed them both for a moment, then reached out and placed her hand on Kay’s arm before steering them further away from the small crowd of curious onlookers.

  ‘We’re keeping it quiet at the moment, but it’s my belief we have two victims here.’

  ‘Two?’ Kay glanced over her shoulder at the exposed soil.

  ‘The femur bone fragments are too small to match the ankle bone we found,’ said Harriet. ‘Given the amount of damage, I’m going to have to bring in a forensic anthropologist to assist in the identification.’

  ‘I suppose it’s going to be a while before we know if these two are connected.’

  Harriet scratched at her hair through the plastic hood that covered her head. ‘I hate to think that there’s more than one person doing this.’

  ‘How on earth will you and Lucas be able to identify them?’ said Barnes.

  ‘Burning doesn’t destroy all the evidence – we’ll still be able to search for signs of DNA from the teeth, for example. With any luck, we might be able to extract enough detail to see if the method of amputation on the other bones was the same as the ankle.’

  Kay cast her eyes over the remaining rubbish that had been dumped across the landfill and bit back a sigh.

  ‘I suppose we can’t be sure that there isn’t more here.’

  Harriet pointed to an area that had been cordoned off beyond their position. ‘When we got here, we spoke to the owners and ascertained the age of each section of the landfill. Where we are now is the most recent – all of this has been collected within the past two months. Everything over there is more than six months old and is due to be processed over the next few weeks. We plan to work through this more recent stuff over the next few days, and if you need us to – if you think our killer has been active for longer, I mean – then the owner will leave the older rubbish in situ until we’ve had a chance to go through it.’

  ‘How many people have you got spare to work on this?’ said Kay.

  ‘Half a dozen.’

  Kay said nothing, but the vastness of the task ahead of Harriet’s team was evident.

  Harriet led them back to where the skull had been found, and crouched beside it. She ran her little finger across the base of the bone.

  ‘This looks like a blunt trauma wound. Lucas will be able to tell you a bit more.’

  ‘So, he kills and then cuts up his victim’s body.’ Kay frowned. ‘That’s a lot of blood – and wouldn’t be easy to do.’

  ‘Not to mention he could be transporting the remains,’ said Barnes. ‘Maybe that’s how he lost the foot.’

  ‘And sets fire to the parts, then dumped them here.’ Kay added. ‘Hell of a risk moving around so much like that.’

  ‘Kay? Whoever did this didn’t expect to be caught,’ said Harriet, rising to her feet and brushing her gloved hands on her coveralls.

  ‘You think he’s done it before?’<
br />
  The CSI bit her lip and cast her gaze across the landfill to where a small group of contractors milled about, then back to Kay. ‘It’s more than my professional opinion will allow me to consider.’

  ‘What’s your gut feel?’

  Harriet exhaled, her brow creasing. ‘I think you need to find him. Before he does this again.’

  Fifteen

  Kay and Barnes left Harriet to supervise her team and stripped out of their coveralls once they reached the perimeter.

  A crime scene investigator took the discarded clothing and bundled it into a biohazard bin to avoid contamination, then Kay led the way over to where the excavator driver was standing with a colleague and PC Parker.

  The driver appeared to be in his early sixties with a mop of grey-brown hair tousled by the breeze that wafted across the site, and a worried expression on his features.

  ‘Guv? This is Niles Whitman and Geoffrey Cornwell,’ said Parker.

  ‘Call me Geoff.’ The man stuck his hand out, and Kay noticed the firm grip as she shook it.

  Despite the shock of the find, Cornwell seemed to be holding up well.

  She turned to Whitman. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk, away from here?’

  The site manager jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘There’s a breakout area outside the site office. Deserted at the moment, but it’s got tables and chairs. Will that do?’

  ‘Perfect. Lead the way.’

  Kay flapped at a fly that buzzed too close to her face and followed Whitman and Cornwell across the pitted and churned up ground, negotiating deep ruts left by the machinery used on the site.

  Whitman gestured to a rusted metal table and four camping chairs around it. ‘Here we go.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Kay. ‘Do you mind if we speak to Geoff alone for a moment, and then we’ll catch up with you?’

  The manager shrugged. ‘No problem.’

  Kay watched while he moved to a table at the opposite end of the breakout area, then pulled out a chair and sat beside the excavator driver and waited until Barnes extracted his notebook from his jacket pocket.