“What kind of search force are they lending us?” Freeman asked when Pierce hung up.
“Apparently, we can have two PCs, three community support officers, and someone with a dog,” Pierce said.
“To cover the whole area?” she said incredulously.
Pierce twisted her mouth wryly. “We get what we get,” she said. Hard enough getting the local teams to play nice with the RCU at the best of times, and Dawson’s rough handling of the Bingley scene hadn’t done them any favours on that front. With the number of senior officers in the region already slashed thanks to recent budget cuts, Bowers being out of action from his injuries meant stretching thin coverage even further, and she didn’t doubt the news of the RCU’s involvement had done the rounds.
“We’ll make do,” she said. “I’ll go and rescue Deepan from the hippie druid invasion in the car park—you get in touch with Dawson, tell him we’ll be out for the afternoon and he’s holding the fort.” She wasn’t entirely happy with the thought of leaving the department in his hands, but he’d been running it for weeks already, and frankly she’d rather have him behind her back than be butting heads with him at another crime scene. “And see if he can send Taylor back to us,” she added as an afterthought. “We’re going to need all the help that we can get.”
WITH SUCH A limited search force on offer, Pierce’s role was less one of oversight, more one of mucking in beside the rest. They needed every pair of eyes that could be spared, but all the same she was reluctant to involve the local public in the search. For a start, the news of potential ritual magic in the area would be bound to leak out to the press—and more importantly, she didn’t trust folks with no police training to obey her strict instructions not to touch anything.
She wasn’t sure she trusted the community support officers that far, either. They might have the basic training needed to do their duties, but it wasn’t the same as having experienced police under her command—and even those could be mighty shirty about taking the word of outside specialists that they needed to go beyond standard procedure. She supposed the one advantage of the inadequate search force was that she outranked everyone here by a mile.
“All right,” Pierce said, assessing her assembled forces. They were gathered outside the gates of the cemetery where the two grave robberies had occurred. It would no doubt be a pleasantly shady spot in the summer, but in the depths of winter the overhanging trees were bare and gaunt, the pavement at the base of the wall thick with a mush of rotted leaves.
“We’ll partner up,” she decided. “RCU officers should be teamed with a local. Taylor, Freeman, you go with Constables Winters and Jackson.” Possibly risking some chain of command friction, putting her two least experienced officers with uniform constables equal in rank, but she’d rather they have proper backup than leave them wrangling PCSOs when they were this new in the job. She’d just have to trust they’d have the confidence not to let the locals ignore or override them when it counted.
She nodded at the trio of community support officers. “You’ll be with me and Sergeant Mistry,” she told the nearest two. “And you with Constable Collins.” Their dog handler, a tall, ruddy-faced woman who seemed to be the most enthusiastic of the lot about being seconded to the RCU for the day. “And Magnus,” Pierce added, eyeing the German Shepherd lying watching their feet with soulful canine patience. “Make sure the dog doesn’t get too close if we do find disturbed earth.”
“He’s well trained,” Collins assured her, giving the dog a supportive stroke that caused his tail to thump. Maybe so, but Pierce would still have preferred it if all the search teams could have at least one RCU officer along for guidance. Not practical, though: with the shortest day approaching, they’d be lucky if the light lasted till four o’clock, and they had to spread their search coverage as wide as it would go.
She checked her watch. Not as much time as she would have liked to give a proper briefing on the dangers of touching the wrong thing, so she’d have to make the lecture short and sweet.
“All right,” she said. “We’re looking for a site with multiple shallowly buried human skulls, most likely three in a triangular arrangement some metres apart. They may have been buried recently, or as much as several months ago. Concentrate on unused fields, waste ground, abandoned or seldom used properties—places where the ritual-workers would have reason to think their work would go undisturbed. Do not be the one to disturb it,” she added emphatically. “If you find anything that looks suspicious, call it in on the radio and await instructions.”
She couldn’t tell if it was going in; anyone who’d spent any time working for the police force soon learned to perfect the art of looking politely attentive while superiors talked bollocks. The only one she could be sure was definitely paying attention was the dog.
But time was a-wasting, and labouring a point never won more supporters. Pierce clapped her hands. “All right, we’re short on time and we don’t have a clear radius for how far from the cemetery our location might be, so move out, split up, and keep checking in on the radio to let the others know what ground you’re covering.” She flagged the first community support officer whose name she could remember. “Archer, you’re with me.” He trotted along after her with an affable smile, a sturdy young blond lad who once upon a time would have been considered too short to be a policeman.
They started along a steep lane that was hemmed in by the graveyard wall and a high hedge on the other side; there was no pavement, and the white line that divided it to take two lanes of traffic looked a tad too optimistic in her view. Still, it didn’t look like the matter got tested much: right now, everything was pretty quiet.
Except for her companion. “So is this ritual really dangerous?” Archer asked her eagerly as they walked. “I always wanted to work for the RCU; my granddad was in the police, and he was there at that big cult bust in 1963 where they found all those coffins in the grounds of Greywood School. He said all the lids were moving when they dug them up, and there were skeleton fingers trying to get out. Is that even possible, like, animating skeletons? Do you think that’s what these cultists are trying to do? I mean, if you think it’s cultists, but I guess it must be, mustn’t it, if they’re doing all these big rituals and that.”
Chatty was a good trait in a community support officer, she supposed. A warm and friendly face for interacting with the public. But Lord, she had a feeling that, however few hours of light they might have, it was going to be a very long afternoon.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT DIDN’T TAKE long for a chill, overcast day to become a cold and wet one. Pierce pulled the hood of her coat up against the worsening weather, which was rapidly becoming an impedance. They should have had more time before they lost the afternoon’s light, but the clouds turned the day dim, street lighting not yet kicking in to compensate.
Archer trotted on ahead of her, high visibility jacket doing its job in the rainy gloom. The young PCSO had lost some of his chatty enthusiasm as the wet, windy afternoon wore on, but to give him his due, he was still game to make an effort, peering under hedgerows and over farm gates. Pierce, by contrast, was feeling very much her fifty-four years, and the gut instinct of years of experience was proving more of a demotivator than a help right now. It didn’t feel like this was getting them anywhere.
“What’s down this way?” she asked Archer, looking down another narrow hedge-lined lane to her left. He pushed his peaked cap further back on his head as he squinted through the rain.
“Er, it’s all just farmers’ fields, I think, pretty much all the way,” he said. “Don’t really have that much call to come out here, to be honest.”
With miles and miles of fields to cover, there was little point continuing the needle-in-a-haystack hunt; the longer the rain kept on, the harder it would be to spot the signs of digging anyway. Pierce glanced up at the sky: the charcoal edges of the clouds foretold that it would soon be chucking it down.
She reached for her radio. “Romeo Charli
e One to all teams. Weather’s getting worse. Anyone got anything to report?”
Quick negatives from each of the RCU officers; a longer pause before she got a response from Collins on the dog team. “Might have something here, Romeo Charlie One,” she said. “Got some signs of digging under the trees, and Magnus has picked up some kind of scent.”
The fresh kick of hopeful adrenaline took some of the chill out of the rain. “All right, all teams join Romeo Charlie Five at their location,” Pierce ordered. “Romeo Charlie Five, investigate, but don’t disturb the scene. Look for other burial sites in proximity.”
If this turned out to be nothing, they would pack it in for the day—but maybe their luck had turned at last.
FIFTEEN MINUTES DOWN the road, and it was clear they’d be calling the search off whatever the outcome. The heavens had finished rehearsing and decided to open for real, and the rain hammered down as they hurried along the narrow rural lanes. A few cars swished by them, the traffic increasing as the day slipped into the build-up towards rush hour, and she was grateful for Archer’s hi-vis jacket as they pressed back into the hedges.
The radio burst into life again as they were passing the walls of the graveyard. “Romeo Charlie Five to Romeo Charlie One, looks like a secondary burial site here,” Collins reported. “I think this is the place.”
Pierce felt the swell of anticipation rising in her gut. This time, with a complete scene in a relatively isolated place, they might have their chance to study it in situ. The rain was going to make it a bastard to gather any evidence tonight, but most of what they were interested in was underground in any case, and might well have been buried for days or weeks already. They’d just have to do their best to preserve what they could.
“Received, Romeo Charlie Five. Look for a third in a similar radius and get that site cordoned off, and await the arrival of the other teams.” Anticipation felt a lot like agitation, her mind ticking off all the myriad ways things could go wrong before they arrived. Who would be closest to the spot where they’d parked the cars—Taylor’s team? “Romeo Charlie Four, get back to the vehicles,” she ordered. “Bring them round to the location. We’re going to need tarps to protect the scene.”
The sky had already darkened to the point where it was hard to see; it would be pitch black before they were done, maybe even before they arrived. Pierce hastened her pace. Maybe it was just the weather, or the itch for useful action after too long achieving too little, but her heart was hammering in her chest. Gut instinct howled that this was all about to go tits up.
Archer took the lead as they finished backtracking their previous route and moved on towards the crime scene, but something in her hasty pace must have been contagious: he led the way at a jog that was almost a run. Shorter legged and older, Pierce still kept up without complaint; she’d feel stupid when she reached the crime scene out of breath and aching, but for now the fear of what might happen before they arrived still ruled the day.
Collins spoke on the radio again. “Romeo Charlie Five to Romeo Charlie One, think we might’ve found the third location. Davenport’s trying to get a—” A burst of frantic barking interrupted her words, only silenced when the transmission cut out. Pierce’s stomach dropped.
“Romeo Charlie Five, report!” she ordered. Pregnant silence on the airwaves until Collins’ voice returned a moment later.
“Sorry, Guv. Magnus is—” More barks. “Magnus! Magnus! Quiet! Stay!” The barking eased, but even over the radio Pierce could still hear the German Shepherd’s grumbling whine. “Magnus is going nuts. This isn’t his usual behaviour.”
“All right, pull back, pull back,” Pierce ordered. “Get the dog off of the scene.” She puffed for breath, chest beginning to burn as she ran on. The journey was starting to take on the consistency of a nightmare, racing down dark rainy avenues that all looked the same. “All teams, report,” she demanded. “Is anybody there yet?”
“Romeo Charlie Two here—we’re still five minutes away, Guv.” No closer than Pierce and Archer themselves.
“Romeo Charlie Three here—we’re almost there now,” Freeman told her. “We’re just coming up on the hill.”
“Romeo Charlie Four? Where are you with those cars?” Pierce asked.
Taylor sounded breathless. “I can see them now, Guv,” he said. “We’ll be on our way in a couple of moments.”
All of them converging on a point, but she feared that it was going to be too slow. “Romeo Charlie Five, what’s your situation now?” No response. Her heart thudded even harder than the exertion demanded. “Collins, whatever you’re doing, report!”
A long stretch of seconds, and still no answer. Fuck, fuck, fuck...
“Guv—uh, Romeo Charlie Three here—Guv, we’re almost there now!” Freeman repeated over the radio.
Almost wasn’t cutting it now. Pierce tried the PCSO. “Davenport, are you with Collins? Can you hear the dog from where you are?”
No response from Davenport either. Shitfuck. She tried to push her battered body into one more burst of speed, straining for breath to speak into the radio. “Everybody, however fast you’re moving, move faster. And Taylor, get those cars here! We’re going to need the ritual kit from the boot.” If what had happened to Vyner was happening again, they were in trouble. “Collins, Davenport, Romeo Charlie Five, respond!”
But they didn’t, and some grim part of her had already stopped believing that they would. Something was happening in those woods, and even only minutes out was still too far away.
“I can hear the dog!” Freeman reported. “He’s somewhere in the trees. I can’t see anybody on the road.”
Pierce’s gut clenched at the thought of sending young, untested coppers into the unknown, but that was the job. “All right, Romeo Charlie Three, go in after the dog. And be careful! It may be aggressive.” Under outside influence or just plain scared, an out-of-control German Shepherd was nothing to mess with.
And it might not be the biggest danger right now. “Find Collins and Davenport, but stay wary,” she puffed into the radio. “We could be dealing with a case of spirit possession, or other, unknown threats. Everybody stick with your search partner, do not separate, and check in with me with regular reports.”
They didn’t even know yet that the threat was magical in nature—they could be dealing with that old favourite, lurking criminals with blunt instruments. Or radio interference.
Wouldn’t it be nice if, just for once, loss of contact was plain old radio interference?
They should be so bloody lucky. Pierce ran on, feet pounding the rain-drenched tarmac; she was already feeling every bit of her age and weight, and they still weren’t there yet.
Blurted updates on the radio, a steady stream of info that still felt inadequate. Freeman and Winters entering the woods. Taylor just arrived back at the cars. Deepan on the approach.
Still not a peep from Davenport or Collins.
Even PCSO Archer was starting to wheeze a little from their prolonged run as the road curved round another corner and he pointed ahead through the rain. “That’s the woods!”
Pierce could just about make out the dim shadowed lines of the trees on the right-hand side of the road. “Got your torch?” She pulled hers out as Archer nodded and fumbled for it under the edge of his jacket. As she clicked it on, the beam lit up the high visibility fabric dazzlingly, but did little to penetrate through the surrounding rain. Water ran around their feet as they hurried up the hill.
“Romeo Charlie Three, what’s your position?” she asked the radio. “We’re approaching the woods now.”
“Still searching the woods, Guv,” Freeman responded. “The dog’s running loose, I think; we’re chasing him all round the houses. No sign of PC Collins or PCSO Davenport.”
“Have you found the ritual scene yet?”
“I can’t tell! It’s too dark in here. We haven’t crossed any police tape.” Which could mean they hadn’t found the place, or that the others hadn’t had time to cordo
n it off.
“Coming to join you now,” she shouted into the radio. “Romeo Charlie Two, what’s your position?”
“Just coming up on the other side of the woods right now, Guv!” She squinted, but she couldn’t see the light of any other torches nearby. Between the trees, the rain, the sharply curving roads and sloping hills, visibility around here was a nightmare. Searching the woods in this would be a bastard.
But they had people missing, and they couldn’t afford to wait. “Right, let’s move in,” she said to Archer.
A low stone wall separated the woodland from the road. Pierce didn’t waste time hunting around for the proper access, but instead headed straight for a point where the capstones along the top of the wall had tumbled, leaving a lower barrier. She scrambled over, a hand from Archer steadying her before he followed her lead.
On the other side, the ground sloped sharply down away from them, the undergrowth thick even in the winter. Wet mud and leaf mould made the footing treacherous, and bare branches jabbed at her hands as she grabbed at them for support.
In the distance, further downhill, she could hear the dog barking. She spoke into the radio again. “This is Romeo Charlie One—we’re coming down from the road. Romeo Charlie Three, what’s your position?”
“We’re about... halfway down the slope, I think,” Freeman said. “Dog’s somewhere quite nearby, but I don’t have a visual.”
“Coming to join you.”
As she descended the slope, she could hear the radio chatter of the other teams checking in, but she relegated it to the back of the line for her attention. They had to stay alert now; danger could come from any side.
“Spread out a bit, but don’t move out of line of sight,” she ordered Archer. “Check the ground for signs of digging, or any recent disturbance.” Or bodies, but she didn’t need to tell him that. “You check that side, I’ll check this side.”
Disturbed Earth (Ritual Crime Unit Book 2) Page 11
