Free The Deadly Game by Jim Eldridge Page B

sighed. It was hard to think positive. He’d been so full of expectations when they’d been planning this. He was sure that Michelle was right, that there would be some of the books buried near to the site of the abbey. And Lauren had been meticulous in her research, locating potential sites for the hidden books.
    When they got to the lay-by, Jake looked around at the few cars that were parked there. No blue Renault. And none of the other vehicles looked familiar. Which didn’t mean that they weren’t being followed, just that someone was being very careful about doing it.
    When they arrived at the third site, it looked the same as the first two. Another large field, this one had maize growing in it, and hedgerows left wild all the way around the outside: long grasses, flowers, brambles and nettles.
    This is a waste of time, thought Jake gloomily. We’ve come all this way and we’re going to find nothing.
    Once again, Andy held the piece of old blackened leather to Woody’s nose, and then let the dog amble along the narrow track at the side of the field on the lead, nose to the ground and sniffing, with Jake, Robert and Michelle following. As before, Jake and Robert were carrying spades and a trowel, ready to start digging. They’d gone for only about a hundred metres, when Woody stopped, looked up at Andy and barked excitedly.
    ‘He’s found something!’ Andy grinned. ‘I told you!’
    ‘Is it a book?’ asked Michelle eagerly.
    ‘We won’t know until we dig it up,’ replied Andy.
    Woody now ran in small circles excitedly, nose to the ground.
    ‘He’s definitely found something!’ said Andy proudly. He pulled on the lead, and Woody moved back to sit beside Andy, looking up happily at his master as Andy patted him on the head. Both dog and man almost glowed with pride.
    ‘Right,’ said Jake, and he pushed a stout twig into the centre of the spot where Woody had been sniffing so energetically. ‘Let’s start digging.’
    ‘One at a time,’ advised Robert, ‘or we could end up getting in each other’s way.’
    ‘OK,’ said Jake, ‘I’ll start.’
    He pushed the spade’s blade into the soft earth with a mounting feeling of excitement. A book! They were going to find a book! Then a niggle of doubt crept in. Maybe Woody had just found a bone. One thing was for sure, they’d soon find out.
    Keep your fingers crossed for us, Lauren , he prayed silently, and turned out the first spadeful of soil.
    ‘Stop that!’
    It was a man’s voice, commanding and angry.
    They turned, and saw a tall man approaching, dressed neatly in a tweed jacket and trousers, and carrying a small briefcase.
    He reached them, glared at Jake and demanded, ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
    ‘Digging,’ said Jake.
    The man shook his head.
    ‘I’m afraid you can’t do that.’
    ‘And who are you?’ demanded Jake.
    ‘Eric Weems, clerk to the parish council.’
    ‘We’ve got permission from the landowner,’ said Jake. He turned to Robert, who produced the letter of consent he’d got from the farmer and handed it to the man. Weems scanned it, and then handed it back.
    ‘This letter is from the tenant farmer,’ he said. ‘This land is owned by a corporation.’
    ‘The farmer said he’d contacted them, and they’d said it was all right,’ said Robert.
    Weems shook his head.
    ‘He may have told you that, but verbal understandings are not lawful,’ he told them. ‘You need written authorisation from the corporation to dig on their land. And even then, digging is only permitted in the field area where it is already cultivated for agricultural use.’ He gestured to the strip of grass and foliage where they were standing. ‘The borders around these fields are protected by environmental and ancient monument legislation.’
    ‘Which means . . . what?’ asked Michelle.
    ‘You will need permissions from the Heritage Commission, and the Ancient Sites Executive before you can do any digging in this section of