Free Guardians Of The Haunted Moor by Harper Fox Page B

pleasure of finding Mr Bowe.”
    “ It was one of our village lads, actually. He’s a bit shy,
and...” Sharply he gestured Darren away from a shiny digital
tape-measure someone had foolishly left untended at the edge of the
field. “Well, it might be best if I interviewed him. Would that be
all right?”
    “ Please. Knock yourself out.” She glanced around impatiently at
the crowd. “Always nice to get a good turn-out, but this is
ridiculous.”
    “ Popular neighbour, ma’am, and this is the start of the
harvest. A lot of people expecting to start work in the Bowes’
fields today.”
    “ I don’t see why they shouldn’t. Not this one, obviously,
although we’re about to get the wagon in here and clear up. Can you
help us with the audience?”
    “ I’ll be glad to take them off your hands. Anything I can tell
them yet?”
    “ I’m afraid not, but try and nix any bloody stories about the
Bodmin Beast. We had more than enough of that last time
around.”
    “ Yes, ma’am.”
    “ I suppose you already know that Sergeant Pendower, our
esoteric-crimes consultant, is coming up to meet your other half
later.”
    “ Esoteric crimes, ma’am?”
    Her
expression became weary, and Gideon wondered how much she’d already
had to put up with from Sergeant Pendower. “Someone in Truro has
decided—and I have to say, this is partly your doing, Frayne, what
with the Lorna Kemp case and then that business in Falmouth—that
what this county needs is an expert in paganism, folklore and the
wheel of the ritual year. I don’t suppose you asked for one at our
last general consultation, did you?”
    “ No, ma’am. I asked for an expert in drug abuse and the effects
of unemployment.”
    “ Right. Well, Sergeant Pendower is what we have. Please
cooperate, but bear in mind that his work—and Lee’s, if he chooses
to help us out—is quite separate from our main investigation.” She
paused a moment, hands behind her back, the picture of British
reticence in the face of strong emotion. “Nobody wants to pry,
Gideon, but... bloody bad business, that, about your little girl.
Everyone at Truro feels the same. If you need some time off as
compassionate leave, let us know, just...”
    “ Just not right now, eh?”
    “ If you could possibly manage it, no.”
    Gideon
could stand here and burst into tears at this touch of awkward
sympathy, or he could start chucking his weight about. There really
wasn’t anything in between, so he drew a deep breath and turned to
face his villagers. “Right, everyone,” he barked. “This isn’t how
we act when trouble comes to Dark. We don’t hang about and get in
the way of the people trying to help us. All of you have questions,
and all of you will be heard, but not here—get down to the village
hall, and I’ll join you there in ten minutes.”
    He didn’t need to ask twice. Immediately some kind of raggedy
line formed in the lane. He wondered at their cooperation, then
remembered something Lee had said a long time ago—at their first
meeting in Sarah Kemp’s kitchen, in fact, before they had so much
as shaken hands. Gideon’s worked all his
life to keep everyone safe in this village. Gideon had been at a nadir, and the words had stayed with him.
He cleared his throat, lowered his voice and addressed DI Lawrence
again. “Don’t suppose petty cash would run to tea and biscuits down
there, ma’am?”
    She was
watching him, smiling faintly. “Go ahead.”

Chapter Four
     
    “ There wasn’t much blood,” Bill Prowse declared. “That means
poor John was dead before he got chopped up.”
    Gideon
took his cap off and laid it on the table amongst the
harvest-festival offerings, careful not to damage anyone’s broad
beans. He waited until the chatter caused by Bill’s pronouncement
had died down. An expert on most things, was Bill, by dint of long
service in front of the TV. “Yes,” he agreed carefully. “And that’s
horrific, obviously, but I hope no-one thinks the