Free Scaring Crows by Priscilla Masters

insistent flies. And as the screeches and chirps of a summer night played a high-pitched musical background around them the soft lowing of contented cows provided tenor accompaniment.
    They had done three hours of solid work. Gradually the evening stilled. The flies moved out and the midges arrived. Most of the extra officers had gone home. They would return early in the morning. Only a skeleton staff was left as Joanna and Mike planned the following day.
    Joanna knew the first obstacle would be the post mortem.
    â€˜And then we should interview Martin Pinkers,’ she said, clipping together the sheaf of preliminary statements gathered by the uniformed officers. ‘Although he doesn’t seem to have seen much.’
    â€˜Sometimes the lads don’t ask the right questions.’
    â€˜True. And let’s get a print out of telephone calls to and from the farm. If there is a boyfriend it’s even conceivable that he has abducted her.’
    â€˜You’re determined to see her as a victim.’
    â€˜Maybe because she looks more like a victim than a killer.’
    He gave a snort of doubt. And what other leads have we got?’
    â€˜If we haven’t completely obliterated them I’d like to take a closer look at the tyre marks in the yard and Shackleton’s milk tanker.’
    â€˜What for?’
    â€˜I just want to know whether he really did burn the rubber as much as he says he did. That’s all. Just a simple check. You know as well as I do one little lie, another little lie. And why? So we’ll check everything he’s told us so far.’
    The telephone shrilled at her elbow and she picked it up. It was Matthew.
    â€˜The PM’s fixed for nine thirty in the morning,’ he said. ‘We’ll have them tidily arranged at the morgue ready for formal identification before we start.’ He paused. ‘Time for a drink tonight, Jo?’
    â€˜I’m sorry, Matthew. I’ve another call to make.’
    â€˜Fine.’ She could hear the pent up frustration in his voice yet at the same time she knew it would be useless to apologize. It had all happened too many times before.
    â€˜So I’ll go home to the flat then.’
    But he was angrier than usual. And after she had put the phone down she felt uneasy. Part guilt, part her own frustration.
    That Mike was watching her with an unfathomable expression in his eyes didn’t help at all.
    â€˜So where are we going?’ he asked.
    â€˜Where do you think?’

Chapter Five
    10 p.m.
    Floodlights bathed the front of the farmhouse, picking out the crevices between each stone in sharp, black lines. Even the animals were quiet but it was not the quiet of sleep. She could hear them shift restlessly, a few soft grunts. It was almost as though they were waiting. For what? Maybe it was fanciful but as Joanna picked her way along the lane she could almost convince herself that Aaron’s herd of cows were silently waiting to witness justice done, for the police to leave Hardacre Farm in rural peace again.
    She would have confided her fancies to Mike but she knew from experience he would not share them, so they walked away from the farmhouse in silence.
    Two police had been left to guard the door, WPC Dawn Critchlow and Eddie McBrine, PC of the Moorlands Patrol. Joanna knew from experience that night vigils were usually the worst watch – cold, uneventful, cheerless and boring. But on this rare balmy night the task was almost enviable. Tonight there was a magic around, stars, and indigo sky, a red, setting sun.
    Dawn spoke first. ‘Off home, are you?’
    Mike answered. ‘Not yet. We’re on a mystery trip.’
    â€˜Where’s that then?’ she asked cheekily.
    Joanna answered the question. ‘We’re going to visit someone who rented a barn from Aaron Summers.’
    â€˜A neighbour?’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Think he’s got anything to do with it?’
    Joanna