now, several hundred metres west of the first discovery. She ran through the long grass. It was some time before she reached the scene. Someone had hitched a floodlight on an abandoned JCB, a yellow hulk being claimed by rust. To the left an ancient Portakabin had sunk into the ground. Mud sucked at Cat’s boots.
As she neared the Portakabin she could see the dark circle of another mine shaft. At the side of the opening, several lengths of chain lay coiled around each other. To the left, a uniformed figure was bent double, expelling his lunch onto the grass. Thomas stood next to the PC, patting his back but looking distracted. Seeing Cat, he headed her way.
‘One of the search dogs found her.’ Thomas was shaken but was trying to be matter-of-fact.
‘Is it Esyllt?’
Thomas shrugged, wrinkled his nose. ‘Difficult to tell yet.’
She ran over to the hole. This opening was less a tunnel, more a sheer drop that ended in a pool of water about five metres down. Cat peered in. The body looked like a half-finished three-D jigsaw. What remained of it lay bloated under torn rags that had once been clothes. Cat stifled a retch. She could not tell who this was. But still she stared, trying to make out what she knew she could not. Behind Cat a figure in white coveralls, one of the SOCO team, was whispering to Thomas. Her temples throbbed with the absence of tranks, her belly with anxiety. She tried to calm down, waited for Thomas to join her.
‘Easy, Price: it’s not Esyllt.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘This one’s been there a couple of weeks at least, they reckon.’
Cat glanced again at the body in the pit. Thomas flicked his hand against hers, directing her back from the edge. He breathed out. ‘One of our boys thinks he recognises her. Though God knows how.’
Thomas’s face was pale. Cat noticed that he looked middle-aged. ‘Delyth Moses. A waitress from the Owain Glyndwr café, went missing a month or so back. He says he used to see her walking up here.’ He gestured vaguely back to the road.
‘Any connection to Esyllt?’
Thomas shook his head. ‘Doubt it. Wasn’t a local, as such. Hadn’t been here long, either. Just came down to pick up a bit of seasonal work.’
He grimaced and rubbed his face. Cat knew what that meant: the case had been booked as a Misper according to the rules, but no one had really done anything because it was assumed the waitress had just upped and left for reasons of her own. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, that’s the right decision to make. One time in a hundred, and the stuff hits the fan.
‘Oh well,’ said Cat, with a shrug, ‘if she wasn’t a local.’
Thomas looked at her, made a face, then grinned weakly.
They heard the dog team before they saw them. The gentle soughing of the grass punctuated by panting and the occasional excited bark. Torches switched on, they fanned out, the furthest handlers disappearing along the width of the area, stopping only when the ground dipped, moving in formation.
Following them, a tall, lean figure with a receding hairline made his way through the long grass. With red hair turning grey and a face so gaunt his nose looked like a beak, he was the physical opposite of a typical Welshman. In his left hand he carried a plastic evidence bag. As he reached Cat and Thomas he raised his hand in greeting.
‘
Noswaith dda
, Price. Long way from home.’
Cat eyed the pathologist, Dr Matthews. She knew him from his occasional visits to Cathays Park. He’d already been attending the previous scene, so he would have been among the first to see the body. If there was any indication of time and cause of death at the scene, and often there weren’t, he would have seen them.
‘Any idea what happened to the Hopkins girl?’
‘No, but from rigidity and eye condition she’s been dead more than two days.’
‘And this one?’
‘Body’s in too bad a state to tell.’
Tell me something I don’t know, Cat thought. She looked over
As she neared the Portakabin she could see the dark circle of another mine shaft. At the side of the opening, several lengths of chain lay coiled around each other. To the left, a uniformed figure was bent double, expelling his lunch onto the grass. Thomas stood next to the PC, patting his back but looking distracted. Seeing Cat, he headed her way.
‘One of the search dogs found her.’ Thomas was shaken but was trying to be matter-of-fact.
‘Is it Esyllt?’
Thomas shrugged, wrinkled his nose. ‘Difficult to tell yet.’
She ran over to the hole. This opening was less a tunnel, more a sheer drop that ended in a pool of water about five metres down. Cat peered in. The body looked like a half-finished three-D jigsaw. What remained of it lay bloated under torn rags that had once been clothes. Cat stifled a retch. She could not tell who this was. But still she stared, trying to make out what she knew she could not. Behind Cat a figure in white coveralls, one of the SOCO team, was whispering to Thomas. Her temples throbbed with the absence of tranks, her belly with anxiety. She tried to calm down, waited for Thomas to join her.
‘Easy, Price: it’s not Esyllt.’
‘How can you be sure?’
‘This one’s been there a couple of weeks at least, they reckon.’
Cat glanced again at the body in the pit. Thomas flicked his hand against hers, directing her back from the edge. He breathed out. ‘One of our boys thinks he recognises her. Though God knows how.’
Thomas’s face was pale. Cat noticed that he looked middle-aged. ‘Delyth Moses. A waitress from the Owain Glyndwr café, went missing a month or so back. He says he used to see her walking up here.’ He gestured vaguely back to the road.
‘Any connection to Esyllt?’
Thomas shook his head. ‘Doubt it. Wasn’t a local, as such. Hadn’t been here long, either. Just came down to pick up a bit of seasonal work.’
He grimaced and rubbed his face. Cat knew what that meant: the case had been booked as a Misper according to the rules, but no one had really done anything because it was assumed the waitress had just upped and left for reasons of her own. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, that’s the right decision to make. One time in a hundred, and the stuff hits the fan.
‘Oh well,’ said Cat, with a shrug, ‘if she wasn’t a local.’
Thomas looked at her, made a face, then grinned weakly.
They heard the dog team before they saw them. The gentle soughing of the grass punctuated by panting and the occasional excited bark. Torches switched on, they fanned out, the furthest handlers disappearing along the width of the area, stopping only when the ground dipped, moving in formation.
Following them, a tall, lean figure with a receding hairline made his way through the long grass. With red hair turning grey and a face so gaunt his nose looked like a beak, he was the physical opposite of a typical Welshman. In his left hand he carried a plastic evidence bag. As he reached Cat and Thomas he raised his hand in greeting.
‘
Noswaith dda
, Price. Long way from home.’
Cat eyed the pathologist, Dr Matthews. She knew him from his occasional visits to Cathays Park. He’d already been attending the previous scene, so he would have been among the first to see the body. If there was any indication of time and cause of death at the scene, and often there weren’t, he would have seen them.
‘Any idea what happened to the Hopkins girl?’
‘No, but from rigidity and eye condition she’s been dead more than two days.’
‘And this one?’
‘Body’s in too bad a state to tell.’
Tell me something I don’t know, Cat thought. She looked over
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