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‘Hi, Barry. I see you’ve got everything under control.’

He blushed. ‘Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t realise you’d arrived. I wasn’t expecting you for another couple of hours.’

‘Quiet roads. I was going to suggest that we get a coffee so you could fill me in, but I guess you’ll probably be heading off with the troops.’

‘Yes, that was the idea,’ he said.

‘Would you mind if I tagged along? I know it’s too dark to visit the rock now, but I’d like to have a look at the village. You know, get a feel for the place. I’ll go in my car though, so I can head straight back to Wareham when we’ve finished. I’ve had a bit of a fraught day.’ In fact, Sophie was exhausted.

‘We’ll be parking in the NT car park, ma’am. Just beside the pub. We’ve got permission to use it over the next few days,’ Marsh said.

‘Fine, Barry. I’ll let you get on with it. I’ll be there about ten minutes after you, I expect.’

‘Forensics haven’t found anything useful in the vicinity of the rock. I was hopeful of some tyre tracks on the path, but the ground’s so sandy that any imprints wouldn’t have lasted for long. Last night’s rain would have washed them away, if there were any to start with,’ said Marsh.

Sophie spent a few minutes sipping a hot coffee and looking at the incident board. She was trying to fix the geography of the immediate area in her mind. After a while she felt strong enough to make a phone call that she’d been putting off all day. She perched on the corner of a table in the small office that she’d used during the Donna Goodenough case.

‘Archie? It’s Sophie. Listen. One of your squads is investigating the Thompson gang . . .’

She listened.

‘Yes, I know. Archie, you need to know something, but it’s for you only. Please don’t share it with anyone else at the moment. The young man’s body they dumped down the shaft outside Gloucester? Archie, please, just be quiet and listen. I’m going to tell you something and then hang up, because I won’t be able to speak after I’ve told you. I’ve been dreading telling you since I found out. Archie, that young man was my father.’

* * *

The house-to-house inquiries at Studland village yielded no useful information. Several locals walked their dogs across the heath, but few went as far as the Agglestone, and even if they had, the top surface would have been impossible to see from ground level. No one had seen any vehicles on the heath in recent days, or any other suspicious activity. The police questioned some of the local teenagers, but none owned up to ever having climbed to the top of the rock. The weather had been so wet recently that Marsh and Melsom doubted if anyone had been at the rock for days.

‘Think about it, Jimmy,’ said Marsh. ‘This wasn’t any normal domestic murder, not the state the body was in. It’s too vicious for that. It’ll be some kind of gangland killing, in which case they’ll have known how to cover their tracks.’

‘So what’s next?’ asked Melsom.

‘Farms, outhouses. We’ll make a start on that tomorrow morning, first thing.’

Then, Sophie was beside them.

‘Does that seem reasonable, ma’am?’ Marsh said.

‘Perfectly. There’ll be a post-mortem in the morning, if you want to come. Then the forensic examination, though the initial feedback suggests there’s very little to go on. We can but hope.’

Chapter 3: The Lost Girl

Wednesday, Week 1

Sophie smiled sweetly at Dorset’s senior forensic pathologist. ‘So what do you have for me, Benny? Sorry to hear about your hip by the way. Martin told me to tell you that rugby and old age don’t mix. He said to stick to bird watching in future.’

‘I was going to give you a hug, but you really don’t deserve one after that comment.’

‘Don’t blame the messenger. Anyway, what about the body that Barry here discovered yesterday?’

‘I can give you the physical stuff, but there’s nothing that tells us who he is. Come into the lab and we’ll get started.’

In the pathology theatre, the corpse was already laid out on the bench. Goodall’s assistant waited at the top end, notebook in hand. Sophie walked around the body, looking at the gaping wounds on the neck and face. She stood aside as Goodall started work. He spoke into a microphone, recording the examination as he proceeded.

‘Here we have a young male — Caucasian. His age is probably between eighteen and twenty. Starting at the front, there’s some bruising of the forehead, nose and cheeks. This occurred before death, judging by the residual traces of blood. The unusual injury, though, is the removal of the tongue. This was also done before death, sliced off with a very sharp knife. The wound is clean, and shows no signs of hacking. Someone grabbed his tongue, pulled it out as far as it would go and sliced it off with one cut.’

‘Would he have died from that if his throat hadn’t been cut?’ asked Marsh.

‘Unlikely, although he would have swallowed a lot of blood, and there will be some in his lungs I imagine. If he was restrained on his back, it probably would have ended up being fatal due to the lungs filling with blood, but my guess is that his throat was cut immediately afterwards. The tongue removal probably has some kind of gangland significance, but that’s your area.’

He lifted the head and felt around the skull. ‘There don’t seem to be any other injuries apart from some more bruising that looks as though it occurred before death.’

He opened the mouth. ‘We’ve taken a DNA sample and it’s already off for analysis, but there is some dental work worth noting on his rear right wisdom tooth. It looks a bit crude.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Sophie.

‘It’s not been finished off properly. It’s a bit of a botch-up. My guess is that it’s been done abroad on the cheap.’

‘But my aunt’s had dental work done abroad. It saves money, and she reckons it’s as good as she could get done here,’ Marsh said. ‘I think it was in the Czech Republic.’

‘No doubt. But she’ll have gone to one of their top private dentists. I think I’ll get one of our dental experts to take a look. He might be able to give us more information.’

‘Could he be foreign?’ asked Sophie.

‘The DNA profile might give some clues when it comes back next week.’

‘That face might have a slightly Eastern European look, ma’am,’ Marsh said.

‘That’s what I was thinking. A slightly Slavic bone structure. The trouble is, it’s lost its most obvious features due to the birds. We don’t even know the eye colour, and the lips have been pecked as well. It’s difficult to visualise.’

She turned to the assistant. ‘Did anything show up in the clothing?’

‘No. Nothing in the pockets of the jeans. Like the trainers, they’re cheap ones that could have come from anywhere. There were no other clothes, just the jeans and shoes. We’ll be doing a full forensic analysis of them this afternoon.’

‘Well, here’s a puzzle then. A body with no identification whatsoever. Benny, I’m not staying for the messy bit. Will you let me know as soon as possible if you find anything of interest?’

* * *

‘What do you think, ma’am?’ asked Marsh, as they drove back towards the coast.

‘It looks as though he was beaten about the head, his tongue cut out, then his throat cut. Probably fairly close together, although we’ll need Benny’s final confirmation of that.’

‘Do you think it was some kind of punishment killing?’

‘Nothing else makes sense, Barry. And putting the body up on top of that rock is significant. They were broadcasting it, saying to other insiders, “look what we do to anyone who crosses us.” But the tongue removal is important. I’d guess that the victim tried to talk about something that he shouldn’t have. Punishment for talking was removing the ability to talk. It’s brutal, particularly since he was killed straight afterwards. It was done to hammer home the message to other potential waverers.’

‘So who would do this type of thing? It’s beyond my experience, ma’am.’

‘Extreme gang culture. You wouldn’t believe what they can do to someone who breaks ranks. They’ll be out there now, watching the press, waiting for it to hit the papers and the TV news. As I said, it’s a warning to all the others on the inside. The thing is, Barry, that young lad couldn’t have been more than twenty. I’d put him in his late teens. How could he possibly warrant all that being done to him? It’s vile beyond words.’

She paused. ‘If he is from Eastern Europe we need to think about where he might have been working. The hotel trade, catering and agriculture seem the obvious places to look first. Also the local colleges and the university in case he was a student. This area is awash with hotels, so that’s where I want you to start. Get Jimmy onto it as well. Then move to local farms. I’ll get in touch with the colleges and university.’

‘Will Lydia be joining us, ma’am?’

‘Not immediately, Barry. She’s on a course this week, and I’m not pulling her out of it. We’ll try and cope as we are. I’ll send for someone else only if I think it’s necessary.’

* * *

Jimmy Melsom was coordinating the visits to the farms. They were all scattered across the northernmost part of Purbeck, between the ancient chalk ridge and the waters of Poole Harbour. Some of the farms had been worked by the same family for generations, with the owners well known in the local community. Melsom knew some of the farmers himself from his involvement in local sports and charity fundraising events. The officers making the visits had been told to ask about any suspicious sightings in recent days, and were also on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary. The job was over by late morning, just as Sophie and Marsh returned from Dorchester.

‘Anything useful?’ Sophie asked when they joined Melsom.

‘Officially, no. No one has seen anything suspicious either on their land or nearby. But one of the teams was a bit uneasy about one place they called at — Brookway Farm. I asked them to stay around. I think they’re out at the cars. Shall I get them?’

Sophie nodded. The farm in question was isolated and close to the harbour. It was reached via a long track that wound across the fields from the nearest public lane. Melsom returned with a tall, thin policeman of late middle age and a younger, woman colleague.

‘Jack Holly and Jen Allbright, ma’am.’

‘Good morning. I understand something about Brookway Farm didn’t seem quite right when you visited it this morning. Could you explain?’

Holly spoke first. ‘It’s not a working farm, ma’am. There are quite a number in this area that have been converted into holiday homes or even split into apartments. That’s not unusual. But I got the feeling that the man who answered the door was waiting for me. I drove into the yard, and he’d have heard that. But in other places, if they’d heard us driving up, the owners would come across to speak before I reached the door. And if they hadn’t heard us, they’d be a bit surprised when they opened the door and found a copper on the doorstep. But this guy was neither. He was silent and just looked me up and down. I asked him about the farm and he said the place was about to be converted once the owners could raise the money. Meanwhile it was a temporary let. The fields were going to one of the neighbouring farms. But he was kind of edgy.’

‘And while they were talking I was sure that someone was watching from an upstairs window,’ Allbright added. ‘Jack wouldn’t have been able to see, but I was standing by the car. There was a small gap between the curtain and the frame, and I don’t think it was there when we drove up. It might have been my imagination, but the shadow seemed a bit deeper there.’

‘What did he have to say?’ Sophie asked Holly.

‘He hadn’t seen or heard anything unusual. And that was about it. He didn’t say much at all.’

‘What did he look like?’

‘Middling height and weight. Probably in his late thirties. Mousey brown hair. Denim jeans, grey trainers, blue windproof jacket. Gap in his front teeth.’

‘Fine. And well done for being so observant. If anything else occurs to you, tell one of us right away.’

The two uniformed officers left.

Sophie said, ‘Let’s get out there, Barry. There’s no point wasting any time. Grab a coffee to drink in the car.’

The road out of Swanage snaked up the side of the chalk ridge, heading for the Ulwell gap, the only valley west of Corfe Castle. The earlier rain had eased off, but low clouds still obscured the higher ground. They were soon approaching the shoreline of Poole Harbour, although the water could not be seen. There was a thick belt of trees, several hundred yards deep, along the coastal strip. They passed several farms and finally came to the track they were looking for. Potholes covered the surface, which at times was completely broken up. They finally approached the farm buildings and turned into an untidy yard.

The farm looked deserted. There were no windows open and no smoke coming from the chimneys. No one appeared at the doorway as the two detectives walked across the yard. No one answered their knocks, despite Marsh’s increasingly insistent hammering.

‘Do you think they’ve gone, ma’am?’

‘Looks like it. Let’s have a look around and see if anything’s been left unlocked.’

There were several outhouses, but they contained little other than aged and rusting agricultural machinery. Beds of weeds, nettles and brambles covered what had probably once been the kitchen garden, and half-rotted gardening implements leaned against a ramshackle shed. A rusty tractor still sat in one of the larger outhouses, but its front wheels were missing and the cabin was dirty. The other sheds were in a similar state. It looked as if the farm machinery hadn’t been used in years.

From inside a shed, they heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. They walked out and saw a pick-up truck parked near their car. Two men had climbed out, and were making their way towards Sophie’s car.

‘Good morning!’ she called.

They turned, and the taller of the two walked towards them. He indicated for the other man to stay back. Sophie flipped open her warrant card.

‘Detective Chief Inspector Sophie Allen. This is Sergeant Barry Marsh.’

The man nodded.

‘And?’ His facial expression gave nothing away.

‘You may have heard that a dead body was found in the area recently. We’re investigating the circumstances of the death.’

‘And?’

‘Have you seen or heard anything unusual during the past week?’

‘Someone called a couple of hours ago and asked that question,’ he said.

‘Is that right? They’re really on the ball, the local bobbies, aren’t they? Was it you they spoke to?’

‘No. But I heard about it. And my answer is the same. No, we haven’t seen anything unusual. But if we do, we’ll let you know.’

‘How many people live here on the farm?’ Sophie asked.

‘Three. But we don’t work it. And you shouldn’t have been nosing about, not without a warrant.’

‘We didn’t get an answer from the door, so we were just checking to see if anyone was in the sheds or stable, Mr . . ?’

‘Smith. And there isn’t anybody else, so there’s no need to check further.’

Sophie looked across at the other man, who was leaning against the side of the truck. He was short but very heavily built, with powerful shoulders.

‘Who’s your assistant?’ she asked.

‘Mr Jones.’

‘Do you own the farm, Mr Smith?’

‘No. We’ve just rented it for a few months. We’re leaving soon. The owners are selling up,’ he said.

‘Who are the owners?’

‘No idea. We only deal with the letting agency.’

‘And they are?’ said Sophie.

‘Can’t remember,’ he said in a flat voice. ‘Why is it important to you?’

‘Well, you know the police, Mr Smith. Always nosey. Sifters of information, that’s what we are. You’re fairly close to the shore of Poole Harbour here, aren’t you? It can only be half a mile or so.’

‘Couldn’t say. Never go down there. Anyway, we’ve got work to get on with,’ said the man.

‘Well, fine, Mr Smith. I hope you’re happy in your work.’ She smiled at him, but her eyes were cold. Glancing at her watch, she turned to Marsh. ‘We’d better be on our way, Barry. Things to do. Information to sift.’ She turned back to Smith. ‘Thank you for your help. It’s been very illuminating.’

They walked towards the car. Sophie called to the short, stocky man standing by the vehicles. ‘Good morning, Mr Jones!’

There was no response, not even a flicker in his eyes.

‘What a pair,’ Marsh said as they drove away. ‘Enough to give anyone the creeps.’