
In Plain Sight
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Synopsis
A medieval torture device. An archaeological dig. Can DS Karen Hart unearth the truth?
In the dead of night, four teenagers taking a shortcut through an archaeological dig site find a woman’s lifeless body in a muddy trench, her hands and neck locked in a medieval device known as a Shrew’s Fiddle. It doesn’t take long to see that these are no ancient remains: the woman was killed just hours earlier.
Called in to unearth the truth, DS Karen Hart learns that the victim, local woman Alison Poulson, was unpopular with the archaeologists and the TV crew filming the excavation. Digging further, she finds bitter colleagues, an angry farmer and an oddly unmoved husband. Then there’s the teenage girl who found the body, who seems to know more than she’s letting on…
After a second murder rocks the investigation, it seems the killer will stop at nothing to cover their tracks. Can Karen unravel the mystery before another life is lost?
Release date: January 21, 2025
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Print pages: 360
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In Plain Sight
D.S. Butler
Prologue
The bus is almost empty. Its headlights shine on a dark country road and a grey wall of rain.
Christie is sitting at the back with Leo, Mason and Mia. Mason is telling another rude
joke – something about two girls in a bar – but Christie has tuned him out. She is starting to
worry about getting home tonight. Her parents will kill her if she’s not home by midnight.
She stares out of the rain-splattered window, her breath misting the glass.
Leo takes a swig from a small bottle of vodka and passes it across to Christie. ‘Go on,
Christie,’ he says, lifting his eyebrows. ‘You’re shivering. It’ll warm you up.’
‘I’m fine,’ Christie says, shaking her head. He’s right. She is shivering. That’s because
she didn’t want to wear her coat out tonight. It’s the one she had for school last year, and it’s
so babyish. It makes her look even younger than seventeen, and she wants to look older, like
Mia with her bangles and heavy eyeliner. But instead of looking sophisticated like Mia,
Christie just looks ridiculous in her black cardigan that’s not warm enough for this cold, rainy
October evening.
Leo shrugs and takes another drink.
‘Give me some of that,’ Mason says, grabbing the bottle from his hand.
‘Hey!’ Leo says, trying to get it back.
‘I can’t understand why they didn’t let us into Imporium, as you’re clearly so mature!’
says Mia, rolling her eyes and laughing as Mason struggles with Leo.
Christie’s fingers tighten around her mobile phone. Should she call her parents now and
warn them she might be late? But then they’ll worry about her, and she doesn’t want that.
She’ll be fine. She’s with friends. And anyway, they’ll be back at Mia’s soon and everything
will be okay. Her parents will have no idea she wasn’t where she told them she would be
tonight. They think she’s studying at Mia’s.
The bus driver pulls up to a junction, the engine idling as he waits for a gap in the traffic
so he can pull out on to the main road.
As Leo manages to get the vodka back from Mason, Mia takes out a packet of cigarettes,
removes one and then offers the pack to Christie. ‘Want one?’
Christie shakes her head. She doesn’t smoke and hates the smell. ‘We can’t smoke on the
bus, Mia.’ The words leave her mouth before she has time to think about them, and she
immediately regrets speaking. She sounds like a child.
Mia shrugs and takes out a lighter. ‘We’re the only passengers. No one will care.’
Christie’s not so sure about that. The driver keeps glancing in his rear-view mirror,
keeping a close eye on them. She doesn’t blame him.
Mason takes a big swig from the vodka bottle and wipes his hand across his mouth.
‘Little Miss Perfect,’ he says to Christie. ‘Do you ever do anything wrong?’
Christie stares at him, feeling her cheeks flush red. ‘Of course, sometimes,’ she mutters.
‘Like what? What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?’ Mason asks, looking at her with
bloodshot eyes, clearly expecting an answer.
‘Um . . .’ Christie can’t think of anything to say. Mason is right. She never does anything
wrong. Ever. Her parents would kill her if she got into trouble. Telling her mum and dad that
she’s spending the evening studying with Mia while actually going drinking is pretty much
the worst thing she’s ever done. Pathetic really.
Mason snorts and shakes his head at Leo, as if Christie’s the most boring person alive.
‘Leave her alone,’ Leo says, his voice low and quiet. ‘She’s okay.’
Christie feels her cheeks flush even more, and she looks down at her lap so no one can
see her face. She holds her breath. Leo is so good-looking, with his mischievous smile and
black hair that falls in front of his eyes. She catches herself sneaking glances at him all the
time. He makes her feel like she matters. She used to feel invisible at her old school, where
everyone ignored her.
They moved to the area from Hampshire just before the start of term, after Christie’s
father accepted an academic post at the university. She was so nervous about starting college.
But then Mia and Mason started talking to her in English and they introduced her to Leo.
They’ve been so nice to her and made her feel welcome. Even Mason when he’s not drunk.
She’s glad she met them. But even so, she feels out of place, like an imposter or something.
They’re all so confident and know how to dress right, and she . . . doesn’t.
She’s awkward, childish and boring.
‘Ignore Mason,’ Leo says, leaning back in his seat and taking another gulp from the
vodka bottle before offering it to her again. ‘He can’t handle his drink and gets a bit lairy.’
Before Christie can take the bottle from him, Mason snatches it away. ‘I can handle my
drink.’
‘Hey!’ Leo says, reaching for the vodka.
‘You want it back?’ Mason taunts.
His eyes are wild, and Christie’s starting to feel very uncomfortable. She glances at Mia,
but she only throws her head back and laughs, like she’s seen it all before.
Leo stands and tries to grab the bottle from Mason, but Mason is taller than Leo and holds
it high above his head, out of Leo’s reach. ‘Come on,’ he says, grinning. ‘You want it? Come
and get it.’
Leo lunges forward, but Mason steps back. Leo stumbles against the seats in front, almost
falling on to the floor.
The driver glances in his rear-view mirror again, his face tight with concern. ‘Oi! You
kids. Sit down!’ he shouts over his shoulder.
‘Or what?’ Mason shouts back at him. ‘What are you going to do about it?’ He collapses
into a seat in a fit of giggles.
‘I’m warning you!’ the driver yells, as he pulls the bus over to the side of the road and
slams on the brakes.
Mason stands up again, still laughing. ‘What are you going to do, you old git?’
The driver turns around in his seat and glares at them. Then he slowly gets to his feet.
He’s a big man. Mason is tall, but the bus driver is much broader, and the muscles in his
forearms bulge as he clenches and unclenches his fists.
Mason squares up to him. ‘You going to make me sit down?’
‘Stop it, Mason,’ Mia mutters.
The bus driver looks at her and his eyes narrow as he spots the cigarette in her hand.
‘You’re smoking?’
‘Sorry,’ she says, quickly stubbing it out on the back of the cigarette packet.
But the driver has already turned his attention back to Mason, who is still standing there,
swaying slightly, with a grin plastered across his face. ‘I want you all off my bus. Now.’
‘We can’t get off here,’ Leo says. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere.’
‘Get. Off. My. Bus,’ the driver says through gritted teeth.
‘No!’ Mason shouts back at him, stepping forward until his face is just inches from the
driver’s.
The driver grabs Mason by the scruff of the neck and drags him towards the door.
‘Hey!’ Mason yells. ‘Let me go!’
The driver opens the doors with one hand while holding on to Mason with the other. Then
he pushes Mason out, sending him sprawling on to his hands and knees in a puddle.
‘You can’t leave us here,’ Mia says, and Christie’s impressed by how calm her voice is.
She watches Mia challenge the irate bus driver with a mixture of envy and admiration. How
can she be so fearless? The thought of standing up to an authority figure like that makes
Christie’s chest feel tight. What if the driver calls the police? She can already imagine the
disappointed looks on her parents’ faces, and the inevitable grounding.
She can’t believe they’re going to be thrown off the bus in the middle of nowhere.
Christie’s nails dig into her palms as she clenches her fists, the sharp sting reminding her that
this may feel like a nightmare, but she is wide awake. This is really happening. Mia continues
to stare down the bus driver, as though getting into trouble is the furthest thing from her
mind. Christie wishes she could be that unafraid.
Mia crosses her arms and adds, ‘It’s not right to leave young women out here alone in the
dark. It isn’t safe.’
The driver looks at Mia, then at Christie and Leo, before turning his attention back to
Mason, who has got to his feet and is now standing on the verge, muttering expletives under
his breath. The driver shakes his head. ‘You’re not alone. You have these two young . . .
gentlemen with you.’
He jerks a thumb at the open door.
‘Fine,’ Leo grumbles as he steps down from the bus.
Mia stalks along behind him and Christie follows meekly, murmuring apologies, but the
driver pays her no attention. As soon as she steps off the bus, the door closes, and he
accelerates away.
‘What are we going to do now?’ Mia asks, looking around at the dark fields that surround
them.
‘I don’t know where we are,’ Leo says, staring at his mobile phone. ‘I’ve got no signal.’
They all check their phones. None of them have any service. They’re stranded on a
country road in the middle of nowhere with no way of getting home.
Leo swears under his breath. ‘This is your fault, Mason.’
But Mason ignores him and starts walking up the road back in the direction they’ve just
come from, stumbling slightly as he does so.
Mia clears her throat. ‘You’re going the wrong way.’
‘You know where we are?’ Christie asks hopefully.
Mia nods confidently. ‘If we take the road, we’ll be at mine in about an hour. We can be
there in fifteen minutes if we cut across the fields.’
They all turn to look at the dark fields that stretch out on either side of them.
‘It’s muddy,’ Mia says. ‘And it’s a bit creepy, but it’s not far.’ She looks at Mason, who is
still walking away from them along the middle of the road. ‘Mason! It’s this way!’
Christie looks down at her low-heeled boots. Definitely not designed for rain-soaked
fields. ‘I don’t know,’ she says tentatively. ‘Maybe we should stick to the road and keep
checking for a phone signal. We could call one of our parents to pick us up.’
Mia grimaces. ‘Your mum and dad think you’re studying at my house tonight, and my
parents would not be impressed if I called them at this time on a school night to come and
collect me. They’d ground me for months.’
‘Mine too,’ Leo agrees.
‘Doubt mine would even answer the phone,’ Mason says when he finally joins them.
‘But we’re going to get in trouble with our parents anyway,’ Christie says. ‘We’re going
to be late getting home.’
‘We’ll be even later if we walk along the road,’ Mia says, fiddling with her bangles.
‘Look, it’s up to you, Christie. But I’m going home across the fields.’
Christie looks around at the dark landscape again and shivers. It’s cold out here and
starting to drizzle again. She doesn’t want to walk through soggy fields in the dark, but she
doesn’t want to walk alone down a country road either.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Christie says quietly.
Mia smiles at her. ‘Come on then.’
She leads them off the road and into the field. The ground is muddy and uneven and water
seeps into Christie’s boots. She tries to keep up with Mia, but she’s walking fast, and Christie
breaks into a jog to catch her. ‘Are you sure you know the way?’ Christie asks.
‘Positive,’ Mia says without turning around.
Mason stumbles behind them, muttering to himself as he walks.
‘Are you struggling to keep up, Mason?’ Leo asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
‘I’m fine,’ Mason slurs back.
Christie uses the light on her phone to see where she’s going, but the beam isn’t strong,
and it just makes the surroundings seem even darker and scarier. Now and then a car passes
by on the road behind them. Christie feels more vulnerable and exposed as the traffic sounds
lessen, and she’s glad when they reach the other side of the field.
‘This way,’ Mia says as she points to another field.
‘Hey!’ Leo calls after her. ‘How many of these fields do we have to cross?’
Mia ignores him and keeps walking.
The rain has soaked through Christie’s cardigan and jeans, and her feet are wet inside her
boots. She’s shivering again. And tired. It’s been a long day, and she just wants to get home,
take a hot shower, put on her fleecy pyjamas and go to bed.
They squeeze through the hedge dividing the fields, and the branches scratch at Christie’s
face, catching on her hair. She stumbles down the other side into a ditch full of water. ‘Mia!’
Christie calls after her, but she doesn’t turn around or slow down.
Leo helps Christie up and out of the ditch. ‘You okay?’ he asks her as they follow Mia
across the next field. Christie nods, even though she’s not. Her eyes prick with tears, and she
furiously blinks them away. She can’t show herself up in front of Leo and the others by
crying.
‘What are you doing?’ Leo shouts at Mia, who is climbing over a wall. ‘This can’t be the
way.’
‘It is,’ Mia says confidently as she jumps down on to the other side of the wall.
The rain is falling harder now, and Christie thinks she hears thunder rumbling in the
distance. Great. Could things get any worse?
They trudge along in silence for a while. The only sounds are the wind rustling through
the hedges, Mason’s heavy breathing as he stumbles along behind them, and their footsteps
squelching in the mud.
‘How much further?’ Leo asks.
‘Ten minutes or so,’ Mia says with a shrug.
Ten minutes isn’t so bad. Christie can cope with another ten minutes. Leo offers her his
arm for support, and she takes it gratefully.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says to Christie quietly as they walk along. ‘You shouldn’t have had to get
off the bus. You didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘It’s okay,’ she says. Maybe they’ll laugh about it tomorrow. But right now, she just wants
to be warm and dry again.
They reach a gate and climb over it, Mason almost falling flat on his face as he does so,
and then they’re in another field, with a dark wood on the other side.
Then Mia stops so suddenly that Christie bumps into her.
‘What’s wrong?’ Christie asks, her voice shaking. ‘Why have you stopped?’
‘Look,’ Mia says, pointing at something ahead of them. Christie shines the light from her
phone along the grass and sees what she’s pointing at.
There’s a large white trailer and a couple of small white tents. Beside the tents are huge
blue tarpaulins, staked low and covering the ground. A massive JCB digger is parked close to
the trailer.
‘Everything looks different in the dark,’ Mia says.
Christie suddenly knows where she is. Although she hasn’t been here before. This is the
project her father has been working on.
‘It’s an archaeology site. A dig. My father’s working here,’ she says. ‘They’re filming a
TV show about discovering the Roman remains. Britain’s Biggest Treasure Hunt—’
She stops speaking abruptly as Mason pushes past her and walks towards the site.
‘Mason! Don’t go near it!’ Leo calls after him, but Mason ignores him and keeps
walking.
They watch in silence as he reaches the site and pulls at one of the tarpaulins covering the
ground.
‘Stop it, Mason!’ Christie shouts. ‘You’ll get us all into trouble.’
But Mason doesn’t stop, and with one more tug, the tarpaulin comes away. ‘Let’s have a
look,’ he calls back.
‘No! Mason!’ Mia shouts, running towards him.
Leo follows and Christie rushes behind them as fast as she can, her heart thudding against
her ribs. She hopes there is no one in the trailer or those tents. If her father finds out about
this, he’ll be disappointed. Her mother will be livid.
There is a sign right in front of them warning people not to enter the area. But Mason
ignores it and leans forward to look into the hole that has been excavated.
‘Just a load of mud, as far as I can see.’ Mason angles the light from his phone towards
the hole.
Christie is surprised at its size. The trenches she’s seen before have never been this deep.
Then Mason stumbles on a tuft of grass, his arms flailing as he tries to regain his balance.
They all rush forward, Leo reaching him first but not fast enough to stop Mason tumbling
into the deep trench. He lands with a thump. And then there’s silence. Mason isn’t moving.
‘Are you hurt?’ Mia asks, kneeling and trying to peer down into the darkness.
‘Mason!’ Leo shouts, leaning over and shining the light from his phone into the trench.
Mason’s face is smeared with mud. His eyes are open wide, but he seems unnaturally still.
And when he looks up at them, the expression on his face sends a shiver shooting down
Christie’s spine.
Mason lets out a shuddering breath.
Christie’s mouth is dry, and her pulse is racing.
‘There’s something down here,’ Mason says, his voice cracking with emotion as he stares
into the darkness. He looks up at them again, his eyes wide with fear. ‘You need to see this. I
think I’ve found a body.’
‘Don’t touch anything,’ Mia warns. ‘Of course there’ll be bones down there. It’s a site of
archaeological interest.’
‘It’s not bones,’ Mason says, pointing along the trench.
Leo shines a light across the mud, and there, just a few feet from Mason, is a woman’s
body; her face is obscured, but Christie can see her blonde hair. Her limbs are twisted and
bent in an unnatural way and there are dark stains on her clothes. Maybe mud, maybe blood.
There’s something clamped around her throat and attached to her wrists. It’s made of wood
and reminds Christie of a mini version of the stocks. She has never seen anything like it
before.
Leo swears, and the light shakes as his arm starts to tremble. ‘What’s that around her
neck?’
‘She’s not . . . I mean . . . Is she still alive?’ Mia asks in almost a whisper.
Mason jerks back. ‘What?’
‘Check for a pulse.’ Mia nods towards the blonde woman, who still hasn’t moved.
‘I don’t think I can. I’ve hurt my ankle.’
‘You have to,’ Mia insists.
‘If you’re so keen, why don’t you come down here and do it?’ Mason glares up at them
but then reluctantly shuffles closer to the woman. He suddenly seems very sober as he
reaches out a tentative hand and touches her neck. The woman rolls back slightly as if trying
to pull away from him.
Christie wraps her arms around her body, trying to stop shivering.
Mason tries again, and after a few seconds, he shakes his head. ‘No pulse.’
Christie can’t speak. Her hands are trembling so much that she almost drops her phone.
‘She’s dead, and this isn’t a Roman burial,’ Mason says, stating the obvious. ‘I’m pretty
sure they didn’t wear jeans back then.’
Leo takes a few steps back from the edge of the hole. ‘We need to call the police. Anyone
got a signal?’
They all check their phones again, but there’s still no reception.
‘We have to go back to the road,’ Mia says, her voice calm. ‘That’s the best chance of
getting a signal.’
Leo turns to her with a frown. ‘I thought we were nearly at your house. You said you
knew where we were?’
Mia looks sheepish. ‘Everything seems different in the dark . . . I’m not really sure how to
get to my house from here. I think we should head back to the road.’
‘Hey, don’t leave me!’ Mason shouts. He tries to scramble up but winces in pain. The
mud is too slippery, and he falls on to his backside. ‘You can’t leave me here alone with a
dead body.’
‘We’ll come back for you,’ Leo promises him. ‘We just need to call the police.’
To Christie’s surprise, Mason starts to cry. ‘Please don’t leave me here. Please.’
‘We won’t be long,’ Mia says, her voice soft. ‘We’ll come back as soon as we can.’
Christie looks down at the body of the woman again. Someone left her here. The person
who dumped her body could still be around. She doesn’t blame Mason for not wanting to stay
here alone.
‘I’ll stay with him,’ she says suddenly.
Mason looks up at her, his eyes red and wet with tears. ‘You will?’
Christie nods, then turns to Leo and Mia. ‘You two go back to the road and call the
police.’
Leo leans in close so Mason doesn’t hear him. ‘But what if whoever killed this woman is
still around?’
Christie swallows hard. She doesn’t want to dwell on that possibility. ‘We’ll be all right,’
she says, hoping she sounds more confident than she feels. ‘Go quickly and get help.’
Leo nods and turns to go.
‘Wait!’ Mia says, taking off her long scarf and handing it to Christie. ‘You’ll get cold fast
if you’re not moving.’
Christie takes it gratefully and wraps it around her shoulders. It smells of Mia’s perfume,
and for some reason, that is comforting. ‘Thank you,’ she says, as Mia and Leo turn to go
back across the fields.
‘Thanks for staying,’ Mason says when they’re gone. He looks up at Christie with wide
eyes. ‘I don’t want to be here alone with her. Not even for a minute. It’s creepy, you know?’
Christie nods and sits on the wet grass. ‘It’s okay,’ she says, trying to sound brave. ‘We
won’t be alone for long.’
As they sit there, Mason babbles on about Imporium and how many times he’s been in the
past and that he can’t believe they didn’t get in this time. It’s as though he’s scared of the
silence. But all Christie can think about is the dead woman. There was something about her –
something familiar.
Christie pulls out her phone, and the beam from the light trickles slowly over the uneven
ground at the bottom of the trench, casting eerie shadows that flicker in the darkness.
‘What are you doing?’ Mason squirms, recoiling and pushing himself back against the
damp earth. ‘I don’t want to see it again.’
‘I just need to check something,’ Christie explains, keeping her voice low. She doesn’t
want to upset Mason. But she needs to see the body. Because there was something about the
victim . . . something familiar.
Pale light glints off the woman’s green jacket, then illuminates the strange wooden clamp
fastened around her slender neck.
Mason lets out a low moan. ‘Please just turn it off, Christie,’ he pleads, his voice higher
and reedier than usual.
‘Just a minute.’ Christie squints into the darkness as the light hits the victim’s face.
Strands of blonde hair have fallen forward, partially obscuring her features. But Christie can
see enough. The victim’s glassy eyes are cold and empty.
With a sudden shock of horror, Christie realises she was right. She knows exactly who
this woman is. And that makes everything much, much worse.
Chapter 1
Detective Sergeant Karen Hart sat curled up on the sofa with a book in her lap and the TV on
low in the background. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked steadily towards midnight. She
was home alone.
Her partner, Mike, and his dog, Sandy, were away on a residential course in Staffordshire,
and she missed them. The house felt empty. It still surprised her how quickly Mike had come
to fill a space in her life. When she’d lost her husband and daughter, Karen hadn’t been able
to imagine sharing her home with anyone else, but now it felt natural to have Mike there. He
understood what she’d been through, having lost his own son. They both knew that the pain
of their grief would never disappear, but were trying to find a balance between holding on to
their memories and building a new life together.
Except that he’d seemed distracted lately. Karen had put it down to him wanting to know
more about his biological father; something that had only recently become more important to
him. His mum shutting down the conversation whenever Mike brought it up had only added
to his frustration. But maybe there was more to his recent low moods? Was there something
else on his mind?
Last week, they’d both been so busy at work that they’d only managed to have dinner
together once. She’d tried to talk to him, but Mike had dismissed her questions, saying he
was fine. He’d never been one to talk about his feelings.
When Mike returned from the course, they’d have a proper chat. No more dismissals. No
more I’m fine. She would find out what was bothering him. And together, they’d work
through it.
She sighed, stretched, and looked at the clock again. Nearly time for bed. Just enough
time to squeeze in one more chapter.
Her mobile phone chirped and started buzzing along the coffee table. Was that a new
ringtone? She could have sworn she hadn’t changed it. It must have happened when the
phone updated. Modern technology was getting more and more intrusive. Karen didn’t want a
new ringtone. She liked the old one.
She leaned forward and picked up the phone, expecting it to be Mike calling to say
goodnight. But the screen displayed a different number. One that Karen recognised all too
well.
She answered the call. ‘DS Hart.’
‘Evening, Sarge,’ the duty officer said. ‘I’ve got a job for you.’
Karen sat up straight, and her book slid off her lap on to the floor. ‘Go ahead.’
‘A body’s been found at an archaeological dig site in Stow.’
‘At this time of night? It’s a bit late for digging for antiquities, isn’t it?’ Karen asked.
‘It wasn’t the archaeology team who found it. A group of teenagers stumbled across the
body about an hour ago.’
Karen tightened her grip on the phone. ‘You’re telling me this is a fresh body, not ancient
remains?’
‘Afraid so, Sarge.’ The duty officer’s tone was grave. ‘The teenagers reported it
looked . . . well, recent. Very recent.’
‘What were the teenagers doing there?’
There was a pause. ‘Er . . . I don’t know.’
‘What do we know? Is the body male? Female?’
‘Female. It’s a bit of an odd one. Apparently, she has something around her neck.’
‘What?’
Karen heard him shuffling papers. ‘That I can’t tell you. I only have a few notes. Can you
get there? I’ll send you the address. It’s a field just outside Stow. A crime scene team have
been assigned, and the pathologist has been informed.’
‘I’ll head there now.’
After ending the call, Karen went upstairs and pulled on a pair of dark trousers and a
warm wool jumper, then went back downstairs and tugged on her boots.
Stow was a small village between Lincoln and Gainsborough. If Karen took the Eastern
Bypass, she could be there in twenty-five minutes.
* * *
The night was damp and drizzly. As she drove along the empty roads, she wondered why
teenagers would have been wandering around a muddy field in this weather. Maybe some
kind of dare? Or perhaps they had heard about the dig and wanted to explore when no one
was around.
The discovery of an ancient Roman settlement in the area had been hailed as one of the
most important in years, causing quite a stir in the local news and online. Two TV presenters,
Trevor Barker and Molly Moreland, were recording at the site for Britain’s Biggest Treasure
Hunt. The programme involved the two running around the country, visiting various dig
locations and interviewing experts. Trevor and Molly were far from history experts
themselves. Trevor was a former radio DJ, and Molly was a model who had appeared briefly
in a reality show a decade ago and now made a living presenting terrible documentaries.
Having previously hosted cookery shows and home improvement shows, without success,
Molly had struck gold with archaeology. The show was in a primetime slot on Sunday
evenings. Karen had tried watching it once, but both the presenters had grated on her nerves
with their fake, over-the-top enthusiasm, and she’d switched it off after ten minutes. She
preferred Time Team.
Karen turned off the main road and followed the directions to the site. She’d envisaged
having trouble finding it, but the SOCOs had made it there before her, and the floodlights lit
the place up like a football pitch. She parked her car in a pull-in area and got out. It was cold,
but it had at least stopped raining.
A lone uniformed officer stood on duty by the entrance to the field. He was huddled next
to the gate, shivering. When Karen showed him her ID, he perked up a bit and offered a
smile.
‘Can you give me any more details?’ she asked.
His smile soured. ‘I can’t tell you much. My partner is the one to ask. He’s in the field
doing actual police work. I get the exciting job of standing guard by a gate.’
‘You don’t sound too happy about that.’
‘Would you be?’
‘Who’s your partner?’
‘PC Pearce.’ He looked over his shoulder and pointed. ‘He’s by the first tent, with the
kids who found the body.’
Karen thanked him, stepped through the gate and walked towards the floodlights,
carefully picking her way through the mud. It would be difficult to get the evidence out of
here without disturbing any remaining footprints or vehicle tracks. The ground was saturated.
PC Pearce spotted Karen and began to walk towards her. He was a tall man with a broad
frame that had likely seen many hours in the gym.
‘DS Hart. You’re in charge?’ he asked after Karen had shown him her ID.
‘For now. What can you tell me?’ Karen asked.
‘Victim is female. Not been here long. She was found in one of the trenches. It’s strange
actually . . .’ He trailed off, his baby face puckering in a frown.
‘What’s odd?’
‘The trench she was found in is really deep. One of the teenagers that found her fell in
and couldn’t get out because he’d injured his ankle. I checked the other trenches, and none of
the others are that deep.’
Karen nodded, filing the information away for later. ‘Do we have an ID?’
Pearce shook his head. ‘No. I checked for signs of life, but when it was clear she had
passed, I didn’t want to disturb the scene further. I thought it better to wait for the SOCOs to
arrive.’
‘Good call. You’ve spoken to the teens who found her?’
‘I’ve taken initial statements. All attend college in Lincoln. Two girls. Two lads. All
seventeen.’
‘What were they doing out here?’
‘Making their way home. Got chucked off the bus and decided to take a shortcut across
the fields.’
‘Does that check out?’
‘I haven’t spoken with the bus company, but one of the girls lives in Stow. Three of the
teenagers are still here. Mia Palmer, Leo Redmond and Christie Stark.’ He pointed to each of
them in turn. ‘The other kid, Mason Wright, was taken to hospital with a suspected broken
ankle. Christie’s father, Professor Thomas Stark, just arrived to take them home. I take it
you’ll want to have a word with them before they leave?’
‘Yes, I’ll do that now,’ Karen said.
‘I thought you would,’ the officer said, looking pleased he’d made the right call.
‘Especially as Professor Stark is in charge of this dig site.’
‘He is? That is interesting.’
The teenagers were shivering when Karen approached them. It was a cold night, and
they’d had a nasty shock and wouldn’t want to hang around any longer than necessary.
‘I know you’re all going to want to get home, but I need to ask you a few quick questions
before you do.’
The three teenagers kept their eyes on the ground, shuffling nervously. The professor was
wrapping his long black coat over his daughter’s shoulders. She hadn’t even been wearing a
coat – no wonder she was shivering.
‘I know you’ve already spoken to PC Pearce,’ Karen said, ‘but I need to know if you saw
anyone else while you were walking across the fields?’
Mia rubbed at her smudged eyeliner. ‘We’ve already told the officer everything we know.
We didn’t see anything unusual until we got to the dig site. I didn’t even know Christie’s dad
worked here. We were just taking a shortcut to my house.’
Karen looked over at Christie’s father.
‘Professor Tom Stark,’ he said with a quick, brisk smile. He was a tall man in his late
forties, with salt-and-pepper hair poking out from under a grey wool hat. ‘I had no idea they
were out here. Christie told me she was at Mia’s, studying.’
His tone was disapproving, but gentle, and Christie ducked her head, looking sheepish,
but didn’t say anything.
Karen pressed for more details – were they sure they hadn’t seen anyone else out here?
Any vehicles in the fields or on the roads? Or a light from a torch? But the teens just shook
their heads, seemingly eager to go home and forget about the incident.
‘I was told the other young man who was with you when you found the body was hurt,
and he’s been taken to hospital—’
Before Karen could continue, the professor cut in. ‘Yes, it looked nasty. But it’s not our
fault. This is private farmland with no public right of way. We have full permission for the
archaeological dig, all above board. The area was secured, as it should be. Yet, despite these
precautions, the lad was drunk and chose to trespass on restricted grounds. It’s hard to
safeguard against such recklessness. We can’t be held accountable for his stupidity.’
‘I’m not assigning blame,’ Karen said. ‘Just trying to understand what happened. Did you
recognise the victim, Professor?’
Stark shook his head, exhaling a misty breath. ‘No. I arrived after the police and haven’t
seen the body, but her description doesn’t match any of our team or sound familiar.’
Stark’s dismissive, almost hostile tone raised Karen’s hackles. His transparent attempt to
distance himself from the incident suggested an underlying agenda that went beyond being a
worried parent who was concerned for his daughter.
‘The trench the victim was found in is much deeper than any of the others—’ Karen
began, only to be quickly cut off by Stark.
‘Yes, much deeper than usual. We found what looked like a communal stove or oven and
went further down to make sure we didn’t miss anything.’
‘Did Christie call you?’ Karen asked.
‘No. One of your colleagues contacted me to collect her. A bit of a shock, I can tell you.’
‘I can imagine. You got here quickly.’
‘Of course. I left immediately when I got the call. I was understandably worried about my
daughter.’
His manner struck Karen as a tad too assertive, and he was too eager to deflect any
potential blame. Was this down to his personality? The behaviour of an academic used to
being in charge? Or did he have another reason for being so defensive?
Karen nodded, and then looked at Mia, Leo and Christie. ‘You all look very cold – I
won’t delay you much longer. I just need to ask if any of you recognised the woman?’
The teens shuffled nervously but shook their heads.
‘Never seen her before,’ Mia said through chattering teeth.
‘No idea who she was,’ Leo added with a shrug.
‘Christie?’
The young woman kept her eyes on the ground and shook her head. She leaned into her
father, who put his arm around her. The poor girl looked shaken – understandably so after
finding a body like that, but Karen wondered if there was more to it.
She noted the girl’s body language – downcast eyes, the slight trembling – which could
suggest more than just shock at finding a body. Perhaps Christie had seen or heard something
else, something she wasn’t sharing. Karen would need to speak to her again.
Karen handed out her card. ‘We’ll need full statements from you all tomorrow. But for
now, you can go and get warm.’
‘All right, come on, Christie, let’s get you home,’ Professor Stark said.
He ushered his daughter away, his arm still around her shoulders. There was something
overbearing about his actions that gave Karen pause. Was he simply being a concerned
parent, or was he worried about what Christie might say?
‘Are you taking them all home?’ Karen called after him, gesturing to Mia and Leo. She
would need to organise a lift for them if he wasn’t.
The professor gave a brisk nod. ‘Of course. Not a problem.’
Karen and PC Pearce watched them walk off, then Pearce said, ‘The professor was quite
quick to deny responsibility for the kid’s broken ankle, wasn’t he? He’d be at the top of my
suspect list.’
‘I’m reserving judgement for now,’ Karen said, ‘but I agree he seemed defensive. Though
that doesn’t necessarily make him a murderer.’
Both the professor and his daughter had seemed uneasy, almost as though they were
hiding something. But then again, maybe Karen was just reading too much into their
reactions. The trauma of finding a body could account for their behaviour.
Pearce clapped his hands together. ‘Right, so what’s next?’
‘Next,’ Karen said, looking beyond him to the crime scene, ‘is getting an ID for our lady
in the trench.’
Chapter 2
‘Who’s the crime scene officer in charge?’ Karen asked, but before Pearce could answer, she
spotted him near the white incident tent.
Tim Farthing.
Tim was brash, irritating, and one of the most annoying people she’d ever worked with,
but over the past year or so she’d found herself reluctantly warming to him. Not that she’d
ever admit it.
Despite his sarcastic flippancy, he was a hard worker. She was secretly pleased it was
him.
Karen suited up in light blue overalls and used the shoe covers provided by PC Pearce
before she joined Tim, who was busy checking off a list.
‘Evening, Tim.’
Tim glanced up at her dismissively before returning his attention to the list. ‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘It is indeed. Expecting someone else?’
‘I was hoping for a detective who appreciates me.’
‘What makes you think I don’t appreciate you? Anyway, it doesn’t matter who you were
hoping for. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.’
The SOCO made a big show of sighing heavily.
‘So, what can you tell me?’ Karen asked.
‘I think it’s best I show you.’ Tim led the way. ‘She’s in a trench. We’ve got the tent up to
protect her from the worst of the weather.’
They stopped beside a long, deep trench. The earth was a mixture of reddish soil and
small stones. Despite the tarpaulin folded on one side of the trench, the ground was wet and
muddy. The tent erected to shield the body was open at the front, and Karen could just make
out the legs of the victim from where she stood. Yellow markers, set out by the SOCOs, were
dotted around the trench.
‘We’ve already done a sweep for evidence,’ Tim said. ‘And my team photographed
everything in situ.’ He turned to Karen and then pointed to the ladder that lay against the side
of the trench. ‘Ready?’
It looked slippery, but Karen nodded. She needed to see the body. Tim started to descend
the ladder, and Karen followed him down.
She could see why the teenager who’d fallen in the trench had struggled to get out with an
injured ankle and no ladder. The sides were steep and slick, and Karen had to take it slowly to
keep her footing.
When she reached the bottom, she headed to the forensic tent. The door flap was open,
letting in the bright light from the floodlamps.
‘All right to go straight in?’ Karen asked. She didn’t want to stand anywhere she
shouldn’t, especially as the pathologist hadn’t seen the body yet.
‘Unless you want to stand there admiring the tent.’
She let her steely stare do the talking. Tim knew what she meant; he was being
purposefully difficult. But then that was Tim Farthing all over. She shouldn’t have expected
anything less.
He smirked.
‘You are hard work,’ Karen said as she ducked inside.
The temperature seemed to drop by a few degrees.
In the centre of the tent lay the woman’s body. She was on her right side, her face half-
hidden by blonde hair that had come loose from its ponytail. She wore a dark green
waterproof jacket, indigo jeans and walking boots.
There was no smell of decay, so the victim couldn’t have been dead for long. Karen
moved closer to the body. The skin on the woman’s face and hands looked grey and mottled
in the harsh lights from the portable lamps.
Her eyes were drawn to a strange contraption locked around the victim’s neck and wrists.
It was made of wood and metal and resembled a violin in size and shape. The metal band
around the neck squeezed against the skin, and there was evidence of bleeding – or was that
rust? The bands around her wrists were also close-fitting, and the device forced the victim’s
head down towards her chest. The edge of the metal dug into the soft flesh under her chin.
‘What is that?’ Karen muttered.
‘A shrew’s fiddle,’ Tim said, as though the item were common. ‘It was used for
punishment and torture centuries ago, usually on women, hence the name. The neck and wrist
restraints kept victims locked in that hunched position for hours or even days at a time. It
must cause excruciating pain in the back and neck.’
Karen turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.
‘I’ve never seen one in real life, but I’ve seen pictures of them. They were designed to
cause maximum discomfort. Totally barbaric.’
Karen continued to look at Tim.
‘Okay. I googled it.’
‘Do you think this is how she died?’
‘No idea. The pathologist will have to determine the cause of death.’ Tim’s flippant tone
was a contrast to his solemn expression.
‘So, this was a murder then?’ Karen said quietly. ‘Not an accident or a suicide. She didn’t
put herself in that contraption?’
‘No, and the fact that this is an archaeology site – well, the shrew’s fiddle seems
significant.’
‘Why? Do you think it was found here? It was a discovery?’ Karen repressed a wave of
repulsion as she stared at the device.
It didn’t look that old. Surely wood would have rotted away after centuries, wouldn’t it?
Although, maybe not. She’d read somewhere that Lincoln Cathedral still contained some of
its original wood in the doors. So, under the right conditions, a wooden artefact could last a
long time.
‘Finding out why is your job, not mine,’ Tim said, angling the light he was holding so
Karen could see better.
‘Did you find any ID on her?’
‘We haven’t touched the body. Photographs only until the pathologist gets here.’
As if on cue, the pathologist – Raj – appeared at the top of the trench, carrying a medical
bag and a large umbrella. It looked like he was wearing black tie beneath his forensic suit, as
though dressed for the opera, not a muddy field.
He peered down at them and then looked at the ladder with a sigh of disappointment. ‘I
was at a dinner. I suppose you need me down there?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ Karen said.
He gave another sigh, put his bag and umbrella at the edge of the trench and slowly
climbed down, taking care not to slip on the ladder. Once at the bottom, he nodded at them
both as Tim went back up and passed him his bag. ‘This wasn’t what I had planned for this
evening. But we’re short-staffed. There’s a nasty tummy bug floating around; people have
been dropping like flies. Professor Lawrence lost seven pounds in a week!’ Raj patted his
ample stomach. ‘Luckily, I’ve avoided it so far.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ Karen said.
Raj was a professional with many years of experience, but Karen saw him flinch at the
sight of the shrew’s fiddle around the victim’s neck.
‘What is that?’
Karen looked at Tim. ‘You’re the expert.’
‘Hardly. I told you – I googled it.’ He huffed, but then gave Raj the same explanation
he’d just given Karen.
Raj nodded, his face grim. ‘Well, we can remove it once we get her back to the morgue.’
He bent down and began examining the woman with gloved fingers.
They stepped back and watched the pathologist work. Karen wanted answers. She needed
to know who this woman was as quickly as possible, and why the killer had chosen to place
her here. And more to the point, how had her killer got hold of a device like that?
‘She could be one of the archaeologists,’ Karen said, thinking aloud. ‘We need to identify
her as soon as possible so we can start interviewing people.’
Raj was too invested in his work to reply, and Tim only shrugged.
She glanced at the SOCO. ‘Any thoughts, Mr Google?’
He scowled. ‘If we find ID on her, your job will be almost done for you.’
Raj had finished his initial exam and began to search through the pockets of the victim’s
coat. He pulled out a wallet, which he passed to Karen. She opened the wallet, pulled out a
driver’s licence and read the name. ‘Alison Poulson.’
As Karen searched through the other cards in the victim’s purse, she asked Raj, ‘Can you
estimate how long she’s been dead?’
Raj frowned. ‘No more than a couple of hours, I’d say.’
‘How did she die? Was it that fiddle thing around her neck?’ Karen asked.
‘I don’t think so,’ Raj said slowly. ‘She has a head wound. I think that’s more likely the
cause of death.’
‘So, the shrew’s fiddle is just decoration?’ Karen asked.
‘I don’t like your idea of decoration,’ Tim said.
Karen ignored him. ‘Do you think the device was put on the victim post-mortem?’
Raj shook his head solemnly. ‘I’m afraid not. The shrew’s fiddle was put on the victim
before her death.’ He gestured towards the device. ‘The bleeding and extensive bruising
around her neck indicate she was alive when it was locked into place. It was a cruel death.
She would have been trapped in that agonising position as she died.’
A wave of nausea washed over Karen. She put a hand to her throat. She could almost feel
the metal biting into her own flesh. Imagining Alison Poulson’s final terrified moments made
her stomach churn. This wasn’t just murder – it was a calculated act of sadism.
The killer had taken pleasure in Alison’s suffering. The realisation made Karen’s skin
crawl. This hadn’t been a momentary loss of control, but the product of a twisted and cruel
mind.
‘Whoever did this wanted to cause her maximum pain and humiliation,’ Karen said,
trying to clear her head and focus on what she could do to catch whoever had done this. ‘The
use of this shrew’s fiddle must have been deliberate. It could be a message? A symbol? What
do you think?’
Raj turned to her and smiled. ‘I admire your enthusiasm, Karen, but the answer to that is
beyond me. The autopsy might provide more answers.’
Karen nodded. ‘Fair enough.’ She couldn’t expect Raj to speculate on motives in a soggy
trench in the middle of a windswept field.
She climbed the ladder, feeling relieved to get out of the muddy hole.
Tim followed her a few moments later. ‘Happy now? You’ve got an ID. The hard part is
done, isn’t it?’
Karen watched as the victim was lifted from the trench. The real work was just beginning.
The identification of Alison Poulson was the starting point. They still had to discover the
motive behind her murder. And why her body had been found at the dig site.
She wondered about the shrew’s fiddle. Was it a genuine artefact that had been buried in
the field for centuries? Or had someone brought it to the site? Karen felt a surge of anger. The
sheer brutality of the way the shrew’s fiddle had been used to humiliate and torment Alison
Poulson made her blood boil. This went beyond a simple murder – there was an undercurrent
of contempt. Had the killer been driven by a personal hatred of Alison, or a deep-seated
loathing of women in general?
She turned to Tim, expecting to see her disgust mirrored in his expression. His features
remained frustratingly impassive, as if this was nothing more than another day at the office
for him. That only added to her simmering fury. But then she caught the slight furrow in his
brow, the tightness around his eyes. He felt the cruelty of this crime, too, even if he was
hiding it behind his usual flippant manner.
Karen began to walk back to her car. Now, they had the unenviable task of tracking down
Alison’s loved ones to tell them she wouldn’t be coming home. That was the worst part of the
job.
So Tim was mistaken. The hard bit was definitely still to come.
* * *
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