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We’d never have heard anything at night and the scrub here would have shielded any digging from the eyes of whoever was working the field.’
    ‘Even high up in the tractor?’
    ‘With the mess you lot have made it’s hard to imagine what the ground was like.’ Joanne pointed over to the hedge. ‘See there. The nettles and brambles are almost head height.’
    ‘I guess it would also depend on the time of year, right?’ Savage said. ‘I mean, how often would you be driving past the corner?’
    ‘This has been down to winter wheat the last two years. We drill in the autumn. Then we spray several times and spread fertiliser too. That would be up until May or June. We harvest in August. But you’re too focused on the job in hand to be looking around you.’
    Savage did just that. Looked around. The hedge Joanne had pointed to was thorn, thick on the field side with brambles and nettles. Down at the bottom of the field the estuary mud came right up to the edge. At any other time than spring high tide access from the water would be near impossible. The fortnightly spring high tides in Plymouth occurred in the morning and evening. Meaning, Savage reckoned, that apart from in the depths of winter, it would be daylight at high tide. If the killer hadn’t come through the farmyard then the only other way in was to carry the bodies along the railway line. It would have been hard work, but flat.
    Savage nodded over at the track. Explained her thinking about the railway line to Enders.
    ‘What, risk getting electrocuted, ma’am?’ Enders said, the wrapper from his Mars Bar slipping from his hand. He bent to pick it up. ‘Or run over by a train?’
    ‘There are only a few a day,’ Joanne said. ‘None at night. And they’re diesels.’
    ‘So,’ Savage said, ‘someone could walk across the bridge or down from the village with no worries. They could have parked somewhere adjacent to the line and then climbed over the fence. After dark it would be unlikely they’d be spotted.’
    ‘But why me? Why my farm?’
    ‘There could be a reason, but maybe this just seemed like a good place.’
    ‘Fantastic.’ Joanne moved away from the tent and gazed across the field. ‘How long are you going to be here? I’ve got people in the holiday cottages from the middle of the week.’
    ‘You’ll have to put them off, I’m afraid. Sorry.’
    ‘Bugger.’ Joanne shook her head. ‘You must think me heartless, thinking about my own financial worries after what’s happened to those people.’
    ‘Not at all. After all, none of this is your fault and it must be hard—’
    ‘Being a woman? Would you say that if I was a man?’
    ‘No,’ Savage smiled, ‘but then your life wouldn’t be so hard, would it?’
    ‘It’s the attitude which gets me. I am not sure why a woman shouldn’t be able to drive a tractor or worm a cow. I’ll admit I leave banging in fence posts to Jody, but other than that I’m as good as the next.’ Joanne turned to Enders. ‘Dear Lord, listen to me, I sound like some ball-breaker from the last century.’
    ‘Don’t mind me.’ Enders raised his hands. ‘I’m only against feminists when they come armed with scissors.’
    ‘I’m not that type. Although I might make an exception for blokes who drop litter …’
    ‘Never again,’ Enders said as he fumbled in his pocket to check he still had the wrapper. ‘Promise.’

Chapter Three
    Today the Big Knife is safe at home. You never take it with you on your reconnaissance missions. That would be much too dangerous. The knife has a mind of its own and can only be allowed to come out on one day a year. The Special Day. Not far off now. Not long to wait. There’s just the small matter of selecting your victim. Truth be told though, this one, like the others, selected herself. Free will. A wonderful thing. But people should use it wisely, make their choices with care. And accept the consequences of their decisions.
    You watch as she steps out of her