‘This way, sarge. I’ve grabbed you an SOC suit.’
DS Jerome Kernel looked up at the sodden moor and down at his suede shoes. ‘Why is it always here?’
‘Rural Yorkshire, sarge. Killers don’t tend to put bodies out for the bin men. Here you go.’ DC Alison Staples handed Jerome the white romper suit and held out a pair of blue booties in one hand and nitrile gloves in the other.
The two police officers trudged in silence as the rain beat a discordant symphony on their heads. Finally, after ten minutes during which the internal and external moisture levels equalised, they saw the lights.
Alison sniffed. ‘Same pattern. Bones boiled, marrow degraded, probably no DNA. Seven skulls, seven patella, seven scapulas…’
‘Seven? Including…?’ Jerome let the question hang.
‘Including the farmer. Same Mo. Same family.’
DS Kernal squeezed his eyes shut. ‘You think it’s some sort of anti Scottish shtick?’
‘Or a food nutter. The farmer and six animals all slaughtered and prepped. Mad vegan?’
Jerome stopped and sighed. He pointed at a tall man striding towards them, perfect smile shining out of his SOC hood. ‘What’s he doing here? How’d he find out?’
Alison shrugged. ‘Come on, let’s be nice to the lying bastards. Hi, Colin. Good to see the press are on the ball.’
Colin Methuen dragged on an e-cigarette, setting a cloud of cinnamon wafting towards the police tape. ‘Seven more corpses. One farmer. My sources say he’s a relly of the last two. So same killer?’
‘Come on, Col. It’s a bit early to call it.’
Colin shook his head. ‘Nah we both know it’s the same guy. Geez everyone knows that,’ he waved towards where three besuited technicians bent to their task, ‘is Old Man Macdonald and this is the handiwork of the E-I-E-I-O killer.’
This is written in response to Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto prompt