Chapter Forty-Six
Josie
With sirens blaring, we arrive at the dirt track. I draw my taser and follow the other officers towards the van, Burrow leading the way.
My heart pounds. My finger hovers over the trigger as Burrow yanks open the driver's door.
I hold my breath. Then I see his shoulders relax.
‘Okay, stand down. He’s dead. Cordon off the area,’ he says.
Diane, one of the Forensics team, begins photographing the body. ‘I don’t think this is his blood,’ she says.
‘What do you mean?’ Burrow says, and frowns. ‘It’s all over him.’
‘I can’t find any signs of chest trauma.’
‘Then what did he die from?’ Dario asks.
‘Without a post-mortem, I can't be sure,’ Diane replies. ‘But from the signs, I’d guess a heart attack.’
She pulls on gloves, unbuttons the man's coat and slices cleanly down the centre of his shirt.
‘Nope,’ she says, straightening up. ‘A few bruises, but nothing that would cause this much bleeding. He’s a big guy.
If it wasn’t a heart attack, I’ll eat my hat.
There’s some old blood in his hair and a few scalp wounds, but they wouldn’t explain the state of his clothes. This blood came from someone else.’
We move to the back of the van cautiously; not because we think we’re in danger, but because none of us wants to find Joanna Neal’s body.
Burrow opens the rear doors. There’s no body.
But there is a blood-stained raincoat. It’s clear plastic, of the kind I once bought for the kids; cheap, rainproof, and see-through.
‘That’s what he used to carry her,’ Burrow mutters. ‘Question is, to where?’
‘Or carried bits of her,’ Dario adds.
I shiver. ‘I wish you’d shut up.’
Burrow slips on fresh gloves and, using a screwdriver, removes the number plate. It confirms what we already suspect: it’s the stolen van.
‘Mr Reynolds is going to be thrilled when he finds out his van was used to dump a body,’ Dario says.
Personally, I imagine Mr Reynolds will be more upset about how long he’ll have to wait to get it back.
***
Paul, the young guy who found the van, is bursting with excitement. If ever there was a star witness, it’s him.
‘I’d seen that van the past few mornings,’ he says.
‘Me too,’ adds a man who, we learn, is the shop owner.
Paul shoots him a dirty look. He clearly doesn’t want to share the spotlight.
‘Anyway,’ Paul continues, ‘The first time I saw it, I didn’t think much of it.
But then it was still there the next day, and I started to wonder if it had been dumped.
Today I went to check it out, took a photo of the reg, and saw the guy inside.
Dead.’ He pauses. ‘He is dead, isn’t he? ’
‘Very much so,’ I say. ‘But next time, don’t approach a suspicious vehicle. Call the police. You could have been in serious danger.’
‘What’s down at the end of the track?’ Dario asks.
‘Matt Robb’s farm. The pig farm. That’s where we get the pork pies and chops.’
I shudder. ‘Right, thanks.’
We leave the shop, and nausea creeps up my throat. ‘Talk about prophetic,’ I mutter. ‘You said he might have fed her to pigs.’
Dario exhales. ‘It seemed logical.’
***
We’re greeted at the farm by the owner, Matt, and his two large, barking dogs. He shouts at them to be quiet and turns to us with a friendly smile.
‘Hi, welcome to the farm. How can I help you?’
‘Mind if we look around?’ I ask.
‘Sure, but I’ll need you to put on protective boots and overalls. Biosecurity, you see. Got to keep the pigs safe. Can I ask what this is about?’
‘Let’s talk about that later,’ Dario says.
He’s probably noticed I’m looking pale and doesn’t want me throwing up on the farm, so he wants to get everything over with as quickly as possible.
Matt shows us the farrowing crates first, where tiny piglets are nuzzling their mothers. I can’t help smiling, despite myself. Next, we head to the growing pens, where the young pigs root around, snorting and playing.
‘Do you have tight security here?’ Dario asks.
Matt looks confused. ‘No one steals pigs. Besides, we’ve got the dogs.’
‘Noticed anything odd recently?’ I ask.
He thinks for a moment. ‘Can’t say I have.’
‘Were you aware of the white van further down the track? It’s been there a few days.’
His eyes widen with recognition. ‘Paul mentioned it yesterday. I didn’t pay much attention.’
We walk back to the car in silence. Finally, Dario says, ‘Do you think we should tell Neal? We’ve got no solid evidence.’
My response is immediate. ‘No.’
Even though we both know that is most likely to have happened to Joanna Neal.
She was a feast for Matt Robb’s pigs.
‘Let’s see what the forensics and the post-mortem show us,’ I say.