Dancing With the Virgins. Stephen Booth

or something?’

      ‘There’ll be more of them yet, Wragg. It’s still early,’ said the sergeant, watching the green jacket constantly circling the clearing like a bird of prey.

      ‘Early for what?’

      ‘Early for the real loonies.’

      ‘What do you call this lot, then?’

      The sergeant shrugged as PC Wragg shook off the grasping fingers of the old ladies. ‘These are just your normal, everyday members of the public. Wait till the pubs open. Then you’ll see a real circus.’

      ‘Christ, why don’t they leave us alone?’

      ‘It’s a bit of excitement for them, you see. Some of them probably think it’s a film set. They think we’re filming an episode of Peak Practice or something. In fact, I reckon those old dears have mistaken you for what’s his name, the heart-throb doctor.’

      ‘Let’s hope the forensics lot are finished soon over at the quarry.’

      ‘Shush. Don’t let on. The gongoozlers’ll be over that way too, if they hear you.’

      ‘I think it’s too late, Sarge.’

      The old ladies had spotted a police Range Rover and the Scientific Support Unit’s Maverick parking on the roadway above the abandoned quarry. The pair set off at a brisk pace, adjusting their hats and twirling their walking sticks. A family with three children and a Jack Russell terrier had settled down on the grass under the birch trees and had begun to unpack sandwiches and flasks. One of the children got out a kite and unfurled the line. Another threw a stick for the dog to chase.

      The sergeant looked around for the little man in the green jacket, and saw him crouched in the heather, his hands compulsively pulling up clumps of whinberry. He looked like a wild dog, eager and alert, sniffing the air for carrion.

      ‘I’m sure I know that one,’ said the sergeant. ‘I’ve seen him somewhere before.’

      ‘He looks as though he shouldn’t be out on his own,’ said PC Wragg. ‘I reckon there ought to be at least two male nurses with him, carrying a strait jacket and a bucket of tranquillizers.’

      ‘Don’t you believe it,’ said the sergeant. ‘I’ve a feeling he’s a respectable member of society. A teacher or a lawyer, something like that. I can’t quite place him, but it’ll come.’

      Wragg held up his hand like a traffic policeman as he saw more walkers approaching. ‘I’m sorry, ladies. This is a crime scene. I’ll have to ask you to walk another way, please.’