Even with it supported in the sling, Joe's hand is killing him as he stumbles through the tall grass, searching a field adjacent to the coastal trail. His team has moved about two miles further south of their search grid of a few days ago. He's been moved to the east side of the line, the search track furthest from the cliff edge.
As he stops to dig the bottle of pain pills from his pocket, he glances toward the nearest farmstead, located about half a mile away. That place looks familiar. He fishes out a pill and popping it into his mouth, quickly washing it down with a few gulps of bottled water. As he looks at the house and outbuildings, he realizes it's the farm he canvassed a day or two ago where the crazy old lady had told him about the wailing ghosts and her missing cousin.
"Bryce probably did a runner rather than live out his days sharing a farmhouse with a kooky old bird like her," he mutters.
And suddenly, he feels himself falling, pain shooting up his body and into his brain as his injured arm slams against the ground. "Bloody hell!" he shouts in agony and surprise.
"Are you okay, Sarge?" his closest team member, PC Tuinhoff, yells. "Sarge?"
Feeling like a complete idiot, Joe tries to get to his feet but realizes he can't. His body is stuck waist deep in the soil, only the support of his two elbows keeping him from falling further. "Officer down," he shouts. "I'm in need of some assistance here."
And then he's looking up into PC Tuinhoff's amused face. "How in the hell did you end up down there, Sarge?" he asks, offering a hand to pull him up. But despite several attempts, he can't get Joe to move.
Sergeant Becker and the other men in the team have stopped their grid search and are staring at PC Tuinhoff with surprise and amusement.
"Put your back into it, mate," Sergeant Becker yells toward him, laughing. "Sergeant Penhale isn't that heavy."
"I can't get him to budge, sir," the constable yells back apologetically. "I'm going to need some help."
Soon, the entire team is surrounding Joe and, with some combined effort, manages to pull him up out of the ground. As soon as his body is clear of the hole, Sergeant Becker is on his hands and knees, shining his torch down into the darkness. "What the hell have you found, Penhale?"
Joe crawls up on his knees beside him and shines his torch down as well. "It looks like some kind of tunnel or cave," he says as a memory niggles in the back of his mind. He sits back and thinks while the rest of the team take turns looking down in the hole.
"My wife and I honeymooned in this area back in January," he says seemingly out of nowhere. His team members turn to look at him in surprise.
"Well, good for you, Sarge," PC Gibbons jokes, making the loopy finger sign beside his head.
Joe looks up and gives him a dirty look. "Stirling told me some interesting information about this area. She read that in St. Just, underground caves have been found dating back several centuries. They were used for storage or hiding people and valuables from marauding groups. As well, she read that this entire area is littered with open mine shafts and mine workings. It was in some book on the history of mining in Cornwall. Plus the walking guide we were using clearly stated that trekkers should not wander off the trails due to past mining activities around the Cot Valley, which is where we are."
"What if this couple walked off the trail and into a hole, similar to this one," he suggests, warming to his topic. "I canvassed this area a day or so ago and the old bird that lives over there," he says, waving his hand in the general direction of the farmhouse, "said she heard wailing a few nights back. She said it was ghosts. What if it was two people shouting for help up a mine shaft or an open hole from a cave-in?"
Sergeant Becker stares at him in amazement. "You think they fell in an old mining hole?"
Joe shrugs. "It's possible."
"What about the mobile? And the earring and the crushed area of grass you found north of here?"
"Perhaps the mobile just fell out of his pocket," he says. "And maybe we're unable to get a signal from hers because it's underground."
Joe blushes slightly. "And maybe she lost her earring and we found crushed grass because they stopped to – you know – snog a bit. They're a young couple on holiday from London exploring the wilds of Cornwall. Maybe they felt a bit randy and had a tumble together in the weeds." He looks around. "It's isolated up here, not a lot of people walking by. So they wander off the trail, decide to get starkers and have a shag."
Now the whole search team is staring at him. "You speaking from experience there, Sarge?" PC Gibbons asks with a lewd wink.
Joe doesn't even bother acknowledging him. "What are you thinking, Becker?"
"That maybe we should start checking the ground between here and that farmhouse," says Sergeant Becker with a grin.
It takes them two hours to find the hole. As they shine they're torches down into the darkness, they shout the couple's names: "Martin! Tara!"
Joe thinks he hears something. With the support of his fellow team mates, he leans further into the opening, shining his torch around as he tries to determine how deep the hole is and how wide. He sees a flash of red and moves his torch back.
"There's somebody down here!" he shouts, as two police constables pull him back up. "Better call it in, Becker. I think we found them. And Bryce."
Stirling looks at herself in the full-length mirror and flinches. I look like a red round ball with a head, arms and legs. She examines her red blouse flared with multiple layers of chiffon. Underneath, she's wearing black stretch breeches with high black boots. She decides to plait her hair back on each side into a low ponytail and then tops off her outfit with a dressy black hat.
She examines herself in the mirror again and sighs. It will have to do.
Grabbing her long, black dress coat, she slowly clomps down the stairs to the main floor, looking in the formal living room and conservatory for anyone else. She is obviously the first ready.
She wanders into the conservatory and removes the dust cover from the grand piano, setting the rolled up sheet on a nearby chair. She adjusts the position of the bench until she's comfortable, her large belly not quite touching the wooden edge near the keyboard. Her feet can still touch the pedals. She closes her eyes and begins to play – Schubert Impromptu in A Flat Major. She can feel the baby kick as she starts but as she continues to play, he stills, as if lulled by the music. At one point, she looks up to see Leyland standing in the doorway in full chauffeur uniform, a rare occurrence, listening to her play. She smiles and bends back to the keys.
As she plays the final flourish of the song, she is surprised to hear applause. She looks up to see the Doc, Louisa, Michael and Christopher sitting or standing around the room. "How long have you been there? About five minutes ago, it was only Leyland."
"Well, he's brought the car around and we were just waiting for you to finish," explains Michael, giving a start of surprise as she rises from the piano bench. "Are you okay to walk?" he asks. "That looks like quite a load you're carrying."
She gives him a dirty look. "Don't tell me you're going to pull the inconsiderate, unfeeling cad act as well? It was bad enough when Christopher did it. Now you too?"
He smiles and walks up to Stirling, kissing her tenderly on the cheek. "You're so easy to tease, Ling-Ling. I blame it on your current condition. Christy told me about his horrible gaffe at the train station and I wanted to see how far I could get before you bit back. Not very far, it would seem. You look beautiful, darling, absolutely glowing and gorgeous."
Stirling smiles and gives him a quick peck on the lips. "Flattery will get you everything, dear Michael," she says with a laugh.
He escorts her out to the Bentley and helps her into the back seat beside Louisa and the Doc before settling into one of the back facing jump seats. Christopher sits in the front passenger seat again.
"To the Savoy," Michael orders with a smile as Leyland pulls out of the driveway, heading downtown to the Covent Garden area and The Strand.
It's a fairly lengthy drive and they spend it chatting about life in London, Michael describing with great levity his latest legal cases involving a wide array of colourful characters. They also talk about the newest happenings in Cornwall, including Joe's latest investigation. "It's been a few days since I last heard from him," Stirling admits quietly. "They thought they had found a crime scene and special officers had been called in to examine any evidence. Hopefully they catch a break soon and find that poor couple."
The car is quiet for a moment until Stirling decides to change the subject by asking Michael and Christopher about the latest theatre and opera they had been to. Michael soon has everyone relaxed and enjoying themselves again. It seems only a few minutes later, Leyland pulls the Bentley up along the side of The Strand near the front entrance of the Savoy Hotel.
"I'm afraid this is as close as I can get, Miss Stirling," he says as he helps her out of the back of the car. "The Bentley doesn't have a tight enough turning radius to drive into Savoy Court."
"We can walk, Leyland, don't worry," she says, kissing his cheek as he escorts her to the sidewalk. Michael says a few words to the chauffeur before patting him on the shoulder. He takes Stirling's right arm in his while Christopher grabs her left and the pair walks with her along Savoy Court to the entrance of the Savoy Grill, the Doc and Louisa walking behind.
"Fancy," Stirling says to Michael as he escorts her through the door into the restaurant. "That tosser Ramsey isn't going to be here tonight, is he?" she whispers. "I'd hate to see you two go at it over cold potato soup or something."
"I doubt he's here, Ling-Ling," Michael says with a laugh. "He's probably too busy screaming at one of his chefs at another restaurant."
Michael goes to the front desk to see about their reservation and they are soon being led to a private booth area in a quiet corner. Stirling eyes the spacing between the seat and the table and compares it to her round belly. The host instantly notices and makes an adjustment, allowing her more room. "Thank you," she says blushing slightly.
"My pleasure, miss," he says, with a slight bow as he distributes the dinner and wine menus. "Your server will be with you shortly."
The Doc looks mildly uncomfortable as he gazes around the fancy restaurant with its wood panelling, bright white tablecloths and elaborate chandeliers. "We can't afford to eat here," he whispers to Louisa, who blushes slightly.
"Don't worry, Chief," Stirling whispers from his other side. "Dinner's on Michael."
He whips his head around quickly to glare at her. "That's not necessary," he whispers back.
"Yes it is," Michael whispers from across the table. "You're our guests. Our treat. But why are we whispering?"
Stirling tries hard not to giggle as the Doc prepares to argue his case. "That's very kind of you Michael and Christopher," says Louisa, cutting in before her husband can speak. "Thank you."
"You've always been very kind to us when we've been up in Portwenn visiting with Ling-Ling," Christopher says. "We'd like to return the courtesy."
Disaster averted, the group sits back and enjoys a leisurely and enjoyable meal, covering every topic from medicine to politics. Even the Doc adds a few comments now and then.
After paying, Michael and Christopher escort their guests next door to the Savoy Theatre for a performance of the latest big musical comedy to open in London's West End. The seats are fantastic and Stirling finds herself laughing and enjoying herself for the first time in days. At the intermission, she is desperate to use the loo and her stomach actually hurts from all the laughing. She's even nervous about drinking any water, afraid she'll have to revisit the facilities before the end of the production.
She's exhausted at of the evening, barely able to keep her eyes open on the drive home. Michael smiles as he watches her head bob in the back seat of the Bentley. "Long day Ling-Ling?" he asks.
"Very!" she says with a rueful laugh. "But it was wonderful. Thank you so much for dinner and the theatre. It's been so long since I've been to a West End play." She leans over and gives Michael a big hug and kiss.
Later that night, as she prepares for bed, she checks her mobile and sees she has a text. She frowns, wondering why she didn't hear the tell-tale ping and realizes her mobile is on vibrate. "Damn," she mutters, opening the text. Her heart sinks in disappointment. It's from Joe, dated three hours ago.
We found them it simply states with an attached photo of Joe and a small group of other officers, all clad in black fatigues and covered in dirt and mud, carrying a stretcher with a young woman on it. A second stretcher can be seen behind them with another person on it.
Stirling feels a flare of excitement. They found them! Joe will be coming home! And I'm in London. She frowns slightly but shakes it off. He'll probably be up there for another day or so doing clean-up or some such nonsense.
Congratulations! she types back. That's fantastic! When are you coming home? She flinches as she reads it. I sound so desperate, so needy. She cringes. But I am desperate and needy! I'm eight months pregnant. I cry during fundraising commercials for animal sanctuaries. Why should I feel bad for missing my husband? Even so, she erases the last sentence and hits send.
She snuggles under the duvet, setting her mobile on the bedside table before shutting off the lights. She smiles in the darkness. Joe's coming home!
Suddenly, she sits upright in the bed, snaps on the bedside lamp and reaches for her mobile. She scrolls back to the text and the photo. She squints at the screen, manipulating her fingers to make the photo bigger and zoom in on a small section. She moves even closer to the screen, squinting harder.
Is that a sling Joe's wearing on his left arm? Why would he need a sling?
As far as Sergeant Becker is concerned, Joe is a hero. As far as the detectives and inspectors are concerned, they should have been called in sooner. As far as Joe is concerned, he just wants to go to the hospital and then go home to Portwenn and his wife.
He is sitting in the waiting room of the x-ray department at the Penzance hospital, patiently waiting for film of his hand to be processed and released, when he hears the familiar ping of his mobile. Message.
He manages to dig the object out of his dusty black fatigue pants and unlock it. It's a text from Stirling: Congratulations! That's fantastic!
He smiles and then notices the location where the text originated from and his pain-riddled and befuddled mind suddenly remembers – Stirling isn't in Portwenn.
"Bloody hell! She's in London!" he growls, causing several people in the room to glare at him.
"Who is?" asks Sergeant Becker.
"Stirling!" Joe groans, sinking his head into his right hand. He glances at his watch. "She would have left yesterday morning."
"What's she doing in London?"
"She's attending a benefit organized by a close friend. It's raising money to fund a cancer support centre for young people, teenagers. We were both supposed to go, our last outing together before the baby arrives. But I was called in."
"Who knows how much longer I'm going to be waiting here," he says impatiently, this hand throbbing. "I still need a cast. By the time I get to Bodmin, it will be too late to get a train."
"We'll get you there, mate," says Becker, looking down the row of chairs at the other team members who are lounging around the waiting room. "Won't we?"
"Just drop me off in Bodmin on your way by," says PC Elmherst. "I really need to get home to the wife and ankle biters."
"No worries," says Becker. "Anyone else not interested in a field trip to London?"
PC Tuinhoff and PC Gibbons, both single, are keen.
"There you go," says the Sergeant confidently. "It's a go. Once we're finished here, we'll drive Elmherst home to the honey and hit the A30 toward London."
"Are you sure?" Joe asks uncertainly.
"Penhale, I haven't been to London in a dog's age. These two wet-behind-the-ears idiots have probably never been. We've spent the past five days wading through wet grass and mud, sleeping on hard cots at a golf course, falling into mine shafts and tunnels, getting covered in dirt. I think we deserve a road trip to London, even if it is just overnight."
"Thanks Becker," Joe says, offering to shake with his right hand.
"Penhale, Joseph?" the nurse calls, holding a large envelope for him. "Take this back down to emergency and give it to your attending physician. They'll take care of you. You're definitely going to need a cast. It's pretty swollen and tender. You should have come in sooner."
"We were involved in an important investigation," Sergeant Becker explains. "This officer was key in finding those two missing hikers that I believe are currently being treated elsewhere in the hospital."
"Good work, Sergeant," the nurse says, making Joe blush slightly. "Now off you go and get that hand looked after."
The group trudges back to the emergency room and the doctor who originally accessed Joe examines him again. The physician flinches as he looks at the x-rays. "That looks nasty and sore," he says. "And very swollen. It looks like a typical boxer's fracture. You've broken two of your knuckles. But I don't think I'll need to re-break it, which is good."
Joe breathes an audible sigh of relief.
"I'll get a couple of nurses in here to help me. I'm going to give you a shot to numb the pain but it's still going to hurt, Sergeant, so be prepared."
Joe's not liking the sound of this.
It takes the doctor, two nurses and Becker to hold him down to fit the splint support on his hand and then apply the cast. The doctor finishes up by wrapping the cast with gauze to keep it clean.
"You're probably going to need to keep this on for about a month. Have your local GP look at it and he'll tell you when it should be removed. Take these with you," the doctor adds, handing him his x-rays. "Your doctor will want to see them."
"Yes, she will," mutters Joe, already imagining Stirling's reaction to the cast.
"Good luck, Sergeant, and try to keep out of any more fights."
It's daylight as the five officers exit the hospital. Joe glances at his watch as they climb into the police patrol wagon. It's half nine in the morning. He groans as he swallows another pain pill and leans back against the back of the front passenger seat. It's about five and a half hours to London and they still have to stop in Bodmin. They'll be cutting it close.
