The Spanish Connection

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

This novel uses British English, so if there is a word or phrase you don’t understand, there is a handy alphabetical listing at the back.

‘Shh,’ said Matheson. ‘What was that?’

‘I didn’t hear anything.’

The two young police constables on night duty were freezing, even though it was July. They were concealed in the ditch at the side of a farmer’s field that had become an archaeological dig since Old Farmer Giles found some ancient treasure.

Nighthawks had come visiting in the early hours two days ago, looking for what they could steal. One of the professors with the dig had called in a favour from the Superintendent, and Matheson and Peters had been here on night duty guarding the dig site ever since. But it was now Sunday and the Nighthawks hadn’t been back. That didn’t make them feel any better. If anything, the anticipation, the expectation that they would be back for another go, made them feel progressively more jittery.

The sky crouching over them like some huge Mantis didn’t help. It was as black as the devil’s soul, and they spoke in whispers so they wouldn’t waken...whatever was out there. Each was grateful for the other’s presence, though neither would ever admit that they felt intimidated by the vast black sky and the fear of eternity. It was silent, apart from some cows lowing in an adjacent field, and Peters shifted uneasily, his behind numb from sitting on the hard packed earth. At least it was dry, for which he was grateful, as he remembered his Gran’s warning about damp ground and chills in the kidneys. He shivered, not only from the cold, and spoke again just for the reassurance he gained from hearing his own voice.

‘Matheson?’

‘What?’

‘What’s the time?’

‘Five minutes later than the last time you asked me.’

‘No, really.’

Matheson sighed and squinted at his illuminated watch. ‘Four o’clock. Why? You got somewhere important to go?’

‘No. Worse luck. Never thought it’d be like this when I joined the police. I’ve got this new girlfriend, see, and—’

‘Shh. There it is again.’ Matheson wriggled himself up, and looked over the rim of the ditch.

But it was a moonless night, and Peters doubted he could see anything; he could barely see his hand in front of him. But he asked anyway, just to hear his voice once more. ‘What can you see?’ he questioned, hoping he didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

‘Nothing. I’m going to look round.’

‘What about me?’

‘Wait here.’

Matheson snaked his way up and over the ditch, then keeping low, he vanished round the side of a heap of soil from the dig.

‘Matheson?’ Silence.

Peters heard nothing for a long five minutes. He felt abandoned to the darkness, to the fear. Then he heard a thump and more silence. Peters waited, getting increasingly agitated. But he heard nothing further. In a quavering voice, he called Matheson’s name again. No answer.

Seriously worried now, Peters tugged at his uniform jacket. Its shiny buttons reminded him that he was an officer of the law and it gave him the spark of confidence that was previously lacking. Peters crawled out of the ditch. He stilled as he heard a car start up. Then he began crawling again. Two minutes later, he found Matheson. He was sprawled out on one of the heaps of soil excavated from a trench, unconscious.

Peters’ heart thumped so loudly, he thought whoever had attacked Matheson must hear it and come after him. If he hadn’t gone off in that car. He looked around fearfully. Then he saw another body. It was at the bottom of one of the trenches, and utterly still, just like Matheson.

With shaking hands, he wrestled to free his radio, fighting a growing urge to run. Then called it in.

All he could do then was wait. Alone. In the darkness.

***