Samuel slowed the Can-Am.
There was a commotion at the mine shop. They sold slate from the quarry. It was a small business and he employed two master stonemasons in the workshop, making placemats, gravestones and vases. It wasn’t on as big a scale as Honister, which turned over up to ten million quid in a good year, but it did okay.
He doubted that the coppers had turned up to peruse his ornamental stone. Something else must be wrong. Tourists gathered outside in a crowd and Samuel sighed. He couldn’t be bothered with fuss, and he hoped to high heaven that it wasn’t another mining accident.
Thankfully they were rare here, but quarrying remained the most dangerous industry to work in and last year, one of their contractors had been crushed under the conveyor of a stone-pressing machine. It had been gruesome. He’d paid over a hundred grand in compensation to the lad’s family, which had been covered by insurance.
He lowered himself from the vehicle and walked towards the commotion – Penny stayed back obediently. People whispered and swapped sensational stories, and he wondered if it would be good or bad for business. Probably the latter, once word got out, but first he had to find out what was going on. He excused himself and pushed through the line of people. Some of them looked at him in annoyance as he forced his way to a better vantage point, others parted willingly. In his dungarees, flat cap, heavy boots, and combat green Shemagh, most of them understood that he wasn’t simply some tourist looking to take photos. His garb wasn’t accidental: it kept away questions.
He found the reception desk empty and went through the back to the workshop. There he found two coppers talking to Gloria. The workshop masons stood behind her. The machines were silent.
‘Samuel,’ Gloria said, rushing to him. She hugged him, almost knocking off his cap and he withstood the force of her embrace, wrapping his arms around her, looking over her shoulder to the coppers, who looked on grim-faced. She was still an affectionate woman after forty years of marriage, but she didn’t often show it in public.
‘This is my husband,’ Gloria said to them as she turned. ‘This is Samuel.’
‘What’s up?’ he asked. It was a question to all of them, not just to his wife.
‘There’s a body at the bottom of the quarry,’ Gloria said breathlessly. Samuel sighed; it was news he could do without. He figured that somebody had fallen off a scaffold or a lift.
‘Sir,’ one of the uniformed coppers said. He introduced himself and his partner and began telling him about the discovery of a dead man at the bottom of a quarry face, close to the mouth of the mine.
It had been his father’s decision to begin mining the slate, knowing that the yield above ground would surely run out some day. Percival had been an intelligent businessman. He’d also been a fine soldier, and no one doubted his word. Samuel wouldn’t have made the leap from quarrying to mining on his own, but now it was his legacy.
‘Who is it? Is he one of ours?’ Samuel asked, thinking about the potential compensation he’d have to pay out if it turned out to be one of his workers, or worse, a tourist.
‘No, sir, we have accounted for all the staff, kindly helped by your wife, and there are no reports of missing climbers in the area, or visitors – we’ve checked.’
Samuel rubbed his chin and took off his cap.
‘Who is it then?’
‘We’re waiting on a senior detective, sir.’
‘They’re sealing off the area,’ Gloria said.
‘Detective?’ Samuel asked.
‘Yes, sir. It’s standard for unexplained deaths.’
‘Unexplained? Did he fall?’
‘I’ve had a look myself, sir, and it looks that way, yes.’
‘Well then, there’s your explanation.’
‘The mine’s got to close,’ Gloria said.
‘So, if he fell, why do you need a detective to confirm it?’
‘It’s necessary just while we evacuate the body, sir, and we ascertain cause of death. If it was a lone walker, who fell, and hasn’t been reported, then the coroner will want to know, and we’ll have to identify him as a matter of urgency.’
‘So, he’s still there?’ Samuel asked.
The copper nodded.
‘They’re leaving him there until the detective arrives,’ Gloria chipped in.
‘Who found him?’ Samuel asked.
‘Dorian,’ Gloria said.
‘Where is he?’
‘He’s gone back home. He’s had a shock.’
‘We need to speak to your son, sir. Could you accompany us back to your residence?’
‘I need to have a look for myself,’ Samuel said.
The faces of his audience told him he’d said an outrageous thing, but he didn’t think so at all. He knew everybody round here. If somebody had died on his land, then at least he wanted a chance to see for himself to get a grasp of what had happened.
‘I wouldn’t advise it, sir,’ one of the coppers said.
‘It’s my land. I know everybody who comes and goes in here for a fifty-mile radius. I’m going down there.’
He turned and walked out of the workshop, closely followed by Gloria.
‘Samuel,’ Gloria rasped. She touched his arm.
‘You take them up to the house to see Dorian. I’m going down there,’ he told her.
‘I’ll accompany you, sir. My instructions have been to preserve the integrity of the site.’ The copper wasn’t backing down, but neither was Samuel.
‘Fair enough, you come with me. I’ll get as close as I like.’