Cradle to Grave by Aline Templeton

that the first rule is to come equipped, when you have as many battle honours as we have.’ He indicated, with some pride, the stickers that almost obliterated the back windows of the van. ‘Glastonbury 1970, that one there. Day after Jimi Hendrix died – we were all in mourning.’
    The blond man gave them a narrow stare. ‘Something tells me they’re not your average punters. Cops?’
    Interesting, MacNee thought, watching him as he and Fleming took out their warrant cards and she explained that they were just checking out the site. Admittedly, they looked out of place, but people who instantly thought of cops usually had reason to know. He looked around the others too, with the trained observation that had long ago become instinctive.
    ‘Any problems?’ Fleming was asking.
    There were two girls who looked about sixteen. One of them asked, ‘Do you know when the catering’s coming? We didn’t, like, bring any food or stuff – thought they’d be here by now.’ Then she giggled, looking up under her eyelashes at the spiky-haired young man beside her. ‘We’re, like, starving – I’d do anything for a burger.’
    ‘Don’t you worry, my love,’ the large grey-haired man said. ‘We won’t see you go hungry, will we, Angela? We’ve learned enough to know the catering always lets you down and we prepare accordingly.’
    He turned to Fleming. ‘Bob and Angela Lawton. Not much impressed with this, to tell you the truth. The Portaloos are all right – the toilets are always the first things we check, aren’t they, love?’ Angela nodded confirmation, and he went on, ‘But the ground here’s shocking for these poor kids. High water table, see – they’ll all be sleeping in waterbeds if it doesn’t stop raining. I suppose that’s Scotland for you, isn’t it? But we love the Scotties, don’t we, Angela, so we keep right on coming to these festivals, all the way from Dorset.’
    He beamed patronisingly, and MacNee felt Fleming’s eyes boring a hole in him. In a contrary spirit, he said, ‘Good to hear it, sir. Hope you enjoy the music.’
    As they turned away, he noticed the blond man have a brief, low-voiced conversation with another young man, before heading off down the slope towards the house. Not a camper, then.
    ‘All the business stuff seems to be in the upper field, beside the stage,’ Fleming said, as she started the engine. ‘The lower field seems to be all there is for tents – it’s not exactly T in the Park, but it’s going to be ridiculously cramped if they get any sort of gate.
    ‘Anyway, what do you make of the groupings among that lot? The blond man – staying at the house, I’d guess. The two girls together, though if I was their mother, I’m not sure I’d let them out. Three obvious couples, and then the two young men – the short guy with spiky hair, and the taller one with sideburns. The guy with the spiky hair seemed to be with the girls, but the other one didn’t seem to be with anyone. Wouldn’t have thought many people came to things like this on their own, would you? And the couple with the caravan – too good to be true?’
    ‘Check,’ MacNee agreed. ‘The guy, though – probably just came hoping to pull.’
    ‘That would figure. But I’m not happy about this whole thing – the organisation seems far too casual. I don’t know how many they’ll get, out here in weather like this, but it could be a disaster waiting to happen. The Kirkcudbright lads will have to keep an eye on it once the numbers start building up.
    ‘I’m going to have a close look at the bridge on the way back and see if we can find a reason to declare it unsafe. If much more water starts coming through and the headland’s cut off, there’ll be a major logistics problem with food supplies, for a start. And we’ve enough trouble down at the Rosscarron Cottages without looking for more.’
     
    DC Kim Kershaw looked with considerable pity at the pair in front of her, as they sat