Night Fall by Frank Smith

least the umpteenth time in the last ten minutes. ‘And make sure you put those goggles on.’ She looked across the boy’s head at her husband. ‘And mind what you’re doing with that sledgehammer,’ she said. ‘Chips fly in all directions, so make sure Jimmy’s well away from you when you’re breaking those stones up.’
    â€˜Don’t worry, love, I’ll bring him home safe and sound.’ He and the boy made their way to the pickup truck in the driveway and got in.
    â€˜Got your phone?’ his wife called as he backed into the street. He nodded and waved.
    Alice watched until the pickup turned the corner and disappeared. ‘And do be careful,’ she whispered as she went back into the house.
    It was a short drive, three miles up the valley before taking the side road that wound its way through trees to the top of Clapperton Hill, where the paved road ended at a lookout point. But Jackson carried on, following a well-worn track across the moorland for close to a quarter of a mile before coming to a halt before a wire fence and gate. Half buried in the scrubby grass beside the gate was a rusted sign that had at one time warned all and sundry to
Keep Out
.
    Jimmy jumped out and ran to open the gate, then waited for his father to drive through before closing the gate and getting back into the pickup. Jackson drove slowly along the strip of turf between the wire fence and the edge of the quarry, then began the spiral descent to the relatively flat surface of the quarry floor. Once parked, Jimmy, with goggles already in place, pulled his small hammer from the satchel and got out.
    â€˜That’s where I got the good ones last time, Dad,’ he said, pointing to a pile of smaller stones at the base of the cliff. ‘The red ones, remember, Dad? Can I get some more?’
    Ron got out and set the seven-pound sledge down beside him while he slipped his own goggles over his head to hang around his neck as he looked around. He didn’t need the small stuff, but it would keep Jimmy busy for a while. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘But stay right there. Remember what I’ve told you about climbing?’
    The boy nodded and said, ‘Yes, Dad,’ as he scampered off, hammer in hand.
    Ron picked up the sledgehammer and walked over to a pile of larger stones. He’d done well here last week. Most of the stones had split without shattering; just what he needed for the rock wall he was building at home. He glanced up at the cliff face towering above him. It looked safe enough, but he was a cautious man, so he’d made it a practice to pick out the stones that looked promising, then carry them away from the base of the cliff before attacking them with the sledge.
    He clambered onto one of the larger slabs to take a better look . . . and froze. He glanced back at the boy. Jimmy was hammering away quite happily. Ron Jackson picked his way carefully over the jumble of rocks until he came to the body. He looked up. The man had to be dead after a fall like that. Even so . . . He bent to take a closer look, then drew back.
    The man’s hands were bound together behind his back, his mouth was covered with duct tape, and his hair was matted with blood . . . Ron Jackson sucked in his breath and took out his phone.
    Paget and Grace were sitting in the kitchen of a farmhouse half a mile up the road from home when the call came through on Paget’s mobile phone. He and Grace had walked up the hill to pick up a fresh supply of free-range eggs, and they had been invited to stay for a cup of tea and to sample some freshly made scones. Two minutes later, Grace received a similar call, so they made their apologies and returned to the house, where Grace picked up her working gear, then followed Neil to the quarry in her own car.
    Tregalles was there already, as was Superintendent Pierce. ‘Looks like he came off that piece jutting out up there,’ Tregalles said,