Blooming Women

15. Not on my turf

 'And lastly, Miss Hood, this one is for you.'

The Colonel, a slight, upright woman with a stern mouth and a taste for grey clothes that matched her hair and eyes, slid the folder across the her desk to Amber. On another woman, the Colonel's hairstyle might have been classed as a pixie cut; on her it was simply short and gave warning of a turn of phrase to match.

Outside the Priory's old, wide, many-paned windows, a mid-August day was shaping up to be just that little bit too sweaty and overcast to be properly enjoyable.

Amber flipped open the manila cover of the proffered folder and looked inside. She knew the over-inflated face that stared back at her from the over-magnified CCTV image, but it took a moment to recall where she'd seen it before. Then she flipped to the picture the blow-up had been taken from and knew him.
Georgie.
Georgie at that garden centre near Cloud, Gary and Baby Gary's home.

A metaphorical shoe whacked down onto the ceiling over Amber's immediate future. She waited; another one would be along in a moment.

'George Andrew Underwood, twenty seven. Disappeared in late June – last seen Friday the 26th – at the... Coppice Garden Centre, outside Olster, Warrickshuh,' intoned Colonel Dench.

Coppice Garden Centre, Broomford, Alcester, Warwickshire, read Amber, proving that her boss was as English as they made them and not fooled by anywhere spelling its name All-sester.

'YIMS report that his body was found in a compost heap at the back of the property; by what the police have for us, he was an unsavoury specimen, even if,' the Colonel permitted herself a small joke, the lines in her face twitching in near humour, 'he was a cook. His computer was a pervert's paradise, although there was nothing actually illegal on there. He also had some unpleasant habits that should have had him arrested for sexual harassment, if not abuse, long ago. He lived with his mother in Broomford and was missed from work after he failed to return from a morning break; she reported him missing but young, single men are not a police priority...'

Amber could sense the other shoe toppling, flipping end over end... She tried to focus on the Colonel's words, to be as politely interested as the other investigators in the room who already had new case files on their laps, but somehow an image of herself running into the trees behind Hazel, the pair of them suppressing laughter as a man in Wellington boots and earth-marked clothes dollop-dolloped past their hiding place, intruded itself. Her last visit to Hazel had been a couple of weeks before Midsummer and had been as risky as it had been fun; they'd practised some dances before they'd had to run for cover from a stocktaking gardener and she'd warned Hazel about being seen again, especially by Georgie, carefully explaining the reasons why; Hazel had nodded thoughtfully, her expression the worrying side of empty, but that was just Hazel being Hazel – or so she'd thought.
The whole thing had stuck in Amber's mind as Samantha, still hidden within Amber, had finally warmed to the Dryad and borrowed Amber's voice to call 'I do hope you find a young man with nice, big catkins, Dear!' as Amber had manoeuvred Tiffany out of the back road lay-by where they'd left the car.

Amber managed to focus on the Colonel's briefing again. Things were sounding far too close to home for safety.

'...firstly, a young woman – or two young women, reports vary – have been seen at very odd times of the day and night, dancing in and around the garden centre, but who, when accosted, disappear – by which I mean into thin air – in the self-same coppice the establishment is named after.
Secondly, when the aptly named Mr. Underwood was exhumed, it was found that he had a root system growing throughout his body. It is not unknown for roots to find a rich source of minerals in this manner, but Warwickshire Forensics are at a loss as to how a corpse could have been invaded by what should be several years of growth from a ‎Corylus avellana, a common hazel sapling, in only six weeks.'

The shoe hit.

'I seem to remember,' the Colonel's fingers drummed briefly on the cover of another folder on her desk, making a faint, cardboardy, brrrrump sound before lifting away, 'your report of January this year centred around an area surprisingly close to the said Coppice Garden Centre, and featured a young woman who was very much the dancer. I would be obliged if you could pop by and ensure, in your inimitable way, that, this time next year, our You Interest Me Strangely department do not send us another missing persons report and a tale of an unusually shaped root system.'

Amber looked into the Colonel's face and nodded, her own face betraying nothing.

'I'll look into it, Colonel.'

The Colonel's eyes held hers for a moment, unfooled by Amber's attempt at poise, and... dismissed the meeting.

Well Dear, Said Samantha, between Amber's ears, as the group straggled from the office, it does look like we shall be needing a small but powerful flamethrower, after all.

Amber shook her head slightly and unconsciously flexed fingers which had briefly shown the signs of frostbite, seven months before.

'Not on my turf Sam. Not on my turf. But I think we'll go back for a little chat about not picking up tips from the Venus flytraps again, eh?'