The first call came over the PA system for boarding Ryanair flight FR-1969. It was time to go. Fry grimaced, irritated by another detail that she wasn’t going to be able to pin down.

Fumbling for her money, she took one last look at the ingredients on her purchases. Sudafed, Paracetamol and Lemsip. Well, that should sort out her cold, all right. In fact, you could get really high on that lot.

‘Oh, my God.’

Fry froze at the counter, causing the assistant to stare at her as if she was mad. Then Fry turned and barged aside a queue of customers in her hurry to get out of the shop. She dragged her phone out of her bag as she ran and dialled a number. It was lucky she had it on speed dial, because her fingers were shaking with urgency. She tried to steady her voice, aware of her heart pounding in her chest and her breathing ragged with the surge of excitement and fear.

DI Hitchens came on the phone just as the final call for boarding was made and the last few passengers began to trickle through the gate for Dublin.

‘Sir, it’s DS Fry. Listen – I don’t have much time. We need to get everyone clear of Pity Wood Farm immediately. Yes, all of them. I suggest we establish a safe perimeter and pull everything back. We’ve got to get them out of that place – now!’

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Meth, speed, crystal, ice, glass, crank, tweak, yaba. Cooper knew it would have taken him longer than Fry to put the pieces together, but he might have managed it, given time. Everyone had heard the reports of an incident a few months ago, not many miles from here.

‘Muriatic acid, iodine tincture, hydrogen peroxide. It’s quite a list. Oh, God. And there was all that other stuff lying around,’ he said. ‘Plastic Coke bottles, tubing, aluminium foil, mason jars. There were even some coffee filters.’

DI Hitchens nodded. ‘They weren’t just rubbish, as we all thought. They were the tools of the trade. Someone has been operating a crystal meth lab at Pity Wood Farm.’

‘It must have been the first of its kind in this area.’

‘But not the last, of course,’ said Hitchens with a sigh. ‘They’re much more professional operations now. This lot at Rakedale seem as though they might just have downloaded the instructions from the internet or something. It’s a wonder they didn’t have any major accidents.’

All the officers and civilian staff who’d been at Pity Wood Farm during the last few days had been ordered to present themselves for health checks this afternoon. While Cooper waited for his turn, he read the intelligence reports that had been copied and distributed throughout the department since Fry’s conclusions had been confirmed.