Peters did as asked and a map view of Laverstone appeared on the screen, spun the the east and disappeared as the screen went dark again. He shook the phone a few times as if it were a recalcitrant child determined to misbehave. “Sorry, sir. Looks like it wasn't enough. I should have put a 999 call through instead.”
“Hindsight is everything. You weren't to know.” White stared along the line Peters had walked back along, trying to etch it into memory but there were no markers that he could see. It looked like every other patch of broadleaf-mix forest for twenty miles around. He might think differently if he was a naturalist able to spot the subtle differences between this tree and that, but he wasn't. He was a copper and a tree was a tree.
He looked at his watch and line it up with the sinking sun, then sighted along the line again. “North-east, more or less. Lets get back to the station and find a map.”
“Er...” Peters turned a slow circle. “Which way is the burial mound?”
“Use your noggin, sergeant. If the robot was running in a straight line in a north-easterly direction, then logically Hobb's Carn should be in a straight line in a south-westerly direction, yes?”
“Makes sense, sir.”
White took another line with his watch against the sun. “Well, then, we keep the sun in our right eye and well be back there quicker than you can whistle the National Anthem.”
“I hope it's quicker than that. I'm rubbish at whistling.”