John Grant was shifting sheep. Rotating the flock between pastures was part of the regenerative agriculture regime John had incorporated into his farm management style when he’d taken over running the property from his father. It was an approach to farming he hoped his son Jarvis would continue when he eventually took control of the place. He shut the gate and climbed back into the AG-Pro 850 he used to move around the farm, and waited for his dog to jump up onto the seat beside him.
His mobile rang. He glanced at the screen. Paul Maitland.
‘Bob Davenport been to see you?’ said Paul.
‘Yeah. Told him we dropped George home at his place in Peterborough. He can’t pin anything on us as long as we stick to our story.’
‘What about the twenty-two?’ said Paul.
‘It’s never been registered,’ sa
