Four Milk Maids stood meekly in a row as the two police officers approached, but looked blankly at her when the inquisitive WPC Isa Urquhart asked them if they had been on duty between 8 and 10am that morning – one yawned widely, another stuck her tongue out, the third scratched her head under her mop cap, while the third whistled what might have been a tune; Farmer Farmer spoke up: “I'm sorry, Sergeant, but these girls are either Czech or Slovak and don't have a word of English between them, other than 'piss off' or 'fuck off' which seems to be de rigueur these days, I might suggest speaking with the two Mature Milk Maids, over there,” and he indicated two sonsie lassies standing by the door of the Milking Parlour; Isa made a quick decision: “I feel in my waters that this may be a dzud, with a dearth of reliable information and a whitewash to follow, but we'll just have to do our best – Gertie, you have the one in Red and I'll tackle the one in Blue, 30 minutes tops then we'll compare notes,” and they took the women to opposite ends of the plant; Isa studied hers for a minute, and then got stuck in: “what's your name?” “Meg, whit's your'n?” which Isa, professional to her roots, ignored; “how long have you been a Milk Maid?” “since ah wiz nae mair'n fower or faive,” “where did you train?” “Xanadu,” “where's that?” to which Meg indicated South-East with her thumb, adding: “ma Faither's Fermentation, aboot twal mile ower thae hulls,” “and how old are you now?” “fuck aff, ah'm urny tellin ye!” “there's no need to be impertinent!” “nor's ther ony need fer yow tae be so impident, asking a daecent body her age!” “it's a more than decent body, Meg, and I apologise for venturing where you feel I shouldn't, though perhaps if I explain to you, then you may feel more inclined to help me,” “whirraboot?” “a man,” “ah hate them! hate them aw! an thon Fairmer Fairmer, he's the wurst o them aw, a greedy pig, ye ken he wurks us till oor hauns is bleedin, tak a luik at thon,” and she showed the sympathetic WPC two hands, scrubbed red raw, chapped and scabbed where they had bled, “he'll no let us use ony moisturisers, jist carbolic soap, Carbolic Soap! in this day an age? whaur's yer Elfin Safty at Werk wen itz needit? nae-fuckin-whaur! yin pair of disposable gluvs a week, each, coz oor jist weemin, an thae Checks and Slaveys, urny in the Unyin neeva, they cannae tok tae us n oo cannae tok tae thaem, it's Divide n Fuckin Rool, that's yon Fairmer Fairmer's wey, beleev ye moi, its Asset Strippin, thon's whit's gaunin oan heer! aw they Wankers wi their fuckin massif omnibuses like pigs in a truffle an him cryin hissel a Goormay Fairmer, he's yin o they ithir thingies, yow'll ken, Sargent!” this last with a wink, and Isa winked back, “you mean gourmand, greedy pig you said,” “too fuckin right, he's oot tae gourmandize his ain fuckin pockets on the backs o the wurkurs, me n Bess n them poor Checks n Balances, he's got The Instychute peyin him ower the oads fer his weed patches an wha gets tae sell the mulk tae the Whale Sailors, Fairmer-fuckin-Fairmer thatz wha,” “would you like me to ask our Fraud Squad to investigate?” “aye, invest-aw-ye-like, it'll aw be in sum taxi van like thae Seashells, bit gie him a couple of sleppless nichts if ye like, Hen,” and Isa knew she had won the Milk Maid over; “when the cows came in this morning, did you see an injured man, he'd been involved in a car crash in the field where the cows were and we think he might have perhaps used one to help him make his way from the vehicle,” “aye, ye shood've seyd ye wiz looking fer him, his heid wiz aw bashit and there wiz blud aw ower him,” “where did he go?” “nae whaur,” “do you mean he's still here?” “aye,” “where?” “in oor rest room – itz the ainly facilitation The Instychute gied us, soas we kin hae a wee lie doon when we've wir periods,” “can you show me?” “aye, it's jist alang heer,” “in here” “aye, jist push ton door, that's it,” but when she got there, the cupboard was bare, though there were signs that The Man had lain on the bed, streaks and stains of blood and vomit on the starched white sheet, on the gleaming white towels, even on the intense white walls, a Hand Print, but of The Man, nothing, she turned to find Meg almost pressing against her, trying to see over her shoulder, full and vibrant breasts pressing against Isa in the doorway, lips only inches from her own, “is there another rest room?” “aye, next door, dae ye want a wee lie doon? itz the Men's yin bit ther's nae men heer less ye coont Fairmer Fairmer an he nevva cums inside, cum oan Hen, ah'll gie ye a haund,” and the door closed behind them with a satisfying click as Meg turned the lock, and in the remaining twenty minutes Isa conducted a thorough in-depth investigation of Meg and discovered all her secrets of Milk Production!