“I don't think I do. But I might have seen something, I suppose. Something they would make sense of but that would mean nothing to me.”
“Can you remember anything?” he asked. “Any sign of how she got into the water?”
Frankie slumped in her chair. “Nothing.”
When she brought the image up in her mind, the scene was blurred. Apart from the sharp centre, the body floating in the water. That was as clear as if it was right here in front of her.
“I can't remember anything,” she said.
Adam squeezed her shoulders. “There you go. The police won't get anything from you now, you're not in a fit state to remember. They'll wait till you're ready, till your mind's working properly again.”
She turned to him. “My mind's fine, thank you.”
“You know what I mean, Frankie.” He stood up and pulled at her hand. “Come on. Why don't you go back to bed? It's still early.”
“I can't go back to bed,” she said. “I need to speak to Natasha.”
“Ed will tell Natasha. You don't need to do that.”
“But what if she's at risk? First Simone, then Anya…”
“You could be at risk, Frankie love.” Adam sat down. “I want you to stay here where I can keep an eye on you.”
She looked at him. “Don't patronise me. I can look after myself.”
“I'm sure Anya thought she could look after herself.”
“What if she wasn’t murdered. What if…”
Frankie couldn’t imagine Anya drowning herself in the lagoon. Even if she had wanted to kill herself, Anya knew enough about the water levels to realise it was the worst possible place. Much too shallow.
And with Simone having being murdered, surely…
Frankie felt her stomach hollow out. “I need the loo.”
Adam moved aside for her to stand up. “I'm here,” he told her. “I'm not going anywhere.”
She ignored him and ran out of the kitchen, her stomach churning.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Lesley sat in the hide, listening to voices on the other side of its wooden wall. She’d been trying to call Dennis but his number was engaged.
She turned towards the narrow window that looked over the lagoon. Gail was walking her way. Anya's body had been brought out of the water and was on the ground near the hide. Gavin stood in the water, wearing a pair of waders Ed had found for him.
Lesley dusted down her skirt and left the hide, joining Gail by the gate. “How's it going?”
Gail shrugged. “We need the pathologist here to confirm the cause of death. But I think she was dead before she went in the water.”
“Why’s that?”
“There's none of the classic signs of drowning. Her mouth’s clean, no foaming. There’s damage to the skin, but that’s the immersion. Doesn’t tell us how she died. And there’s a deep gash on her lower arm. Her wrist might have been slit.”
“She bled into the water?” Lesley asked.
“There's blood in the water, but not enough for her to have bled out, I don’t think. It’s difficult with the lagoon diluting it, but I think she was cut elsewhere and was dying or dead when she went into the lagoon.”
“So she bled out somewhere else and then was thrown into the water?”
“Either that or the gash was inflicted post-mortem,” Gail said. “It's deep, but you’d need the pathologist to tell you when it happened.”
Lesley frowned. “When’s Whittaker getting here?”
“Around ten.”
“We can't just leave her there for two more hours.”
Gail shrugged. “Sorry Lesley, but we can't move her, not till he's seen her. It's bad enough that we took her out of the water without a pathologist present. But if I'd left her until ten o'clock, it would have been five hours from when she was discovered. That would have meant water damage that could impact on the accuracy of the post-mortem.”
Lesley nodded.
None of this was Gail's fault. Gail was efficient. She’d got straight in her car and arranged for her team to pick her up from Shell Bay so she didn't have to wait for the ferry. She was already doing the pathologist's job for him, as well as her own.
“So what about forensics?” Lesley asked her. “Have you got anything yet?”
“Gav and Brett are combing the area for anything the killer might have left behind. I’ve spoken to Uniform about getting a diver out. There's nothing yet, but it's early days.”
“Are we sure there’s a killer? She couldn’t have inflicted this on herself?”
“Again you’d have to ask Whittaker. But I think she’d have been too weak to get herself here. And if you were going to drown yourself, you wouldn’t do it in a shallow lagoon.”
“Accidental?”
“Possible, but unlikely with the injury to her arm.” Gail rubbed her eyes. “But I’m just a CSM. Don’t take my word for it.”
“Your word’s what I’ve got right now.”
Gail shrugged.
“What about damage to the undergrowth or the soil?” Lesley asked. “Was she dragged?”
“There's no sign of dragging. We think she was carried. We’re looking for shoe prints. We don't think she came in on a boat or via the harbour. There's no sign of damage to the lagoon wall, and it’s not the most robust.”
“Somebody couldn't have pushed her over it from a boat?”
“There’s a lot of ground to cover, separating the lagoon from the harbour. We’re checking for damage. But based on where she was found, if I had to speculate, I'd say that whoever brought her in, came through that gate.”
She nodded towards the gate they'd been using, the one next to the hide.
“It's got a padlock,” Lesley said.
Gail nodded. “I've spoken to Ed Rogers, he says three people have keys to that gate. Himself, Frankie Quinn and Natasha Williams.”
“Natasha Williams,” Lesley said. “Johnny's on his way to interview her.”
Gail shrugged. “I need to get back, I don't want to leave Gav and Brett doing all the work.”
“Fine,” Lesley told her. “Just let me know if you find anything, yes?”
She turned to see Johnny approaching from inland. She hurried along the path to meet him.
“How did you get on?” she asked.
“She's not there,” he said.
“Not there? At eight o'clock in the morning?”
“People get up early here, that's what I've been told.”
“Was her husband there?”
He nodded. “He was just about to go out, still writing his story on Simone's murder. I guess he'll be writing about Anya's now.”
“Did you tell him?”
“I thought the last person who should know was a journalist.”
“But his wife needs to know,” Lesley said. “She was Anya's manager.”
She felt her shoulders sink. Natasha had a key to the gate. And she’d argued with Anya on Monday night. Simone had requested a transfer. Was Natasha the reason for that?
“We need to speak to Natasha Williams,” she said. “Urgently.”
Johnny looked at her. “I don't see how, if we can't find her.”
“Where does she normally work?”
“No idea, boss.”
“Did she tell you anything about her work when you interviewed her the other day?”
“I just talked to her about Simone,” Johnny said.
“Yeah.”
Lesley turned towards the lagoon. She made her way towards the spot where Anya’s body lay on the ground.
Ed was walking her way. “Everything alright?” he asked, noticing the look on her face.
“No. I need to find Natasha Williams. She's not at home, where will she be?”
“She'll be in the woodland on the east side of the island,” he said. “Penelope Park. That's where she normally starts the morning.”
“Penelope Park?”
“It’s an area of woodland. We’re doing work there to
provide habitats for squirrels.”
Bloody stupid name, Lesley thought.
“OK,” she said. “Johnny, with me.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
“Penelope Park,” Lesley said to Johnny. “Where's that then?”
“It's past Natasha's house,” he told her. “Over towards the viewpoint on the west side of the island.”
Lesley slowed her stride to give him a smile. “Since when did you become such an expert?”
He shrugged. “I spent some time looking at maps when I was in the office yesterday. National Trust sent us detailed geological maps, tidal charts too.”
“Did that tell you anything useful?” she asked him.
“The sarge worked out when it was most likely Simone was put into the water. Early hours of Tuesday morning.”
“Not Monday night?”
“Low tide was at one am. As the tide rose, it would have washed things towards the shore.”
“Including Simone’s body.”
“Yes, boss.”
“So whoever pushed her in, had the boat at one am.”
“Or thereabouts,” Johnny replied. “Could have been a bit after.”
“And it wasn’t her who rang in sick.”
“No.”
They were passing the old farm buildings. The beach where Simone had been found was over towards the south. They took a path in that direction then turned right and walked along a wide path flanked by heathland on one side and woods on the other.
“How far?” Lesley asked.
“Fifteen minutes,” Johnny replied. “The pace we're going, anyway.”
She nodded. They were hurrying, almost running. She didn't want to miss Natasha Williams.
“How are you feeling now?” she asked Johnny as they walked. “You seem to have dealt with the seasickness better today.”
“I think you were right, boss. Now I know I can do it, the second time wasn’t quite so bad. I still felt a bit dicky when I got here though. I'm glad I didn't have any breakfast.”
Lesley's stomach rumbled as if in agreement. “I'm bloody hungry,” she said.
He laughed.
The last thing she'd eaten had been a Moroccan curry Elsa had cooked last night. Sharon had wolfed it down, back to her normal chatty self.
Elsa would be taking Sharon to the station this morning. Lesley felt bad about it, she’d intended taking her daughter herself before catching the boat to the island. But then she'd got the call about Anya and her plans had been thrown into disarray. Sharon hadn't even been awake when she'd left.
Would the guilt ever go away?
“How's your wife, Johnny?” she asked, remembering that Johnny was about to embark on the challenge of parenthood.
“She's much better now,” he said.
She stopped walking and put her hand out to make him stop. “Was that really the reason you had to go back to the mainland? It wasn't to do with your seasickness?”
He frowned. “No boss. I had to get two more boats because of going back.”
“And there wasn't any other reason?” she asked him. “Nothing to do with Dennis?”
He swallowed. He turned away from her and started walking again.
“DC Chiles,” she said as she caught up with him. “I asked you a question.”
“It was nothing to do with the sarge, boss,” he said. “I promise.”
“Is something going on between you two?” she asked him. “I thought you were best mates.”
“We are,” he replied, his face pale.
“So why are you barely talking to each other?”
“It's nothing,” he said. “Just a silly argument about a…”
“About a what?”
He laughed nervously. “See, there you go. I can't even remember what it was about. It was a couple of weeks ago. Things’ll be fine, don't worry.” Johnny glanced at her. “I'm sorry, boss. I didn't realise it had got that bad.” He picked up pace.
Lesley hurried to keep up, wondering if he was telling the truth.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Natasha Williams was using a power tool to screw together two lengths of wood as Lesley and Johnny approached her. She was in a clearing in the woods, not far from the clifftop. When she spotted the two detectives she stood up, stretching her back and giving them a wary smile.
“Morning,” she said. “Can I help you?”
Lesley waited until she was closer to the woman before speaking. The wood felt deserted, but you could never be sure if someone was listening.
“Have you spoken to Frankie Quinn this morning?” she asked.
“No.” Natasha looked at her watch. “It's only half eight. She'll be over by the lagoon, opening up the hide.”
Lesley drew in a breath. “That's what I need to talk to you about.”
Natasha frowned. “Everything OK? What's wrong with Frankie?”
“Nothing,” Lesley said. She looked around. There was a bench on the edge of the clearing.
“Let's sit down,” she said.
Natasha gave Lesley an uneasy look and followed her to the bench. Johnny walked with them, then stood next to them as Lesley took a seat beside Natasha.
“What is it?” Natasha said. “What's happened?”
“I've got bad news, I'm afraid,” Lesley told her.
“Frankie?”
“No. Anya.”
“Anya? What's happened to her?”
“I’m sorry to tell you this, but she was found dead this morning.”
Natasha's eyes widened. She drew back. “Anya? Dead?” She turned away. “Shit,” she whispered. Her face was pale, her hands shaking.
She looked back at Lesley. “When? How?”
“She was found in the lagoon. By Frankie. It's looking like somebody killed her.”
Natasha stiffened. “Again?” She closed her eyes. “God.”
She opened her eyes and looked around the clearing, almost as if seeking out the killer.
“We wanted to speak to you yesterday,” Lesley said, “But we didn't get the opportunity. I'm told you had an argument with Anya on Monday night.”
Natasha dug her fingers into her thighs. “An argument? What kind of argument?”
“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me. We have two witnesses who saw the two of you arguing.”
Natasha shrugged. “I saw her on Monday night, yes. She was walking past the church when I was on my way home. I'm not sure we argued, though.”
“Somebody in the John Lewis castle found it loud enough for him to video it,” Johnny said.
Lesley glanced at him.
Natasha looked up at him, shaking her head. “We disagreed. I wouldn't call it an argument. Certainly not something you'd have heard from the castle.”
That clearly wasn't true. “What did you disagree about?” Lesley asked.
“It was… personal.”
Lesley leaned in. “I need to remind you, this is potentially a double murder investigation. Whatever it was you and Anya disagreed about, I need to know.”
“It was about… It was about Bernard.” Natasha looked down. “Anya doesn't like him. She feels uneasy having a man who doesn't work for the National Trust living here.”
Lesley noted that Natasha had used the present tense. “She didn't like your husband?”
Natasha met her gaze. “She was jealous, Simone was too. Jealous of Frankie as well, most likely. They didn't like the fact that we have partners with us here. It can get lonely on the island, especially in the winter. It might look idyllic now, but you try being here when it gets dark at half past four at night, and it's freezing cold.”
“So did she say anything specific about why she didn't like Bernard? Anything he'd done?”
“Of course not. It was just women being petty.”
Johnny took a step forward. “Do you know why Simone requested a transfer off the island?”
“A transfer? No. When?”
“She requested a transfer just under two weeks ago,”
Lesley told her. “You didn't know she'd done that?”
Natasha shook her head. “It's the first I've heard of it.”
“She sent a letter to HR,” Johnny said. “She wanted to get away from here.”
“Have you got any idea why that might be?” Lesley asked. “You were her line manager, after all.”
“People move between sites all the time,” Natasha said. “She probably wanted a change of scene.”
“What was Simone's job here?” Lesley asked.
“Birds. She worked in the reed beds near the lagoon, this time of year. Logging species, providing data to Head Office.”
“And did she enjoy that job?”
“She loved it. But that doesn't mean she couldn’t have done it at another site.”
“So nothing had happened between you and her that prompted her to want a transfer?”
Natasha looked into Lesley's eyes. “Nothing,” she said, her voice stiff.
“You hadn't argued with Simone as well as Anya?”
“It wasn't an argument. It was just a little bit of tension, one of those things you get between friends.” Natasha deflated. “Nothing to do with either of them dying.”
She slumped on the bench and looked down at her fingers, still digging into her thighs.
Lesley pulled her card out of her pocket. “If you remember anything, anything at all, you will tell me, won't you?”
Natasha took the card and put it in the pocket of her fleece. She was still wearing it, despite the growing heat of the day. “Of course I will.”
“Did you see Anya yesterday?” Johnny asked Natasha.
Natasha looked up at him. “She was over on the north side of the island working at the lakes. I was down here.”
“So you didn't see her?”
“The last time I saw her was at the team meeting on Tuesday night.”
“The one that Simone didn't make,” Lesley said.
“That's the one,” Natasha replied, her gaze steady on Lesley's face.
Lesley stood up. “Very well. Don't forget to call me if you think of anything. And in the meantime, we'll be having a conversation with your husband.”
Natasha stood up abruptly. “Bernard? Why do you want to talk to Bernard?”
The Island Murders (Dorset Crime Book 3) Page 17