“Will I be as gloomy?”
“If you’re lucky,” I quipped back. “Though I don’t want you to end up like me, something tells me your mother won’t take kindly to that.”
Mills chuckled. “No, I doubt it. And then you’d have her to deal with and all.”
I gave a pretend shudder, and he laughed again, properly. It was a bit rare these days, since Suzanne’s news anyway, to get a real laugh out of it and making fun of myself was the way to do it, then so be it. I did enough of it anyway, truth be told.
“You been to see Sally recently?” he asked abruptly.
“No,” I answered, surprised by myself.
She’d had the baby, at long bloody last, a little girl. The birth had been complicated, and she’d been in and out of hospital. I figured that until the three of them were settled, staying out of the way would be for the best. She’d summon me along in her own time.
“Have they settled on a name?” he asked.
“At long last, yes. Not sure about a middle one, though, but they’ve named her Ena, after Tom’s gran.”
“Pretty,” Mills observed. “Must be tough, naming a child.”
I nodded, “I don’t envy them it, that’s for sure.”
“At least yours came ready named,” Mills said with a laugh.
“Not sure how Billie would feel about being referred to as a child,” I pointed out, “let alone mine.” Even so, the thought warmed my chest.
Mills smiled at me in the mirror, and before long, we’d pulled into the station car park, sliding into my usual parking spot. We unclipped our seatbelts and clambered out, jogging through the light rain to the front doors.
“I’ll head down to forensics,” Mills said, giving me a quick clap on the shoulder before heading down towards the labs. I nodded, though he’d already wandered off, and went upstairs in search of O’Flynn.
Sybil Riggs had already arrived, and she and Cora were standing over by a window, watching the rain as it picked up heavily, battering the glass. It seemed Mills and I just missed it. They both had a mug in their hands, talking quietly, and I wandered over slowly, giving them time to notice me so that I didn’t interrupt. Cora spotted me first, well, my reflection in the mirror anyway and turned with a smile. Sybil turned then, too, and nodded.
“Hello, Inspector.”
“Hello, Sybil. How are you?”
She gave a lacklustre shrug. “Coping, I suppose. We’ve got the funeral sorted, though, and mum will be here soon.” She looked at Cora. “She’s staying for a few days.”
“That’ll be nice.”
Sybil nodded, sipping her drink. “You wanted to talk to me?” she asked me.
“We did. There are few things about your brother and this case that are a bit confusing to us, and we were hoping you might be able to shed a little light on it for us.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she said.
“Brilliant. If you want to come through to our office, it’s a little quieter in there. Cora, you coming?”
“Certainly,” she said, leading Sybil away from the window. “I hear you boys have been code busting.”
“Attempting it, that’s for sure.” I reached for the door handle, pulling the door open and held it for them. Before I went in myself, I spotted Mills coming up the stairs. He waved me down, and I hovered outside the office, letting the door swing shut.
“All good?” I asked, looking over his concerned face. My mind leapt. Was it not Riggs’s blood? Whose blood was it then?
“There is blood there,” he told me quietly. “But it’s mixed up with other stuff. Mud, obviously.”
“Predictable.”
“But also, cow blood.”
“Cow blood?” I repeated blankly.
Mills nodded. “They’re having to isolate what they can of the human blood and hopefully have enough of it to get a DNA match from.”
“Bloody hell,” I muttered, dragging my hand through my hair. “Alright, best of luck to them. Sybil’s inside.” I jerked my thumb to the door.
“Let’s get going then,” Mills muttered.
I pulled the door open, and we strode in. Cora and Sybil had claimed chairs by the radiator, so Mills and I dragged ours around so that we were sitting opposite them.
“The first thing we wanted you to take a look at was this,” I said, grabbing the code from my desk and holding it out.
She looked it over, a faint smile shining on her face. “Typical, Alec.”
“You know it?” Mills asked, leaning forward, arms braced on his knees.
Sybil nodded. “Our dad taught it to us when we were kids. We’d leave all sorts of messages around the house for each other.”
“We had to get an expert in to decipher that,” Mills told her as I reached back to my desk for the decoded message that Dr Azoulay had done for us.
“Never hurts to get a second opinion,” I said, handing it to Sybil. She held them both out, her clever eyes looking from one to another, nodding occasionally.
“Looks good. Missed two words, though.”
“He couldn’t explain them.”
“They’re Arabic,” she said. “Our dad came from Egypt, and these are words that he liked to use. We never really knew how to code them properly, so we more or less just made it up. This one,” she pointed to the first word, means surprised or shocked. The other one,” she grinned, “is one of dad’s favourite words. It means sort of like a show or a spectacle. He used to use it when we messed around in public.”
“Like a commotion?” Mills asked.
Sybil nodded. “Or a ruckus, a racket, as mum would say.”
I nodded, filling in the blanks on the whiteboard copy we had. So, nobody would have been surprised by the person’s, most likely, death, and that she was always drunk and causing a racket. Interesting. Didn’t help us all that much, but at least we had the full message now.
“So,” Cora began carefully, “you know for sure that your brother wrote this?”
Sybil nodded. “Unless there’s someone else in that village who can code in Arabic?”
“I doubt it,” I said.
“Plus, they’re a bit smudged.” She pointed at the real copy. “Alec was left-handed. He was always smudging.”
“Why in Arabic?” Cora asked.
Sybil shrugged. “They were probably the first words that came to mind. We heard them a lot growing up, and I use them more often than not.”
“But other people wouldn’t, so he wrote this for himself.”
Sybil looked back down at the paper, holding onto one of the last things her brother had ever held himself. “He always wrote stuff down. Said he’d forget otherwise. He’d have written it, so he remembered what it was, and those would be the easiest words for him to remember, I guess. Where did he hear it?” She looked up at me.
“We’re trying to figure that out, but it helps to know why he might have written it.”
“To keep it fresh in his mind,” Mills suggested. “Make sure he didn’t forget when…”
“When what?” Cora prompted.
“When he called it in,” I muttered, pushing my chair back and grabbing a map of the village that Fry had thrown on my desk at some point.
I bent over it, pencil in hand. Riggs was found south, down the river. The inn was further north, and whilst the river could have carried him from there, with all the turns and bends in it, I imagined we’d have found him higher up. There was a phone signal out by the inn, but Teddy Flitting had also told us about a signal spot down by an old path towards a farm not far from Jim’s. I circled the place in question, checked out its proximity to the river. If he had heard this conversation outside the inn, he wouldn’t have stepped into the garden to call it in. Surely, he’d have gone further down. Somewhere where he would have needed to take his coat and shoes. It was still too far up, still too many bends in the river for me to believe that it’s where he went in.
“Range would cover more than just the immediate area,” Mills said
over my shoulder, grabbing the pencil and drawing a wider circle. “Which means anywhere around here could be the place.”
“The place for what?” Sybil asked.
“We haven’t been able to find your brother’s coat or phone,” I told her. “If we can figure out where he entered the river, we might be able to.”
She blanched a little at that information, and I couldn’t blame her for it, but then she nodded.
“Why don’t we leave them to it?” Cora suggested softly, rising from her chair. “Unless you need anything else from Sybil?”
“No.” I stood up too, shaking Sybil’s hand. “Thank you. We’ll let you know how things go.”
We waited until they left, then turned back to the map.
“If he went in this far up,” Mills pointed out, “then the coat and phone could be anywhere in this entire stretch. I think he went in further down, away from the village, where he might have been seen.”
I nodded. “Closer to where he was found?”
“Most likely. We could get a diving team in there. Let them scope around where we checked.”
“Worth a shot,” I replied, folding up the map. “But we might have to wait for this rain to ease up. What’s the weather looking like?”
Mills walked over to his computer and made his way to the Met Office, checking out the forecast for the rest of the day. “Looks like there’s an hour or so window soon that we could get into.”
I nodded. “I’ll give Sharp an update, and you get a team together. Anyone who’s free.”
Mills nodded instantly, striding from the room. I turned back, looking at the map again, looking at the codes. He had heard something, that was for sure. But had he managed to do anything about it?
I left everything, for now, and headed over to Sharp’s office. I rapped my knuckles on the door before pushing it in. She glanced up from some paperwork she was hunched over expectantly.
“Something?”
“Sybil Riggs recognised the words that we missed. Apparently, they were Arabic, words their dad used to use.” I handed her the filled-in copy. “We think, from what he heard, it’s likely that he left the inn to try to call it in or something. Wrote everything down to make sure it was fresh in his mind.”
Sharp looked over the page and nodded for me to continue.
“Mills and I took a look at the local map and think we know roughly where he might have gone into the river. We want to get some divers down there to see if we can find his coat, his phone or anything like that.”
“Think it’ll do much good?” Sharp asked. “Killer might have them?”
“The killer didn’t clean out his room. I don’t think they were too focused on cleaning up after themselves. I have a hunch,” I told her, adrenaline surging. “I want to follow it.”
Sharp looked me over from head to toe, her face typically unreadable, and then she gave me a nod.
“Take a team, see what you can find. Anything from that sample you brought back?” she asked, handing me back the sheet.
“They said it’s a mix of things. Mud, human blood and cow blood.”
“Cow blood?”
“They need to isolate enough of the human sample to be able to determine if there’s a match or not.”
Sharp’s mouth twisted. “Where’d the cow blood come from?”
“We know that the farmer, Jim, made a delivery that night. Maybe he had some very fresh cuts of beef.”
She shuddered lightly. “Can’t be dealing with raw beef, Thatcher. I’ll keep tabs on the lab, give you a call if anything comes through whilst you’re out.”
“Much appreciated, ma’am.”
“But Thatcher,” she called before I could leave, “if he was killed down by the river, how might his blood have ended up in the inn?”
I paused, one hand braced on the doorframe. “I don’t know, ma’am,” I admitted, “but I’ll do my best to find out.”
“I know you will,” she said. “Good luck.”
I gave her a quick smile and left her office, darting back to my desk to grab everything I needed. Mills met me there, pulling his coat on.
“Got a team ready to go. We’ll head down there now and set up.”
I nodded. “Good work, Mills. Bring a few extra layers this time,” I added, smiling at the grimace on his face as he reached into his desk and pulled out a comically long scarf.
“Let’s go.”
Twenty-One
Thatcher
This time, we made sure we wouldn’t get too cold out by the river. I grabbed some extra layers, a thick jumper and a raincoat, my hat and gloves and filled a few thermoses with tea, enough for the whole team before I jumped into the car, following Mills and the others out to the riverbank.
By the time I caught up with them, and they’d set everything up, the rain had dribbled down to a drizzle, and there was minimal complaining about the situation as they geared up and slid into the water. A few others, dressed in waders and looking not unlike very enthusiastic fishermen, waded up and down along the bank with torches, casting through the dark water for anything interesting looking. When I pulled up, I popped open the boot, pulled my hat down over my head and grabbed the thermoses, filling a few paper cups and handing them around. I got to Fry and Mills last, standing close to the water.
“Here, get this down you,” I said, offering them each a cup.
“Smart thinking, sir,” Fry said. “Thank you.” She cradled the cup in her hands, holding it close to her face, the steaming warming her up.
“Cheers, sir,” Mills said, taking his cup. I poured one for myself, then joined them, Fry nestled between us.
“How are we doing so far?” I asked.
“We’ve set up a loose perimeter to make sure if anyone decides to brave the weather, they won’t wander too close to our search points,” Fry told me. “Teams only just got in, though, so it’s a waiting game now.”
“What did Sharp say?” Mills asked.
“Wished us luck. Said something interesting about that sample we brought back. If it is Riggs’s blood, how’d it end up back at the inn?”
Mills made a face. “Fair point. Annoying, but fair.”
“Something to consider, anyway,” I said.
“Maybe the sample came from the murder weapon?” Fry suggested. “Could have been dragged up there before they got rid of it.”
I looked down at her appraisingly. “Why would they take it there?”
She shrugged. “If I had just killed a soldier, I’d probably panic a little. And if he heard the conversation from up there, then it’s likely that’s where the killer was hanging about. Near enough, anyway.”
“The fact that Jim had brought his delivery through meant that any traces of blood and mud could have gone unnoticed,” Mills pointed out. “I don’t think they took you into consideration, sir.”
“All murderers should take me into consideration,” I muttered, “then maybe I could have a proper weekend every now and then.”
“Wow, wishful thinking that is, sir,” Fry said, shivering.
“You want to go and sit in the car?” Mills offered.
“Nope,” she shot the offer down quickly. “I’m a part of this case, and I will see the lot of it.”
Mills and I shared an impressed look over her head, and I refilled her tea for her, lest her teeth start chattering too. We looked back towards the river, the occasional diver popping up with the shake of their head before ducking down again.
There was a large stretch of river that we were searching, a little further upstream and downstream, in case things got washed further down than Riggs himself had. As time trailed by, the team huddled closer together, a few people wandering around to keep the warmth in their legs, a few going to sit in the cars, stitching out with one another.
Fry leant forward slightly, pressing her cup into Mills’s hand.
“What’s that?” Her eyes narrowed towards the bank on the other side. “Antol!” she shouted to one of our wading
searchers. When he turned around, she pointed to the far bank, and I followed her finger. Something had dislodged in the reeds, a black object caught precariously, close to slipping into the river itself.
Antol made his way across the river, the water rising to his chest, sloshing through to grab whatever it was.
“A shoe!” He shouted back, holding it up.
“Move closer to Antol!” I called to the others. “Search around there!”
They converged around the spot where Antol now waded back from, over to us. He shoved the shoe, a heavy black boot, onto the bank and Fry darted forward to pick it up and carry it over. She turned it upside down, river water falling out, and held it out.
“Man’s boot, size ten,” she said. It was a chunky, heavy-duty thing, exactly, I thought to myself, the sort of boot a self-respecting military man might don.
I took it from her, gloves on, and turned it over to look at the soles. They were well worn, just starting to go, and despite the rough water the shoe had been in, there were still clumps of mud stuck between the grooves.
“Good spot, Fry,” Mills said. She flushed and took her tea back from him.
“You think it’s his?” She asked.
“Unless anybody has recently lost a shoe in the river, I’d say so. Well done, Fry,” I said, giving her an approving nod. She lifted her chin slightly, brown eyes lighting up.
“Sir!” Antol called from the river. “They’ve found something!” I handed the boot over to another PC and trod closer to the river. A diver was down by Antol. I could just make them out under the surface of the water.
“What does it look like?” I shouted.
Antol looked down. “Looks like a coat!”
“Thank Christ,” I muttered.
Beside me, Mills shuffled his feet, looking hopeful. Fry stepped back, grabbed a large evidence bag, and laid it out on the ground as the diver swam up, pulling something heavy and sodden with her. She handed it to Antol, who carted it over to us, and he and Fry managed to haul it onto the plastic bag, splayed out.
Buried With Honours: A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thriller Page 17