by N. C. Lewis
"Ma'am, the death on the beach."
Jeffery flipped a page but did not look up.
Fenella wouldn’t be ignored.
"Ma'am, is there something I should know before I visit the scene of the crime in Port Saint Giles?"
Jeffery tossed the report to one side. "Police work comes with so many things to read and sign and scan and file. When am I supposed to get quality time with my staff?"
"The death in Port Saint Giles, ma'am. You asked that I report to your office."
"This morning I've had to deal with the fallout over search warrants. Now we have got to count how many are signed by a judge." Jeffery shook her head. "The Home Office, the Law Commission, and local politicians are all over us on this. It might make sense in London, but this is Port Saint Giles."
Fenella felt tension in her neck and tilted her head from side to side. She should be in the crime scene tent, not stuck in a chair in an office. The patch of sky through the window darkened. It looked like rain. She wanted to get to the beach before it began to fall.
"Ma'am, is there news about the body on the beach?"
"And then there are the complaints from the town Ambulance Service. Well, you know all about it. Treat paramedics with respect. That's the slogan I'm taking to the troops. If I hear of anyone in my station upsetting our medical friends, they will have me to deal with. I'll make them sorry."
Fenella stood. "I need to get to the crime scene."
"Sit!" Jeffery slammed her fist on the table. "All search warrants are to be approved by me. No exceptions. Thought I'd better put you in the picture, Sallow. Spread the word, will you?"
Fenella sat and said, "And the death on the beach, ma'am?"
Jeffery's skin became taut around her jaw. It took a moment for Fenella to realise she was smiling. A wolfish grin like a politician about to lie.
"You will need a strong team to look into this one." Jeffery's lips curved further and she bared her teeth. It was supposed to be friendly. "We are short-staffed, and with the spending cuts we have to make do and mend. I've assigned Detective Hugh Earp to your team."
"He drove me over, ma'am."
"And how did you find him?"
"Punctual, ma'am."
"Anything else to report?"
"No, ma'am."
"And how did you find his… mood."
"Mood?"
"You didn't sense anything… off?"
"No, ma'am."
The superintendent went quiet for a moment.
"I think I should fill you in on his background. Earp moved from the Carlisle station a few days ago. Never an easy thing, moving police stations. But at least he has a home in Port Saint Giles. Married, with a small boy. I hear he went to the high school. He was demoted from detective inspector because—"
Fenella raised her hand. "With respect, ma'am."
"Don't you want to know why he was demoted?"
Fenella watched a drop of condensation streak down the window, then said, "Is Earp a good detective?"
"There are no complaints other than—"
Fenella interrupted. "Good enough for me. All we want is a strong team to help solve our cases, right?"
"Indeed."
"And the incident in Port Saint Giles, ma'am?"
Jeffery shuffled through papers on her desk. She didn't find what she was looking for and shrugged. "Some old biddy found by the bonfire. Might be nothing to it, but take a look, will you?"
Not an old biddy, Fenella thought, a person, just like Nan.
"Do you have a name?"
Jeffery didn’t answer. "And stay out of the crime scene tent until the technicians have done their job. Oh, Zack Jones is now on your team."
Fenella wondered whether he was another transfer from Carlisle.
"Is he new?"
Jeffery nodded. "I met with him this morning. He is eager and straight out of the National Detective School, with top scores."
Fenella said, "He didn't come from uniform, then?"
Jeffery looked shifty. "An eye for the arts. He said a few words about old photos and girls and lighthouses. Above my pay grade, I told him. I don't have a taste for fine arts. If it is not in a spreadsheet it's hard to assess, isn't it?"
That wasn’t what Fenella expected. It didn’t answer her question. "How many years has he worked as a police officer?"
"He's not a fresh-faced twenty-one-year-old, if that's what you are concerned about." Jeffery shuffled through a stack of files. "Thirty-five. Worked in business for a few years, then signed up. What he lacks in police know-how is more than made up for by his grades. Top of his class in financial forensics. Bachelor's degree in history of art from Cambridge. Studied photography at the Royal Academy. And Jones will boost our minority headcount—parents from Trinidad, okay?"
Fenella's frown was answer enough. She got on well with Robert Dexter, her Detective Sergeant. She stood with him when he'd been the only minority on the force. And he'd stood by her when she was one of the few women.
"If that will be all, ma'am."
Jeffery said, "There is the question of Detective Sergeant Dexter."
Suddenly the room felt chilly. A gust of wind rose to a howl. It rapped on the window and threw rain hard against the glass.
Fenella said, "Dexter, ma'am?"
The superintendent's small eyes shrunk to pinheads.
"He's back on the bottle again, isn't he?"
"Not that I have seen, ma'am." Fenella wanted to mention his George Cross and a hundred and one other things, but she held her tongue. Jeffery also knew those things. "Dexter gets the job done."
Jeffery crossed her arms. "Both you and I are part of the modern police force. Dexter is… well he is a relic like an episode of Inspector Morse. If it weren't for his background, one wonders whether he'd be in the force."
"Are you saying if he weren't black, he'd have been out, ma'am?"
"It takes a sober head and clear mind to be a success in today's police force. Drunk detectives belong in the movies." The muscles in the superintendent's face set hard. "Do I make myself clear?"
Fenella counted the police officers she knew who were a little too friendly with the bottle. Good men and women. All ranks. All ethnicities. All ages. She lost count.
"A hazard of the job, ma'am."
"You might talk to Dexter about… pasture."
"What are you saying, ma'am?"
"Do you want me to spell it out?"
"I think you'll have to."
There was a pause while the superintendent slowly shuffled papers on her desk.
"Very well. I want you to have a friendly chat with Dexter. I'll accept his early retirement, say, at the end of next week? And with Jones on board, well, it won't hurt the numbers. Dismissed."
Fenella didn’t move.
"Dismissed!"
Fenella remained seated.
Jeffery placed her hands flat on the desk. "Detective Inspector Sallow, you are dismissed."
"You've got it in for Dexter since he—"
"That has nothing to do with it!"
"While seeking revenge, dig two graves. One for yourself."
Jeffery sucked in a slow breath but didn’t respond.
Fenella said, "And you have cleared it with the chief constable?"
"I've free rein to do as I choose."
"But Dexter put away Hamilton Perkins, ma'am."
"Yesterday's news won't satisfy today's readers." Jeffery slowly removed her hands from the desk and leaned back in her chair. "Dexter the police hero is old news. Only the old-timers know, and they will soon fade and be gone. Old news, Sallow. Don't protect him. He is nothing but a rancid blast from the past."
"Not to the Rae family, ma'am." Fenella recalled the horrific case. Even now it turned her stomach. She'd worked on it back in the days when Jack Croll ruled the roost. They felt like heroes when they put Hamilton Perkins away, and the team's success was cheered by the press. Fenella even got to shake the hand of Chief Constable Alfred Rae. "Last I
heard, Perkins claimed it was a police set-up."
"A word in your ear." Jeffery stared towards the closed office door. "I've tried to keep this under wraps, but this place leaks like a colander. I've taken a personal interest in the case." She lowered her voice and her lips peeled back into a grin. "I am taking Mr Perkins to find the burial spot of his last victim. Dexter is not the only hero in our station. When I find the girl's body, we'll have a press—"
"Her name is Colleen Rae," Fenella interrupted. She spoke as if Colleen were alive, even though she knew the chances were slim to none. She always did until they found the body. "Colleen was a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl with learning disabilities when she disappeared." And she always remembered their names, and their faces. They haunted her even when justice was seen to be done. "Sickening crime, ma'am."
"Quite so." Jeffery paused for three beats. "But Perkins now recalls where Colleen is buried. Thanks to the help of Dr Joy Hall, he feels remorse for his crimes. He says he wants peace of mind. I told Chief Constable Rae about Perkins and said I would lead the search for his niece." The superintendent removed her reading glasses. "The power of psychology, eh? And Joy Hall is a good friend, as is Chief Constable Rae."
"I'd better tell Jack," Fenella said.
"This is police business. Keep Jack Croll out of it. We don't want a media circus." Jeffery shook her head. "Croll can find out like the rest of the public—after we find the body. Not before."
"Very well, ma'am. But I'll inform Dexter since his efforts put Mr Shred out of commission. He still suffers with the scars."
"I'm well aware of that fact." Jeffery's lips twitched into a wolfish grin. "Old wounds are borne by those who bear them, everyone else forgets. Old news, Sallow. Dexter and Croll are old news."
There was a reason Fenella didn’t want to climb any further up the police totem pole. Today reminded her why. She stood.
"If you want Dexter to retire, you can tell him yourself. Excuse me, I've got a crime scene to investigate."
Chapter 5
By the time Fenella arrived at the crime scene, the weather had shifted. A grim gloom hung over the beach and a stubborn drizzle sprayed down from the low clouds. A white crime scene tent spared Maureen Brian's corpse from the worst of the elements. But the dull and the damp weren't enough to put off the crowd. They watched with their umbrellas raised and spoke in a low mutter.
Fenella paused by the side of her car to take in the scene. A generator growled above the urgent screams of gulls. The wind howled from the sea. Portable arc lamps lit the area around the bonfire. There were black embers and charred logs, and the sand was smeared with ash.
"Nice day for it," Earp said, as he stood by Fenella's side. "Not that there is ever a good day for death."
"No," Fenella replied. "I don't suppose there is."
Then she saw Dexter. He prowled around the outside of the tent, hood down, then off with big cat strides following the blue and white tape that marked the perimeter of the crime scene. She didn’t expect to see him, thought he'd be curled up on his sofa in a drunken stupor. Drink didn’t dim his radar for crime. The man is a good detective, she thought, and not for the first time. A bloody good detective.
They walked to the blue and white police tape. A police constable stood guard. He nodded at Fenella and raised a quizzical eyebrow at Earp.
"He's new, Constable Crowther," Fenella said. "From Carlisle, so treat him nice as he's not used to the ways of civilised folks."
"Will do," Constable Crowther replied. He glanced over his shoulder and dropped his voice to a whisper. "And, ma'am, a word in private would be much appreciated."
Fenella got on well with the uniforms, having come from their ranks. She knew what it was like to stand guard over a crime scene in the sun and rain and heat and cold.
"Of course," she replied. "I've always got time for you."
Anyway, they'd have to wait until the crime scene officers finished their forensic search. Then they would enter the tent and take a good look at the corpse. Not a nice task, but it helped get a feel for the thing. Fenella hoped Lisa Levon led the unit today, but couldn’t make her out in the sea of white suits.
Fenella and Constable Crowther walked away from the police tape. They stopped a short distance from where the crowd had gathered. Earp stayed at the blue and white tape to keep guard.
"I know it is not the time, ma'am, but I wanted to thank you for the pot roast," Constable Crowther said. "From Elsa too."
Fenella had formed a group who cooked meals for police officers whose spouse fell ill. It was her way to give back to the other half. To men like her husband Eduardo, and women like Elsa. To show her support when they were sick. It was in its tenth year and still going strong.
"And how is your wife coming along?"
"Slow but improving. I'm working the overnight shift most days, so I can be with her in the daytime. And overtime when I can get it. Today it's a double shift for me." A herring gull landed on an arc lamp and screamed. Constable Crowther paused a moment to watch, then lowered his voice to a confidential murmur. "I wasn't the responding officer, but I recognise the victim. Can't recall from where, something to do with politics and I hear the press have got a whiff. Tread with care, ma'am. I don't like the smell of this."
Fenella's grey cells went on high alert. It would be a bad mess if politics got mixed in. Politicians had faster hands than a gunslinger for pointing the finger of blame.
Fenella said, "Are we talking town hall politics or national?"
"Not national, but don't quote me on that. But I'm sure I've seen the victim at town hall meetings. And I remember her face was in the newspaper a few years back. I think she is an artist, famous. I can't recall the name though." Constable Crowther reached into his tunic pocket. "For the animal shelter. I know you are on the board. Elsa loves dogs and insists. Our bit to help dogs and cats that don't have a home, as a thank-you." He stuffed a banknote into Fenella's hand, then hurried back to his post.
When Fenella returned to Earp, she ignored his raised eyebrow and said, "Go and speak with the responding officer. Find out what they know about the deceased. Let's build a clear picture of what happened as soon as we can. The more we know about this woman, the sooner we'll sort this out."
"Will do, ma'am," Earp replied, already on his way.
Fenella felt a surge of adrenalin. Who was this woman? Was she famous? Forensics would pick through the details. And her team would comb through the woman's past to reveal all her secrets. It would not be long before she found out all there was to know.
A white van arrived. People got out and suited up. More crime scene techs. Fenella looked at the crowd, and then the crime scene tent, and finally at the black embers of the bonfire. She chose the bonfire, the path taken by Dexter. She wanted his first impressions, but not before forming her own. Slowly she walked the perimeter with such an intense concentration that the chatter of voices and generator and screech of gulls vanished, leaving only the soft squelch of sand underfoot. Embers and ashes mostly. Blackened beach and a couple of crisp packets trapped by a charred log. A silver hot dog wrapper held in place by a crushed soda can. Nothing out of the ordinary. Still, she filed it all away in her mind.
"Ma'am."
Dexter was at her side.
"First impressions?" she asked, knowing he'd already been inside the crime scene tent. Dexter wasn’t a man who followed protocol.
"Nasty."
Fenella's heart sank. But she waited, knowing there was more.
"An assault with deadly intent from what I saw before being hustled out by the white suits. Vicious." He stared out towards the crime scene tent, face set in a deep scowl. "She is so small, I thought at first it was a child. And whoever did it, tossed the poor lady onto the bonfire. Like I said, vicious."
In the distance, a darker line of clouds crept in from the sea, and with it, a solid wall of rain which Fenella watched with concern.
"Have the crime scene officers worked the area around
the bonfire yet?"
Dexter scowled. "They haven't started. The lazy buggers like to be where it is warm and dry." But he knew, with the cutbacks, the team were down in numbers and everything took twice as long. Rain washed away evidence, and with the drizzle it would be tough enough. "Do you think the wind might pick up to hold back a downpour?"
Fenella glanced towards the slowly advancing wall of rain and shook her head. "Anything catch your eye?"
Dexter shrugged and pointed at the crime scene tent. "Let's hope they find what we need in there."
They stood in silence and watched the scene unfold. White suits came and went. Red and blue lights flashed from the parked police vehicles. Officers moved hurriedly against the backdrop of a drizzle-filled sky. But there was no sign of the press, and for that, Fenella let out a thankful sigh.
More police vehicles came. They stopped next to an ambulance where two paramedics talked by the open rear doors. One pointed at a hot dog truck which had just pulled up to the curb. A chance to make quick cash for the truck owner. Fenella doubted the uniforms would shoo the truck away. Police officers loved hot dogs and cups of sweet tea.
Detective Constable Earp stood by the crime scene tape. He talked to a constable, his back to the tape, front facing the crowds. Fenella liked that. Multitasking. She knew what Earp was doing. Listening to the officer and scanning the faces of the crowd. He'll do, she thought, as she considered the challenge ahead.
Now Fenella watched the crowd. Twice she scanned the curious faces. On the first scan, she noticed a woman in an orange jacket with her hair bunched into two pigtails. She wore a short skirt and Doc Martens boots. Must be a teenager, Fenella told herself. Then she scanned the crowd again. On the far side, partially hidden by the anoraks and umbrellas, she noticed a tall man. Not only tall, but huge. He wore a mud-brown trench coat several sizes too large. As she stared, trying to take in details, his oversized head slowly turned in her direction. A pair of feral eyes that jutted out of narrow slits returned her gaze. They did not blink.
"Fenella, we meet again," came a familiar voice. And there was Lisa Levon in a shapeless white suit, but nonetheless glamorous with her auburn hair, raven eyes, and twenty-year-old face even though she was closer to forty. "Dexter said you'd be around. I tossed him out of the crime scene tent earlier. How many times does he have to be told?" She didn’t wait for an answer. "We're opening up in a moment, and we've got another one of your team inside."