Ahead of me lie several paths, and, although limited by the restrictions of the British Criminal Justice System (may it rest in peace), I can still choose my own destiny. I want—oh, I dearly want—to experiment with letters to Nancy, to see what may come of this blossoming attraction between us. And, of course, it may yet be possible to extend my influence to her through prison visits (a privilege to which I am entitled, but have yet to avail myself of) or even, simply, through writing.
Leaving Nancy reluctantly aside, there remains the greatest adventure of all. I have within me the power to change. They would not leave me to transform naturally, of course, but I can leave a will and express the desire for burial over cremation—which would mean the process would take place much as my father’s did. It would not be a gentle transformation in the privacy of my own home, which would be the best of all, but it would be acceptable to me I think.
For now, though, I am not ready. I am at the very beginning of enlightenment, the very source of knowledge. There is so much still to do.
Read on for an excerpt from Elizabeth Haynes’s fourth novel
Day One: Thurs 1 November 2012
09:41
Dispatch Log 1101-0132
CALLER STATES SHE HAS FOUND HER FRIEND COVERED IN BLOOD NOT MOVING NOT BREATHING
*
AMBULANCE ALREADY DISPATCHED – REF 01-914
*
CALLER IS FELICITY MAITLAND, HERMITAGE FARM, CEMETERY LANE MORDEN – OCCUPATION FARM OWNER
*
INJURED PARTY IDENTIFIED AS POLLY LUCAS, FAMILY FRIEND OF CALLER
*
CALLER HYSTERICAL, TRYING TO GET LOCATION FROM HER
*
ADDRESS YONDER COTTAGE CEMETERY LANE MORDEN VILLAGE
*
LOCATION GIVEN AS OUTSIDE VILLAGE ON ROAD TO BRIARSTONE, PAST THE LEMON TREE PUB ON THE RIGHT-HAND SIDE
*
SP CORRECTION POLLY LEUCHARS DOB 28/12/1982 AGED 29
*
PATROLS AL23 AL11 AVAILABLE DISPATCHED
*
DUTY INSPECTOR NOTED, WILL ATTEND
10:52
In years to come, Flora would remember this as the day of Before and After.
Before, she had been working on the canvas that had troubled her for nearly three months. She had reworked it so many times, had stared at it, loved it and hated it, often at the same time. On that Thursday it had gone well. The blue was right, finally, and while she had the sun slanting in even strips from the skylight overhead she traced the lines with her brush delicately as though she was touching the softest human skin and not canvas.
The phone rang and at first she ignored it. When the answering machine kicked in, the caller rang off and then her mobile buzzed on the windowsill behind her. The caller display showed her father’s mobile. She ignored it as she usually did. He was not someone she really wanted to talk to, after all.
Seconds later, the phone rang again. He wasn’t going to give up.
“Dad? What is it? I’m working—”
That was the moment. And then it was the After, and nothing was ever the same again.
11:08
Thursday had barely started and it was already proving to be one of the most challenging days of Lou Smith’s career. Just after ten the call had come in from the boss, Detective Superintendent Buchanan. Area had called in a suspicious death and requested Major Crime’s attendance. A month after her promotion and the DCI on duty, it was her turn to lead the investigation.
“Probably nothing,” Buchanan had said. “You can hand it back to Area if it looks like the boyfriend’s done it, OK? Keep me updated.”
Her heart was thudding as she’d disconnected the call. Please God, don’t let me screw it up.
Lou reached for the grubby A–Z on the shelf in the main office; it’d be a darn sight quicker than logging on to the mapping software. She couldn’t remember ever having to go to Morden, which meant it was probably posh. The paramedics had turned up first and declared life well and truly extinct, waited for the patrols, and then buggered off on another call.
The patrols had done what they were supposed to do—look for the offender (no sign), manage the witnesses (only one so far, the woman who’d called it in), and preserve the scene (shut the door and stand outside). The Area DI had turned up shortly afterward, and it hadn’t been more than ten minutes before he’d called the Major Crime Superintendent. Which meant that this was clearly a murder, probably not domestic.
“Nasty,” the DI said cheerfully when Lou got to Yonder Cottage. “Your first one, isn’t it, ma’am? Good luck.”
“Cheers.”
Lou recognized him. He’d been one of the instructors when she’d been in training, which made the “ma’am” feel rather awkward.
“Where have you got to?” she asked.
“They’ve started the house-to-house,” he responded. “Nothing so far. The woman who found her is in the kitchen up at the farmhouse with PC Gregson, the family liaison. Mrs. Felicity Maitland. She owns the farm with her husband Nigel—Nigel Maitland?”
The last two words were phrased as a question, implying that Lou should recognize the name. She did.
Maitland had associates who were known to be involved in organized crime in Briarstone and London. He’d been brought in for questioning on several occasions for different reasons; each time he’d given a “no comment” interview, or one where he stuck to one-word answers, in the company of his very expensive solicitor. Each time he had been polite, cooperative as far as it went, and utterly unhelpful. Each time he had been released without charge. Circumstantial evidence, including his mobile phone number appearing on the itemized phone bill of three men who were eventually charged with armed robbery and conspiracy, had never amounted to enough to justify an arrest. Nevertheless, the links were there and officers in a number of departments were watching and waiting for him to make a mistake. In the meantime Nigel went about his legitimate day job, running his farm and maintaining his expensive golf club membership, the stables, the Mercedes, the Land Rover, and the Porsche convertible, and stayed one step ahead.
“Mrs. Maitland’s in charge of the stables, leaves all the rest of it to her husband,” the Area DI said. “The victim worked for them as a groom, lived here in the cottage rent-free. I gather she was a family friend.”
“Any word on an offender?”
“Nothing, so far. Apparently the victim lived on her own.”
“What happened?”
“She’s at the bottom of the stairs. Massive head trauma.”
“Not a fall?”
“Definitely not a fall.”
“Weapon?”
“Nothing obvious. CSI are on the way, apparently.” He indicated the patrol officer standing guard. “This is PC Dave Forster. He got the short straw.”
PC Forster grinned.
DI Carter disappeared shortly after that, back to the station.
Yonder Cottage was a square, brick-built house separated from the main road by an overgrown hedge and an expanse of gravel, upon which a dark blue Fiesta was parked. The scene tape stretched from the hedge to a birch tree and beyond to a roughly paved driveway that led up to a series of barns and outbuildings. Past this was the main house of Hermitage Farm.
“Right,” Lou said, more to herself than to PC Forster, “let’s get started.”
Her phone was ringing. The cavalry was on the way.
About the Author
Elizabeth Haynes works as a police intelligence analyst, a civilian role that involves determining patterns in offending and criminal behavior. She started writing fiction in 2006 with the annual challenge of National Novel Writing Month (Nanowrimo). Her first novel, Into the Darkest Corner, was Amazon’s Best Book of 2011 and a New York Times bestseller. Human Remains is her third novel. She lives in Kent, England, with her husband and son. Visit her website at www.elizabeth-haynes.com.
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Credits
Cover design by Richard Ljoenes
Cover photograph © Stephanie Lynn Warga/Getty Images
Copyright
This book was originally published in Great Britain in 2013 by Myriad Editions.
HUMAN REMAINS. Copyright © 2013 by Elizabeth Haynes. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST U.S. EDITION
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-06-227676-6
EPUB Edition JULY 2013 ISBN 9780062276773
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