by Celina Grace
She turned back to Jay.
“Do you want to make a move—” she began, stopping when she saw the bleak look on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
Jay seemed to shake himself mentally.
“Nothing,” he said, after a moment. She could see him forcing a smile. “I’m alright. Want a drink?”
Kate shook her head. “I’m bushed, Jay, and I’ve got to work tomorrow. Shall we head home?”
“I’m going to stay on for a bit.”
“Really?”
Jay patted her arm. “S’alright, sis. Don’t worry about me. You go on home and get some sleep.”
“But how will you get back?”
“I’ll get a cab. Don’t worry.”
Kate hunted in her bag before realising she didn’t even have a spare key.
“I’ll lock up, but just ring me on my mobile when you get back,” she said. “I’ll keep it by my bed.”
“Yeah, cool.” From Jay’s distracted manner, she wasn’t even sure he was listening. He was still staring at the empty doorway where Elodie and her male companion had been standing. Kate wavered for a moment, conscious of a faint nagging feeling of unease. Then she told herself not to worry. Jay was an adult, after all.
“See you later, then. I’ve made the spare bed up for you.”
“Cheers, sis.”
He hugged her goodbye, but she could tell his attention was still far away. Oh well. Bedtime, Kate.
She looked for Elodie as she walked to her car, thinking she might see her outside the pub door, smoking cigarettes with the little crowd that had gathered there. There was no sign of her. Kate stood for a moment, her hand on the handle of the car door, wondering whether to look for her, to say goodbye and thank you. Then she dismissed the thought.
At that moment, all she wanted to do was get home and climb into her new bed.
Chapter Two
When Kate got to the office the next day, Olbeck was already there, hunched over his desk staring blearily and uncomprehendingly at the screen. He gave Kate the big, forced smile of a man pretending he didn’t have a hangover.
“Good night?” asked Kate.
“Mmmph.”
Kate said nothing, but she reached into her desk drawer and drew out a packet of paracetemol, which she threw across the desk.
“I’m fine,” snapped Olbeck as the packet landed on his keyboard. “Just tired, that’s all.”
Kate said nothing. Olbeck relented.
“Sorry. Thanks.”
Kate got them both a coffee and sat down again. She looked again at the text message from Jay, who hadn’t come home last night. Got a bed sis, wont be hm, c u later xx. Sent at 4.13am. Whose bed? Elodie’s or some random pick-up? Or simply a friend? She tried not to worry. He’s an adult, she told herself, not for the first time.
She looked across at Olbeck, who was wincing and rubbing his temples. She wasn’t going to worry about him, either. He was an adult too, although he currently wasn’t acting much like one.
Olbeck had split up with his partner, Joe, several months ago. Having been the one to instigate the break-up, Olbeck had been making the most of his newly-found freedom. Night after night, he’d been out clubbing, partying, drinking and dancing. When he wasn’t out living it up, he was working all hours, clocking up the overtime, constantly in the office. To Kate, it seemed very much like the actions of a man who was trying not to face up to something painful. However, having had her head bitten off more than once when she’d tried to broach the subject, she’d decided discretion was the better part of valour and was currently keeping her mouth shut.
She dismissed both Jay’s and Olbeck’s private lives from her mind, mentally squared her shoulders, and turned her attention to the massive amount of paperwork littering her desk while trying to ignore the long-suffering groans Olbeck kept making under his breath.
“What have we got today?”
Olbeck shoved a file across the desk.
“That domestic assault case is coming up.”
“I thought Rav was doing that one?”
“He is, but—”
The phone rang. Olbeck picked it up.
“Olbeck here.”
He said nothing else, but there was something in the change of his posture that made Kate sit up. She sat with pen poised, feeling her stomach tighten a little. It was a sixth sense, that’s what it was; you knew when something big had happened. Olbeck wasn’t saying much, just asking a series of blunt questions and scribbling down the answers. He said goodbye and put the phone down.
Kate put her pen down.
“What is it?”
Olbeck stood up, reaching for his car keys.
“Dead girl in the river. Patrol just called it in.”
“Oh, no.”
“Afraid so. “
“Where?”
“Arbuthon Green.”
Kate was reaching for her coat and looked up in surprise. “Seriously? I was there last night. Just last night.”
“Should I arrest you?”
“Ha, bloody ha. Come on, you can tell me what you know in the car.”
It was a twenty-minute drive to Arbuthon Green, and their route took them past the Black Horse, shut up now at 10.30am in the morning. The pavement outside was littered with cigarette stubs and empty bottles. Olbeck drove on through streets of terraced houses, their walls grey with pockmarked pebbledash and festooned with satellite dishes. Abbeyford was a reasonably affluent town, but every town has its poorer areas. Arbuthon Green was one of them.
The river was a winding oasis of beauty in the squalor. A footpath ran parallel with the water, and the banks were fringed with graceful willow trees, frondy branches dipping into the water. The banks were shallow, covered in patchy grass or thick mud. As Kate and Olbeck walked towards the little knot of people further up the footpath, they could see the pale shape of the body on the bank. No tent had yet been erected to screen the body from public view.
“Where’s Scene of Crime?” Olbeck muttered, almost to himself, as they walked along.
Kate said nothing. As they got closer, she was aware of a sensation very much like shock that was beginning to set in. it was worse than shock: a sense of unreality, a feeling of dislocation. She could see the girl properly now; she was lying on her back, arms outflung. There was mud in her blonde hair, and her face was blue-lipped, ghastly pale.
“Oh my God.”
Olbeck turned as Kate stopped walking.
“What’s wrong?”
Kate was staring at the body. For a moment, she wondered whether she was still at home in bed dreaming.
“The body…it’s the scene—”
“Kate, talk to me. You’re not making sense.”
Kate turned a pale face to Olbeck. “I know her. The girl. I met her last night.”
Olbeck’s face mirrored the shock on her own.
“You’re kidding.”
They’d reached the scene now. There were several uniformed officers, a shivering man in a wet tracksuit and Theo Marsh, one of Kate and Olbeck’s colleagues.
Behind Theo, Olbeck saw the white vans of the Scene of Crime Officers draw up.
Theo raised a hand in greeting, and then frowned when he saw Kate’s expression.
“What’s up?”
Kate was breathing deeply, trying to get a hold of herself. She kept seeing the painting hanging even now on her living room wall: Elodie’s mock-dead face, her blue lips. All brought to reality right in front of her. How was it possible? She brought a hand up to her face, pinching the bridge of her nose hard.
“First time, is it?” one of the uniforms asked in a bored and patronising manner.
“No, it bloody isn’t,” snapped Kate. She wheeled on one heel, not waiting to hear his response, and walked rapidly away along the riverbank. She took just ten steps before stopping, but it was enough to take her away from the body. The feeling of unreality receded slightly. She stood, back turned to the scene, watching the r
ipples on the surface of the river. Sticks and rubbish had drifted up against the muddy banks. Half a pumpkin floated by, one carved eye socket and several grinning teeth still evident, reminding Kate that Halloween had come and gone.
She heard Olbeck and Theo walk up behind her.
“Kate? You all right?”
She turned round. SOCO had already begun to cordon off the riverbank. The man in the wet tracksuit was being shepherded towards a waiting police car.
“I’m all right. It was just a shock.”
“Mark says you know her,” said Theo. He looked worried and young. This was a situation they’d discussed before, over drinks. What if the victim was someone you knew? What would you do?
Kate opened her mouth to tell them about the painting—and then shut it again.
“I met her last night for the first time. She’s called Elodie. She’s a musician, goes to Rawlwood College.” She remembered what Jay had told her. “I think her father’s the headmaster there.”
Olbeck’s eyebrows went up.
“God. If you’re right, this is going to be…” He didn’t need to elaborate to his colleagues.
“Are you sure it’s her?” asked Theo. “I mean, if you’ve only met her once and with the water damage, and all…”
Kate was conscious of a sudden spurt of hope. How wonderful it would be if it wasn’t Elodie. Wonderful? Listen to yourself, Kate. You’re talking about someone’s daughter, someone’s child.
She dismissed her inner critic and walked up to the tape line, staring at the body. Once again, she was reminded of the painting. The posture, her face. Was it possible that the painting had actually caused her to misidentify the body because of the resemblance? Kate looked closer and her heart sank. It was definitely Elodie.
She walked back to the others, shaking her head.
“As far as I can see, it’s her.”
“Shit,” said Theo. “We’d better tell Anderton as soon as he gets here.”
“He’s on his way now?” asked Olbeck.
Theo nodded. Kate watched the river slipping slowly past. She hadn’t thought this far ahead yet. Anderton was the DCI for Abbeyford and surrounding areas; he was Kate’s immediate boss. He would have to know about the picture. He would have to know everything. Kate remembered Jay sitting across from her on her new chair, tipping his mug full of champagne towards her, smiling.
Who’s the model? My mate Elodie.
“Kate?”
Kate realised she was standing with her eyes tightly shut. She gave herself a mental shake. Get it together. You have no idea what’s happened as yet, so stop panicking.
“Here’s Anderton,” she said as she saw his car draw up, pleased her voice sounded so normal.
The three of them walked towards their DCI. Anderton had just returned from holiday—three weeks at his holiday home in the South of France, Olbeck had explained to Kate—and he was certainly tanned, his grey hair lightened by the sun. But he didn’t look much like a man who’d enjoyed three weeks of relaxation. His brows were drawn down in a frown and there were dark circles under his eyes. Probably doesn’t want to be back at work, and who could blame him? thought Kate as she returned his subdued greeting.
“Suicide, murder or accident?” said Anderton as they walked back towards the crime scene.
“We don’t yet know, sir,” said Kate. She pictured the painting hanging on her living room wall and heard her voice falter a little. When was she going to have to mention it?
“Well, any ideas at all? What have you people been doing all morning? Have I just been dragged down here to stand around like a spare part?”
Kate flinched under his tone. He could be brusque, she knew that, but he was not normally so rude.
“A jogger discovered the body at about seven this morning,” said Olbeck, hastily. “He thought someone was drowning, waded in and pulled them out, although obviously the girl was long dead by then.”
“So the body was found in the river?”
“That’s right, sir.”
Kate grabbed Olbeck’s arm. “Is that right? The body was pulled out of the river?”
“Yes,” said Olbeck, looking down at her hand on his arm with a quizzical expression. “Didn’t I say?”
“No, you bloody didn’t!”
All three men were now looking at her strangely. Kate tried to pin a neutral expression on her face and tried not to show the waves of warm relief washing over her. The resemblance of the body on the riverbank to the picture on her wall was coincidental, that’s all. Oh, wonderful relief. For a moment, she felt dizzy with it.
“Something wrong, Kate?” Anderton spoke in a voice that implied she had to tell him.
Kate struggled and managed to subdue her euphoria. “Sorry sir, nothing wrong. I just hadn’t been informed of all the facts, that’s all.” Olbeck shot her a hurt look, which she ignored. “I wasn’t aware that this wasn’t the original crime scene.”
Anderton exhaled in disgust.
“You lot are not impressing me this morning. Theo, tell me something useful, for Christ’s sake.”
“Yes, sir.” Theo almost stood to attention. “As Mark said, the body was discovered by a jogger, Mark Deedham, this morning at about seven am. He often runs along this path, according to him. He said he saw something in the water—in fact, he said he saw ‘someone’ in the water—and thought they were drowning, plunged in, dragged them out onto the river bank and then realised they were, well, dead already.”
“Humph.” Anderton looked over at the police car where the man in the wet tracksuit had been taken. “That’s his story. We’ll have to take a much more detailed statement. Anything else? Do we know who the victim is yet?”
Olbeck nudged Kate’s arm and she shot him an annoyed look. Anderton intercepted it. “Kate Redman, what is the matter with you this morning? Do you know who the victim is, or not?”
Kate spoke. “Yes sir. She’s a young student called Elodie, I’m not sure of her last name.” Olbeck nudged her again. “For fuck’s sake, Mark! Let me finish. She’s a musician, a student at Rawlwood College.”
Anderton studied her face.
“And how do you know all of this?”
Jay’s face swam in front of her eyes. Kate swallowed. “Because I met her last night, sir.”
Anderton’s grey eyes regarded her steadily.
“Is that so?” he said. “Well, you’d better tell me all about it.”
Chapter Three
Elodie Duncan lived—had lived—with her parents in a house on the grounds of Rawlwood College. The house was named Rawlwood Cottage, which was something of a misnomer, as Kate and Olbeck discovered. They drove up the long and winding gravel driveway to the impressive Victorian building that stood in a clearing of evergreen and deciduous trees. Hidden from view from the main road behind a bank of trees, the house was very large, the gables and window frames painted black, original stained glass in the front door. There were two cars parked neatly side-by-side in front of the house: a dark purple Volvo and a newer model Beetle in silver.
“Did Elodie have a car?” asked Mark as they made their way to the front door.
“I don’t know—” Kate was unable to say more, as the door opened before she’d even raised a hand to the doorbell. The man who had opened it was in his late fifties: tall, rather handsome and dressed in a well-cut tweed jacket. There was something slightly wrong with his appearance, something so subtle that Kate could hardly put her finger on what it was. Then she realised it was his tie. It was a colour that clashed slightly with the tweed of his suit and the knot was tied badly, obviously in haste.
“May I help you?”
“Mr Duncan? Thomas Duncan?”
“Yes? What’s the matter?”
Olbeck and Kate showed their warrant cards. “We’re police officers, sir. May we come in for a moment?”
Mr Duncan remained where he was for a moment, one hand on the half-open door. He closed his eyes.
“What’s happe
ned?” he said, in a voice almost too faint to be heard.
“May we come in, Mr Duncan?” Kate wasn’t going to do this on the doorstep, whether or not the house was isolated.
The headmaster opened his eyes.
“Yes, of course,” he said. He seemed to pull himself together a little. “I’m sorry. Come through…”
They followed him through the hallway and into a sitting room to the left. A woman was perched there on the very edge of the sofa, clasping her hands together. She was blonde, petite: an older, faded copy of Elodie.
“This is my wife, Genevieve Duncan,” said Thomas Duncan. Kate had the impression that the two of them had been sitting there all night, waiting. Were they waiting for their daughter, who was never coming home? She took a deep breath. This was the worst part of her job, the very worst. It never got any easier.
“Mrs Duncan, Mr Duncan, I’m very sorry to have to tell you that I have some very bad news.” Say it quick, don’t ever drag it out. People at this point know the worst has happened, there was never any need to prolong the agony. “This morning, we found the body of a girl which we believe to be your daughter Elodie. I’m so sorry—”
Mrs Duncan burst out in screams, in full-blown hysteria: piercing yells, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. Mr Duncan knelt by her, his face grey. She threw her hands over her face, writhing and kicking like a toddler having a tantrum.
Kate looked at Olbeck. He met her eyes, but there was no need to say anything. There was nothing they could do but wait.
After a seemingly endless stretch of time, Mrs Duncan’s sobs tapered off into gasping breaths. She lay back against the cushions of the sofa, still hiding her face. Kate had seen that impulse in people before: the wish to shut out the knowledge, an attempt to physically block off the horror.
Mr Duncan sat by her, his hands dangling between his knees.
“I’m so very sorry,” Kate said, quietly. “This must have been a terrible shock to you. I’m afraid I will need one of you to come with us to identify her.”