Blood Line

by Lynda La Plante

He sat down hunched on his bed, and suddenly blurted out that it was his first time with a man, and that although he’d always known about his sexuality, he had never been with anyone until Dan.

  ‘He told me how hard it had been for him, and that he had hated himself for years. That his parents didn’t know – in fact, no one knew he was gay in London. He was tired of having to be so secretive.’ Craig took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.

  Anna stood up and passed the letters back to the young man.

  ‘He’s very secretive, Craig. In fact, his name isn’t Daniel Matthews, it’s Alan Rawlins.’

  Craig looked up, shocked. ‘Why would he lie about his name?’

  ‘Because he was leading a double life here with you, but now what I am trying to uncover is who else knew.’

  Anna quietly explained to Craig the discovery at Alan Rawlins’s flat, the blood pooling, and how they had been unable to identify who it came from as there was no DNA to match.

  ‘We don’t know if it was Alan who died in his flat or whether he killed someone else. That could be the reason he has disappeared.’

  Craig sat, dry-eyed now, listening. He seemed stunned and saddened, all at the same time.

  ‘There was a Mercedes being reconditioned in the garage where he worked. He was telling you the truth about it, and I’m sure he did intend on driving it down here to give to you. He was waiting for the soft top to be delivered. But before he could do so, we believe something happened that resulted in either his committing a murder or him being murdered.’

  Craig stood up and went into his small shower room. Anna thought that perhaps he had gone for some privacy, but he left the door ajar and then came out.

  ‘He was very particular about his hair. He always brought his own shampoos and conditioner when he stayed here for the night. This is his hairbrush, razor and toothbrush.’

  Anna could have kissed him! She opened her briefcase and took out a plastic evidence bag, slipping the items inside.

  ‘Here’s his mobile number you asked for. I’ve rung it loads of times but he never answers.’ Craig began to cry again as Anna unfolded the note to look at the number. She sensed something was not right. Taking her notebook from her bag she compared the number she had for Alan Rawlins’s mobile recovered from his 280SL Mercedes. They were different.

  ‘Are you sure this was the number?’

  ‘Yes, positive. Why, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Sorry, my mistake. Nothing for you to worry about.’

  Craig was very subdued as he walked out with her towards the car park. The rain was still heavy and he carried an umbrella to shield her.

  ‘Thank you for your help, Craig. I really appreciate it,’ she said as they reached the car.

  ‘Do you think it has something to do with Sammy Marsh?’

  She was halfway into her seat but now she stood up again. ‘Why do you say that?’

  Craig turned and pointed to the cove. ‘A girl was washed up near to the rocks – teenager – they said she’d died of a heroin overdose. The last call I had with Dan, he spoke about it. He was very distressed, so much so I asked if he’d known her, but he just changed the subject and told me to never talk to anyone about him and Sammy.’

  ‘So when you were questioned previously, you never mentioned this phone call?’

  ‘No, but they never asked me anything about Dan.’

  As she turned the car to head towards the cove and onto the road, she could see him in her driving mirror, the rain dripping off the big black umbrella. His sweet face and skinny frame shook as he gave a small wave of his hand.

  Paul, accompanied by a very disgruntled Harry Took, plodded across the wet sands towards what looked like a rundown shack with a rickety veranda. The wooden steps were broken in places, and dangerous. They had had to wait for the owner to supply the keys, although they were hardly necessary as the door looked as if a hard push would have opened it, its hinges were so rusty.

  Harry unlocked a large padlock that was looped through the door handle to a nail hammered into the wooden slatted frame. He eventually pushed open the creaking door and they went inside.

  They could find no light switch so used a high-beamed torch, revealing a long bar rather like those in the saloons in cowboy films. Wooden chairs and tables were stacked against one wall, and empty bottles were visible behind the bar, along with old used candles stuck into their necks. There was a small raised stage where the bands would have performed, Harry told him, ladies and gents toilets, and behind the bar a door which led to a kitchen that was filthy, according to Harry.

  ‘Hard to believe that come summer, this place is hopping. It’s a big hang-out for the kids, especially the surfers,’ he remarked.

  Old surfboards were hammered into the wall alongside peeling posters of events and rock groups. Glasses and beer mugs were stacked on dirty dust-covered shelves, and a cutlery drawer was covered with spiderwebs.

  ‘They make a fortune. Health and Safety have tried closing it, but the owner does a quick clean-up and reopens. I wouldn’t eat here, wouldn’t touch a single one of their dodgy hamburgers, sausages and hot dogs . . . but it’s the location, it’s all about location and being right on the beach.’

  Paul followed the beam of the torch as Harry flashed it around.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ the older man asked.

  ‘Just getting a feel of the place,’ Paul said.

  ‘Oh right. Well, you seen enough now, have you?’

  ‘Pass us the torch. You can wait outside, if you want.’

  ‘Here.’ Harry gave him the torch. ‘Ugh, stinks of backed-up drains, if you ask me. Probably left the old used sani-bins in the ladies toilets.’ Harry headed out to stand on the veranda and have a smoke. It was still pouring with rain and they had about a half-mile walk back to the car park, which he didn’t relish.

  Paul gave the main bar area a slow onceover and noticed that one table had been taken down from the stack and two chairs set beside it. It had candle drips and dirty glasses, and an empty bottle of vodka lay on its side. He went to look into the kitchen, which was, as Harry had described, filthy – plus sand had blown in through the cracks in the wooden slats.

  Paul backed out, shone the torch over the bar area once more and then headed towards the toilets, the smell of drains growing more pungent the closer he got. He kicked open the door to the ladies, revealing a washbasin and a single cracked toilet. The smell grew even worse. Paul was tempted not to bother looking into the gents, but thought better of it and tried to open the door with his foot. It was firmly stuck, but now the smell was overpowering. He gave one more shove and the door opened.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ He could now see why it had been difficult to move – a pair of legs was pressed against it. Paul let out a yell for Harry to join him, as he tried to ease the door open further. Harry came back inside, shouting that it was too dark, he couldn’t see. Paul aimed the torch towards him.

  ‘You’d better get your people. There’s a body rammed against the door. I think it’s a bloke.’

  Harry covered his nose and mouth, as the smell was sickening.

  ‘You said this place had been checked out. By the stink in there, whoever it is has been here for quite a while,’ Paul went on.

  ‘Can you see his face?’ Harry asked.

  ‘No. His legs are blocking the door from opening.’

  Harry backed away, saying they shouldn’t move anything and he’d call the station. Paul, by now, had taken out a handkerchief to cover his face. He shone the torch on to the table.

  ‘Looks like whoever it was sat over here. Maybe some drunk?’

  Harry had gone back out to the veranda, swearing that his mobile was on the blink as Paul shone the torch back to the open lavatory. The light picked out a very expensive pair of crocodile boots. He inched closer and tried to gently ease the door wider to get a closer look at the body, but it was firmly wedged. He pressed himself against the wall to shine the torch round the narrow gap.


  ‘They’re on their way,’ Harry shouted as he returned, banging into some chairs, which toppled over. He swore and rubbed his thigh.

  In the beam of his torch Paul could see that the corpse was wearing a leather jacket; one arm was crooked over his face and the other was half-raised as if trying to shield himself. ‘You want to have a look at him?’

  ‘No, I fucking don’t – and don’t you touch anything, for God’s sake.’

  ‘He’s wearing quality gear – leather jacket, croc cowboy boots.’

  Harry edged his way closer to Paul, who handed him the torch, then he peered around the door. The light wavered and went out.

  ‘Shit.’

  They were both now in total darkness, and the smell of the decomposing corpse was eye-watering. Harry gripped hold of Paul’s arm.

  ‘I’m gonna be sick.’

  As Anna drove into the station, two patrol cars with lights blazing and sirens blasting almost ran into her. The rear car drew up and Williams looked out of the window, shouting something, but she couldn’t hear what he said. Quickly she parked up and hurried into the virtually empty incident room where she was told by a DC that a body had been found in the Smugglers café.

  ‘They got an ID on it?’

  ‘Not yet – it was only just called in by Harry Took. He thinks it had been there for some time.’

  ‘But wasn’t the café searched?’

  ‘Yes, weeks ago.’

  Anna asked if anyone knew where Paul was, and then it dawned on her that she had asked him to check out the Smugglers café. She could hardly keep the smile off her face as she said it was a good thing her team were always so thorough. When she asked if someone could drive her over to the café, she was told that there wasn’t a car available. She asked for directions and returned to her car to drive herself.

  The beach car park was a hive of activity. Three patrol cars, an ambulance, and forensic and undertaker’s vans were parked up. Although the Smugglers café was some distance away, it was easily picked out thanks to the arc lamps lighting it up like a movie set. The rain had thankfully ceased, but it was bitterly cold and the wind was sharp; coming from the ocean it was freezing. Anna’s fleece jacket was sodden and she was loath to get out of the car. To her relief she could see Paul heading up from the beach caught in her car’s headlights, and so she opened her window and called out to him. He paused and looked around and then catching sight of her, hurried towards her car.

  As he got into the passenger side his teeth were chattering, he was so cold. Anna kept the heater on full blast for him.

  ‘I was feeling like a spare part and I was about to leave the café when I tried to open the door of the gents toilets,’ he explained. ‘Whoever it is, they’ve been dead a while, and there I was, trying to keep the scene from contamination when Williams and his heavies come charging in and took the door off its hinges. And boy, was he swearing. They’d apparently checked the place a few weeks ago.’

  ‘Cut the chit-chat, Paul – anyone recognise the body?’

  ‘We’ve not got a positive ID, obviously . . .’

  ‘Was it Alan Rawlins?’

  ‘Hell, no. Williams said straight off it was Sammy Marsh.’

  Anna looked across at the beach. There were officers scurrying back and forth with torches.

  ‘You think he’d been there a while?’

  ‘By the stench, yes, and the way the body was lying it looked as if he’d been trying to protect himself with one arm across his face.’

  Anna shivered and looked at her watch.

  ‘We’ll wait until they bring the body up then we’ll head back to the B and B. We’re on the first flight out of here in the morning.’

  Paul grinned. ‘No train?’

  ‘No way. And I’d say with them finding Sammy, their hands will be full here so I doubt they’ll want us around.’

  Paul asked if she had found anything for their case. She nodded and said it was not a lot, but enough for them finally to get some DNA to check with the blood found at Tina Brooks’s flat. She also told Paul that Alan Rawlins had had two mobile phones – and she now had the number for the previously unknown one.

  She stared from the window as a covered stretcher was brought along the beach with Williams following, talking into his mobile. She opened the driver’s door but a blast of cold air made her shut it quickly.

  Williams overtook the stretcher and waved towards Anna’s car. She hunched her shoulders and got out, wrapping her thin jacket around her, and headed for the stretcher.

  ‘Is it Sammy Marsh?’ she demanded loudly.

  Williams turned to ask the stretcher-bearers to stop.

  ‘I’d say so. You want to take a look at him?’

  Anna shuddered from the cold, but stood close to the stretcher as Williams unzipped the body bag.

  ‘He’s not a pretty sight. Don’t know how he was killed, but he’s going straight over to Pathology. Don’t want to waste time examining here.’

  Anna looked at the body; the long hair was matted and the face was ravaged, with his skin hanging loose and the open eyes sunken into their sockets.

  ‘We’ll check his fingerprints, obviously. There’s no wallet or anything to ID him, but from the clothes I’m positive it’s him.’

  Anna shivered as Williams zipped up the body bag and gave instructions for the stretcher to be moved into the ambulance.

  ‘That was lucky, wasn’t it?’

  Williams looked at her. ‘What was?’

  ‘That Paul wanted to look over the café. Apparently you’d already searched there, so it’ll be interesting to find out how long he’s been dead.’

  Williams walked with her back to her car.

  ‘You get anything?’ he grunted.

  ‘Not much, but at least I know it wasn’t Sammy murdered in Rawlins’s flat so I’ll be returning to London first thing. If I could hang onto the car I’d be grateful and I really appreciate all of your assistance whilst we’ve been here.’

  Williams knew she was being sarcastic but said he would have someone at the station come to collect the car in the morning from the station.

  ‘No, not the station. We’re getting the first flight to Gatwick. I’ll leave the keys with the landlady and we’ll order a taxi.’

  Williams gave a curt nod, watching as she hurriedly got into the car and out of the cold. He knew he would be at the beach for some time as they checked out the interior of the café.

  ‘Goodnight,’ he said, watching as she began to back out, manoeuvring the car round all the accumulated vehicles. He was damned sure she must have gained some kind of a result, but as he had no direct connection to the case involving the disappearance of Alan Rawlins, he would have to wait to find out.

  He blew into his freezing hands, turning to head back down the beach to the Smugglers café. Someone was going to get a severe bollocking if it was determined that Sammy had been murdered some considerable time ago and his body had been rotting in the gents toilet whilst they had run around like headless chickens, trying to trace him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The first thing Anna did when they both arrived at the Hounslow police station shortly after eleven the next day, was to have the hairbrush, razor and toothbrush taken over to Forensics. She gave Brian the job of tracking down the phone company for Alan Rawlins’s other mobile and didn’t wait for him to explain why he’d not been around the previous day.

  ‘I tell you who isn’t alive any longer. They found the body of Sammy Marsh last night so you can write that up on the board with “deceased” underlined,’ she announced.

  She then went into her office as Paul related to everyone the trip to Cornwall, observing that whilst the Newquay police had been sitting on their butts, he had been the one to discover Sammy’s body. Helen ignored him as she was viewing the hours of CCTV footage from the Asda store, beginning to think it was a waste of time, when she suddenly let out a yell.

  ‘You are not going to believe this
! Oh my God!’

  Everyone looked over to her desk as she waved her hands.

  ‘Let me replay it . . . yes, it’s her! It’s definitely her!’

  Paul and Brian leaned on her chair as she rewound the clip and then replayed the sequence.

  Anna was in her office on the phone to Langton, bringing him up to speed and loving it.

  ‘Added to being able to hopefully get some DNA, we also know that the blood in Tina’s flat was not Sammy Marsh’s, as I insisted Paul search the Smugglers café where he found the body.’

  Paul interrupted by knocking and walking straight in. ‘Gov, you’d better come and look at the—’

  ‘Do you mind?’ she snapped, covering the phone.

  ‘I don’t think you’ll want to wait – it’s the CCTV footage from Asda and . . .’

  She could tell from the look on his face that it was urgent so she stood up and told Langton that she would get straight back to him. She hurried into the incident room, where most of the team were gathered around Helen’s monitor.

  ‘What is it?’ Anna asked as they parted for her to stand directly behind Helen.

  ‘The store manager called in to say he’d made a mistake and that he still did have the interior store CCTV footage from the till that Tina Brooks was served at.’

  ‘Yes, but she’s not denying she bought the bleach, is she?’

  ‘I know, and I found her on the CCTV at till ten buying the bleach and carpet cleaner just like she said, on the sixteenth of March, but the footage the manager gave us was for a two-week period, so I thought I would look beyond that day and—’

  ‘Get to the point, Helen!’

  ‘It’s till number thirteen, the next day – the seventeenth. Let me just rewind it . . . no, sorry, too far. It’s amazing, because each till has its own CCTV camera, as it’s one of their biggest stores and . . . Okay, this is it.’

  Anna watched intently as the footage played. Standing in line at till thirteen behind an elderly woman was Tina Brooks. She didn’t have a basket or trolley, but carried her purchase in her right hand, placing it onto the counter as the cashier picked it up and ran it by the electronic barcode reader. She then placed it into a carrier bag and passed it over to Tina.