The Memory of Trees (Kate Gardener mysteries Book 1)

by Gabriella Messina

  Kate stopped, her hand hovering over the phone receiver, her eyes fixed on the photo in the printer tray. She frowned. There was something not right about this photo.

  Kate took the photo out of the tray and looked at it closer. It was an establishing shot, including the victim’s body and a large portion of the grounds and greenery surrounding it. The areas of dirt were dark, likely from the rain that had occurred in the early morning hours. Moisture was also visible on the bushes and on the grass.

  Kate squinted at the print. Something was, well, wrong, about this picture. She turned to the table full of prints, all laid out in printing order. She put the print in her hand down and grabbed another, this shot of the same scene but from a different angle. Kate rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand. Her eyes were getting tired, she could feel it, but still… still…

  Kate grabbed up another shot, then another, then another. All the same wet ground, all the same wet grass, all the same wet… Her eyes focused in on the body, specifically an area just below the shoulder.

  Kate quickly searched through her pockets and pulled out a small pouch. She pulled it open and removed a jeweler’s loupe. She rubbed her right eye again with the back of her hand, then placed the print on the table and leaned over it. She brought the loupe up to her eye and looked closely at the shadowy area near the shoulder. The shadow was a result of the direction of the lighting, coming from the east as the sun was just beginning to illuminate the sky.

  This shadow was more than that, though. Kate reached up over the table and switched on the overhead light, then returned to the print, looking at it even closer with the loupe. The ground under the shoulder, in fact all along that side of the body, was dark because it was wet.

  Kate lowered the loupe, a frown creasing her forehead.

  “Still at it, Kate?”

  “Uh, yeah, more or less,” Kate replied as she looked toward the source of the voice.

  Diana Monaghan leaned in the doorway. She was obviously on her way home, or at least out, as her apparel was anything but medical. Her slim-fit jeans tapered down to a stylish pair of leather boots and her shearling-lined leather jacket was draped graceful over her shoulders. Her left hand clutched a motorcycle helmet.

  Monaghan smiled and stepped into the room. “Are you finding anything interesting?”

  Kate sighed and rubbed her eyes again. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She groaned and ran her fingers through her hair, leaving her messy bun up-do in tatters.

  Monaghan smiled. “You need to go home. Tomorrow is another day.”

  “Thanks, Scarlett,” Kate quipped, a wide grin erasing the frown from her face. “Thing is, I was supposed to have these printed and in Superintendent Hagen’s hands by five.”

  Monaghan shook her head. “Did Doug ring you about them?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then go home. I’m sure he already has.”

  A knock on the door was quickly followed by a rich, plummy male voice saying, “Ready, Diana?”

  Both women turned to look at the speaker, a tall, attractive man in his mid- forties. He smiled charmingly, smoothing a stray lock of dark blonde hair back into place as he leaned in the doorway.

  Monaghan returned the smile and motioned for the man to enter.

  “I didn’t know you were here already. Have you met our Kate yet?”

  The man stepped into the room, his hazel eyes turning from Monaghan to Kate as he spoke. “No, no I haven’t, but I have heard a great deal.” He extended a hand in greeting. “Clive Reynolds.”

  Kate returned his firm handshake. “Kate Gardener.” She glanced at Monaghan, noting the older woman’s love-lit eyes as she looked at young Reynolds. My, my, my… Doctor M is a cougar! Kate stifled a smile as she continued. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Reynolds. Hope all you’ve been hearing is good?”

  “Oh, yes,” Reynolds replied. “A little fresh air is good for the Met, I think. Keeps them on their toes.”

  Kate looked at Reynolds closely. “You a detective?”

  “No, I’m a lawyer,” Reynolds responded.

  “Cool. You’ve got one of those wigs?”

  Reynolds smiled, nodding in the affirmative. “Two, actually.”

  “That’s like the hair and the spare, huh?”

  “Something like that,” Reynolds responded laughing. He looked down at the table full of photos, reaching out for one towards the middle of the group. “Are these from the Regent’s Park crime scene?”

  “Clive, we’re going to be late,” Monaghan said softly, placing a hand on his arm.

  Reynolds smiled at her. “Right. Sorry, love.” He turned to Kate and offered his hand again. “It was nice meeting you, Kate.”

  “Same here,” replied Kate.

  Reynolds and Monaghan turned and exited the lab, passing a coffee-carrying Jimi Khan on the way out.

  Jimi smiled at Kate, “Cream and stevia.” She handed Kate the coffee in her left hand. “I see you met the Crown Prosecutor.”

  “He – Who – What?” Kate asked.

  “Reynolds. He’s a Crown Prosecutor.”

  “Is that like a District Attorney?”

  Jimi hesitated for a moment, sipping her coffee before answering, “Sort of, yeah.”

  Kate looked up at the ceiling. “Oh, good.”

  Jimi chuckled. “No worries, Kate. Reynolds is a cool bloke.” She gestured to the prints strewn around the desk and table. “Make any progress.”

  Kate frowned at the prints, then took a long drink of her coffee before answering. “Lots of ink and dead trees, but otherwise….” She squinted again as she looked at the images in front of her. “There’s just something about these pictures. Something isn’t right, but I just can’t SEE it.” Kate groaned, then rubbed her eyes with her free hand. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just tired.” She began gathering up the prints, one by one, in order.

  Jimi sipped her coffee as she watched. There was definitely a method to this American woman’s madness, but Jimi hadn’t the foggiest idea what it was. It was as if Kate could see things… in pictures, or video images, even just surveying a room… could see things that weren’t even there.

  “Jimi?”

  The sound of her name wrenched Jimi from her thoughts with a start. “Yeah?”

  Kate slid the pile of prints into an envelope, sealing it with red tape and placing it in the desk drawer. “How far is the river from here?” She turned the key, locking the drawer, and grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair.

  Jimi shrugged. “Close. A few minutes walk at most. Why?”

  “I need to smell the river,” Kate replied as she exited.

  7

  Victoria Embankment

  Pierce popped the last bite of fish into his mouth, wadded up the empty newspaper and tossed it into a nearby waste bin. He searched through the pockets of his leather jacket for his cigarettes and lighter, the urgency to satisfy his need for nicotine causing him to do so almost before the newspaper went into the bin. I really need to quit… Or maybe just cut back? Pierce smirked as he quickly lit and inhaled, enjoying the heady feeling for a moment before walking on along the Embankment.

  It was his favorite place to walk, here along the Embankment. The close proximity to the Met allowed Pierce to take advantage of the fresh air and picturesque views of the Thames frequently, or at least as frequently as work permitted.

  Pierce pulled his jacket around him snugly. It had gotten cold this evening, the wind blowing from the North and carrying with it the chill of winter already. In September, no less. Pierce puffed on his cigarette, shoving the other hand deep into his pocket for warmth. Fuck you, Global Warming!

  Westminster Bridge loomed up ahead, its lights illuminating the walkway and sparkling off the water nearby. That’s when Pierce saw her, up ahead of him, leaning on the railing and looking down at the river.

  She wasn’t thin, her figure more that of a traditional pin-up than of the skinny celebrities that were constantly plastered on magazines
. She was fit, though, as evidenced by her athletic ability at the Park the other morning. Pierce slowed, taking the opportunity to get a good look at her. Clad in a warm-yet-stylish puff vest topped with an extra long scarf wrapped twice around her neck, her dark hair was drawn up in a ponytail, the long length trailing down her back. Pierce’s gaze dropped to her shoes, and he stifled an appreciative laugh. She was wearing TARDIS high-tops.

  “Nice evening, Sergeant Pierce.”

  Kate turned her head slowly away from the river, a smile breaking across her face as she looked at Pierce.

  Pierce returned the smile as he closed the short distance between them, leaning on the railing beside her.

  “Crisp evening, I’d say.”

  Kate chuckled. “Yeah, and early for it, too. I mean, it stays warmer here for longer than it does back home.”

  Pierce nodded. “Usually.”

  It was quiet for a moment. Pierce tossed the remnant of his cigarette into the river and fiddled in his pocket, longing for another one to ease his nervousness. He glanced at Kate. She was watching him out of the corner of her eye, watching as he fiddled nervously in his pocket. Jesus, she probably thinks I’m some sort of pervert. He quickly pulled his hands free and folded them, leaning on the railing again.

  “It’s not the Hudson, but its close.”

  “Pardon?”

  Kate gestured to the water. “The river. Back in New York, I used to go down to the pier when I needed to clear my head and think something through.”

  “I can go if —”

  Kate quickly turned toward him, her hand moving up to lend force to her words. “No. No, it’s okay. Stay.” She lowered her hand just as quickly and turned back to the river.

  The two stood silently for a long while, their eyes never leaving the meditative ebb and flow of the current – except when one glanced surreptitiously at the other.

  ***

  Gigalum, Clapham

  Pierce stepped out onto the terrace and wove his way toward the front corner table where Kate sat. When she had proposed getting a drink, his mind had immediately thought of this place. Though many pubs around London still allowed smoking in their outdoor areas, Gigalum was the only one with heaters on their terrace.

  Pierce tried not to stare at Kate too obviously as he carefully deposited the foam-topped chalice of Stella Artois he held in his right hand on the table in front of her. She was looking down at something in her hand, most likely her mobile, her fringe of grown-out bangs falling softly over her face. She can’t be very old, Pierce thought. Mid-twenties at the most.

  Kate looked up as Pierce sat down across from her. She lifted her chalice of beer and raised it in salute. “Cheers.”

  Pierce quickly lifted his beer, gently clinking her glass. “Cheers.”

  They each took a long, slow sip from the respective beverages. Kate closed her eyes slightly, relishing the smooth taste of the Belgian beer. She swallowed slowly, then opened her eyes and smiled at Pierce.

  “All right, Sergeant, let’s hear it… Why did you become a cop?”

  Pierce smiled around the rim of his glass and took another sip before answering. “To make a difference.”

  Kate shook her head. “Bullshit. Everybody says that. Be original.”

  Pierce chuckled lightly, then grew more serious. “When I was eighteen, I was in the army. In the Balkans.”

  Kate frowned. “When you were eighteen… That would make it…Oh.”

  Pierce nodded. “Yeah. Kosovo.” He took another drink of his beer, then continued. “Saw… a lot.” He shrugged. “Went to college. Took a gap year after I’d finished, went to Croatia to work as a translator. Came back to London in 2001, shortly after 9-11. Then Afghanistan, and Iraq…” Pierce trailed off, taking a large drink from his beer. “When I came back, I figured it was the Met… or something infinitely worse. Like a banking job.” He laughed at that and took another drink. Pierce’s eyes took on a distant look as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. “Some things just aren’t easy to get away from, to forget.”

  “The memory of trees,” Kate offered quietly.

  Pierce frowned, obviously puzzled. “What?” He lit his cigarette, jerking his head to dodge the blinding bit of smoke that streamed off the end.

  “Dendrochronology. The study of tree growth rings. Hunger, thirst, pollution, disease – all written in the rings.” Kate took a sip from her glass before continuing, “My mom used to say how great it would be if you could see that with people, see the kind of person they really are.”

  “If you could do that, there wouldn’t be any use for people like us, would there?”

  Kate grinned. “This is true.” She looked longingly at the cigarette in his hand. “I thought you couldn’t smoke in London anymore.”

  “Only outdoors. And only at select places.”

  Kate pointed to the cigarettes on the table between them. “Can I have one of those?”

  Pierce quickly slid the pack and lighter toward her in response.

  “My turn now. What brought you to London?” Pierce asked.

  Kate slid out one of the cigarettes and lit, enjoying the first puff before she replied. “I was doing a photography workshop in New York and Neville Crane was the guest instructor. I’d met him once before that. Guess he liked my style, ‘cause he fast-tracked me over here.”

  “Were you a Forensic Photographer in New York?”

  Pierce watched the expression on her face darken, as if a cloud had passed over her pretty features.

  “Not intentionally.” Kate took another drink. “Mother says that sometimes we have gifts, talents. We don’t always know why. Then something happens… and you know. It’s the work you have to do.” She smiled tightly and raised her glass again before taking a long sip.

  “Does that work include breaking and entering?”

  Kate lowered her glass to reveal a mischievous smirk. “Sometimes.”

  Pierce lowered his voice, his tone serious. “Listen, Kate, you need to be careful.”

  Kate arched an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

  “What you did at Norton’s. . .”

  “Picking the lock?” Kate chuckled. “You think I would do something like that in front of a cop if I didn’t know how to do it clean?”

  “Just be careful.” Pierce took a deep drag of his cigarette, blowing out a puff of smoke as he spoke. “Others wouldn’t be as understanding as I am.”

  “This guy I knew, like ten years ago. Joshua Gold. His father was a locksmith and his uncle was a diamond merchant. Gemstones, too. Anyway, Josh used to try and impress me all the time, trying to make our relationship, if you will, more than it was.”

  “What was it?”

  Kate frowned. “Huh?”

  Pierce smiled. “What was your relationship?”

  Kate looked Pierce straight in the eye as she replied. “FWB… Friend with Benefits?”

  Pierce smiled in response, sipped his beer.

  “Anyway, he used to pick the locks on the door to his uncle’s shop, and then take me into the back where they stored all the gemstones and diamonds. He’d pick the locks on the cases, pop open the safes like nothing. We never got caught. Trust me, Sergeant. I’m always careful.”

  “Rick.” Pierce stubbed out the remnant of his cigarette. “It’s Rick.”

  “All right. Rick.” Kate looked down at the burned-out cigarette in her hand, then pointed to the pack of cigarettes. “Can I have another one?” At Pierce’s nod, Kate slid one out, lighting it and taking a drag. “You know it’s not the same person.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The little things I see. And feel.” Kate stared at the table in front of her. “The first crime scene, the Flynn murder, there was a lot of movement to it. You could see footprints, at least two different male shoe prints, and they were everywhere, around the body, going to it, leading away from it. Based on that alone, I’d say one was panicking. He may have thought it would be cool to take adv
antage of Miss Helen, but he didn’t plan on her dying. The other one… brought the knife, so…”

  Pierce watched her intently, hesitating visibly before asking, “But Norton?”

  Kate took a deep breath. “Norton . . . one person, very calm, very precise. Even the cuts were neat. There’s definitely a lot of motivation behind it. I mean, you don’t cut off a guy’s equipment just for the hell of it. It’s a very... personal... target.”

  Pierce winced. “That goes without saying. That leaves us with drug deal gone wrong — “

  “No.”

  “Woman scorned — “

  “Would have bobbed him while he slept.”

  “Or …”

  “Revenge,” Kate blinked, looked over at Pierce. “This Flynn case is pretty cold, huh?”

  Pierce nodded. “Seven, eight years. Hagen thinks there may be a connection. So many similarities between them. Returning cast members, location …”

  “And modus operandi,” Kate finished. “I think your superintendent may be right.”

  ***

  Outside the pub, Pierce and Kate walked toward the road, where Pierce’s black VW Jetta was parked. They paused briefly beside the car, and a nervous silence descended.

  “I should take you home. I mean, we’ll go to your place... I’ll take you to your home, and I’ll —,” Pierce stopped, closing his eyes in frustrated embarrassment.

  “Wow.”

  “I’m usually better at, uh…” Pierce shifted nervously as his voice trailed off.

  “Speaking?” Kate inquired.

  Pierce sighed. “Yeah.”

  Pierce’s mobile broke into the awkward moment. Thank God, Pierce thought, not even attempting to hide the relief he felt as he reached for the device.