Cry From The Grave A Thrilling Psychological Crime Mystery (Harry Briscombe Book 1)
Page 27
Another shake of the head. ‘I’d know if he was.’
She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. ‘I was just walking the dog like I always do and saw him lying there right in front of me. Twinkie ran over and wouldn’t come away. I had to go right up close to get her back. It was horrible.’
‘I’m sorry you were put through that,’ Harry said, glancing at the tiny, rat-like dog at her feet. He instantly dismissed the theory that the person who found the body should be high on the list of suspects. Anyone who could call their dog Twinkie …
He turned to Jo. ‘Have we got a statement from Mrs Engel?’
She nodded, and he turned back to the woman. ‘Is there someone at home? Or someone you can call?’
‘I’m a widow but I’ll call my friend when I get back. She’ll come over.’
‘Good. Then I don’t think we need to keep you any longer. Are you okay to drive home?’
‘I can walk back. I only live over there. My back gate opens onto the park.’
‘Well, I’m sure DC Evans here will see you home. We’ll be in touch if we need to talk to you again.’
Turning around, he made his way back to where a thorough search of the undergrowth near the body was already underway.
‘Found anything?’ he asked one of the SOCOs.
‘Nothing so far. Whoever did it was a pro if you ask me. But we’ll keep looking.’
‘Let me know if you find anything.’
Harry and Beth trudged back across the wet grass to their car and removed their temporary clothing.
‘If he was killed somewhere else and then dumped here, why leave him where he’s so easily going to be found?’ Beth asked. ‘It doesn’t look like they even tried to conceal the body, does it?’
Harry shook his head, impressed that she’d picked up on the same thought he had.
‘Good question. See if you can come up with an answer to it. Are you ready for some door-to-doors? Everyone whose garden backs onto here will need to be questioned to see if they saw or heard anything suspicious during the early hours. I’ll come back tomorrow morning, too – see if any of the regular dog walkers saw anything.’
Beth looked around. ‘That’s quite a few houses.’
‘Yeah, but look at the style of them – you’ll get to see how the other half live. Just be aware that any one of them could hold the murderer, though, so anything suspicious, you let me know straight away.’
She shot him a look. ‘You’re making me nervous now.’
Harry’s lip curved. ‘Don’t worry. It’s unlikely anyone’s going to do you in when the place is crawling with cops. We’ll do the first house together and after that you’re on your own. I’ll phone Geoff Peterson, get him down here to give you a hand while I get things rolling back at the station.’
***
It wasn’t much of an incident board, he was forced to acknowledge a couple of hours later, once he’d pinned his pictures, and what few bits of information he had, onto the wall chart – but it was a start. And that was what really fired him about the work he did. It started off as a few scrappy pieces of paper that grew in front of your eyes, to a maze of photos, information, clues and leads – each one going off on its own tangent, each one needing to be followed up with precision and care in case you missed something crucial. He’d always been a bit nerdy at school – probably not totally unrelated to the fact that his father was an archaeologist – and he thrived on the minutiae of a case, watching as the information built, sifting through the debris to find the pearls. He’d known from the age of ten that this was what he wanted to do. His parents had had reservations about his choice of career when he’d informed them, but not his gran. He smiled to himself as he remembered how fiercely she’d supported him. But then she’d brought him up and his decision had come as no surprise to her.
He studied the rather harrowing pictures of the unknown man on the information board. Had he woken up yesterday morning knowing he was in danger, or had his life started perfectly normally and then been snatched away from him on a quirk of fate? It was a question that always intrigued him, but he supposed it didn’t really matter as far as the victim was concerned. Dead was dead – a life cut brutally short whichever way you looked at it. It never failed to strike Harry how tenuous life was, and somewhere out there, there were people who cared about this man. It was a visit he never relished making.
His phone rang as he was still studying the picture.
‘Ah, Harry. Great.’ It was Amy, on duty on the front desk. ‘There’s a lady here wants to report a dodgy bloke who she reckons was following her last night after she left the pub. She says he tried to get her to go for a drink with him and was aggressive when she said no. Can you come down and deal with her? Geoff’s not around – he’s still doing the door-to-doors.’
‘On my way,’ Harry said, hanging up his phone and heading for the door. As he made his way down the stairs, he couldn’t help wondering what separated aggressive from pissed off. Most men probably had tendencies towards being pissed off if they felt they’d plucked up their courage to make a move on a girl and she subsequently turned them down. But true aggression was a different kettle of fish, as he’d seen only too often – and there’d been a couple of attacks on women in the last year that were still on file. They couldn’t afford to be complacent.
/… Cont’d
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