“I hope they don’t dive bomb the car,” Malcolm said as he looked at the enormous birds. “It’ll take you ages to clean. Look at the size of them!” Kate nodded in agreement and grinned at her boss.
By the time the policeman reached Malcolm and Kate, the young man in uniform was breathing hard.
“Hello, sir,” he said, gasping. “These bloody stones are desperate.” Malcolm looked at him, wondering how on earth he passed his fitness test when a brief walk on shingle nearly killed him. The policeman’s face was red and a thin rivulet of perspiration ran down the side of his face. “We’ve secured the scene, such as it is.” Malcolm looked more closely at the boat, and saw a thin ribbon of blue police tape fluttering around it. Apart from the policeman and fisherman still standing next to the tractor, the beach was deserted save for a dog walker in the distance.
“Very good, well done,” Malcolm congratulated the policeman as they walked towards the boat, picking their way across the stones. Stringing tape about might have been a pointless exercise, but it was protocol. “Any updates?”
“There’s a local journo over there.” The policeman nodded at the parked cars, now behind them. “In the silver Astra. He came for a sniff when he saw us putting the tape out, but we sent him on his way.”
“Which outlet?”
“Eastern Daily News.” Malcolm sighed as the policeman said this. The Eastern Daily News was the most popular paper in the area and read widely across both Norfolk and Suffolk. The discovery of the hand wouldn’t take long to reach their offices in Norwich, and from there the nationals would almost certainly pick it up.
“That’s unfortunate,” Kate said. “Doesn’t give us much time, does it?”
“No,” Malcolm replied. “But it doesn’t change the price of fish.”
“Very good, sir,” Kate muttered under her breath.
It only took them a couple of minutes to reach the boat further down the beach. When they arrived, the other policeman introduced Malcolm and Kate to the fisherman.
“This is Mr Bywater, sir. John Bywater,” the policeman said. “He’s the chap who found the hand.”
Malcolm looked at the fisherman’s weathered face, evidence of a life lived outdoors. He shook the man’s hand, noticing how calloused his palms were.
“Detective Superintendent Malcolm Griffiths, Mr Bywater,” he said, “and this is my colleague, Detective Constable Kate Hunter. Is it okay if we call you John?”
“It’s my name,” the fisherman replied gruffly. “How do. You from Norwich?”
“Wymondham,” Kate replied, making sure that she pronounced the town’s name properly. Windum.
“Very nice,” John replied. “Like it down there, I do.”
“Could you tell us what happened, John?” Kate said. Malcolm remained silent, happy for her to take the lead.
“Not much to say. I pulled a pot up and a hand fell out.”
“Was there anything else in the pot?”
“Crabs. Mackerel bones.” Malcolm saw John glance at him with a grimace. “Don’t think I’ll be eating crab for a while, mister.”
“No, me neither,” Malcolm replied.
“What did you do with the hand?” Kate asked him.
“It’s in a tub on the boat. A small one with a decent lid, so you can take it away, like. I left it in water.”
“Excellent, that’s perfect,” Malcolm said, knowing that this would help preserve the hand until it could be examined. He turned to the policeman who had walked up the beach to meet them earlier. Time for the youngster to get some more exercise. “Take the tub up to the car and put it in the boot. Then head back to base and file the summary.”
“Yes, sir,” the policeman said. When the fisherman lifted the tub out of the boat though, his face fell. The tub was quite large, maybe two feet across and full of sea water. John handed it to the policeman who hefted it into his arms and set off up the beach accompanied by his colleague.
“He’ll be back in a bit,” Kate said, quietly.
“How d'you mean?” Malcolm asked.
“I’ve still got the car keys.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Malcolm laughed.
“Don’t be cruel, Kate,” he said, watching the policeman struggling up the shingle. “Go after him.”
When Kate had left Malcolm alone with the fisherman, he turned to him.
“How long have you been fishing here for, John?” he asked.
“Forty years, give or take.”
“You’ve put a shift in then?”
“Aye,” John replied, sighing up a cigarette. “Think I’m done now, though. After that.” He nodded at the small group with the tub. “Shook me right up, that has.”
“Must have been a surprise.”
“Something like that.” He pulled on his cigarette, turning his head to make sure the plume of smoke didn’t get in Malcolm’s face. “What happens next?”
“We’ll take the, er, the remains to the medical examiner for him to have a look.” Malcolm fished in his pocket for a business card. “If there’s anything we can do for you, just give me a ring. Do you need a lift home?”
“Nah, thanks,” John replied. He slapped the boat with the flat of his hand. “I need to get this back onto the hardstanding, and I don’t live that far away anyhow.”
Malcolm made his way to the car park, enjoying the fresh air while he could. When he was younger, he had come to the coast all the time, but he rarely got the chance anymore. Maybe, he thought as he picked his way across the stones, he should make more of an effort.
When he got to the car park, the marked police car had disappeared. Kate was standing by a lone car, parked away from the others. She beckoned him over to where she stood.
“It’s definitely him, boss,” she said when he approached her.
“How do you know?” Kate gestured at the car, a lime-green Nissan covered in bird shit and traces of salt. It didn’t look as if it had been moved for a while.
“That’s his car.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yep. I did a PNC check. It’s definitely his.”
“Good job, Kate,” Malcolm said with a sigh. “Let’s drop the hand off at the medical examiners. Then we’d better go and tell her.”
7
Gareth walked into the lounge bar of the Heartsease pub, a large establishment close to his office. A good friend of his called Big Joe ran it, but he was on holiday in Ibiza all week so Gareth just nodded at the temporary barman by way of a greeting as he walked toward the bar.
A couple of months ago, Big Joe had finally bitten the bullet and spent some money on the inside of the pub. He wouldn’t be drawn on the exact amount, but the place had been closed for a fortnight, and Gareth suspected it was thousands of pounds' worth of work.
When it had reopened, Gareth couldn’t believe his eyes the first time he walked in. The inside of the pub had been transformed from a proper drinkers’ pub, complete with peeling, yellowed walls that dated all the way back to before the smoking ban, to a looking modern bar. It had a beige colour scheme, brand new tables and chairs, and a completely revamped menu which made it a lot more attractive for lunch.
“What’ll it be, sir,” the barman said. Gareth almost laughed at being called sir. He would have to mention it to Big Joe when he came back from his holiday.
“Large Diet Coke please, mate,” Gareth replied. “Ice but no lemon.” While the barman poured his drink, Gareth checked his phone to see if there were any messages from Laura. Seeing the empty screen, he tapped out a quick note to her.
I’m in the H. What do you want?
A few seconds later, she replied.
Just a lime and soda, please. Thx!
“And a lime and soda, please,” Gareth added. A moment later, he picked up both drinks and crossed the bar to a table in the corner. While he waited for Laura, he looked around the inside of the pub, reminiscing about what the place meant to him. It was here that he’d seen Jennifer, his wife
, for the first time. She had been in here with her tosser of a boyfriend, and Gareth’d had to have a word with him. Not that long afterwards, Gareth and Jennifer had got together. Not here though. He wouldn’t have brought her here back then, before the redecoration. Then they got married. Then she died.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Gareth heard a female voice say. He shook his head to dispel the memories and looked up at Laura. She was standing in front of him, silhouetted against the windows and even though her face was in shadow, he could tell she was smiling.
“Hey, you,” Gareth said, getting to his feet. “You have a good morning? Put some more bad guys away?”
“Nope,” Laura said, kissing him on the cheek. “Last time I saw them, they were all drinking in the Wig and Pen.”
“Maybe next time then,” Gareth replied, sitting back down. The fact that he and Laura had met when he was in prison wasn’t lost on him, and he waited until she had taken her suit jacket off and placed it carefully on the back of her chair. “What do you fancy for lunch?”
A few moments later, Gareth went to the bar and ordered for both of them. Laura only wanted a panini, but Gareth was starving so had gone for a lasagna with chips.
“You’ll get fat,” Laura chided when he told her what he’d ordered.
“One day, maybe,” Gareth replied. “But I’ll go to the gym later. Work it all off.”
“You’ll be in there for a while,” Laura said, smirking. “Have you seen the size of the portions of chips?” She took a sip from her lime and soda. “So what were you thinking about when I walked in?”
“Why do you ask?” Gareth asked, surprised at the question.
“You looked so, I don’t know, not sad but almost sad. Does that make sense?” Gareth looked at Laura. He hesitated before answering, unsure whether or not to tell her.
“I met her in here.” He buried his eyes in his drink as he said this, knowing that he wouldn’t have to explain who he was talking about.
“Jennifer.” It was a statement from Laura, not a question. Gareth didn’t reply, but just nodded.
“Sorry, I should have suggested somewhere else for lunch.”
“Why?” Laura asked, taking another sip from her drink. “There’s nothing wrong with being here.” They paused their conversation as the barman brought their meals over to them, and Gareth took the opportunity to look closely at Laura. She looked nothing like Jennifer. His wife had red hair, Laura’s was auburn. Jennifer’s face was slimmer, more elfin. Laura’s was rounder, as were her lips. He flicked his eyes over her, just for a second. The light from the windows behind her was shining through her thin blouse, and he could see the outline of her body through the material. Gareth swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Gareth?” Laura said as she picked up her panini and prepared to take a bite from it.
“Hmm?” he replied.
“Could you do me a favour?”
“Sure. What?”
“Stop staring at my tits and eat your lasagna.”
“I wasn’t star–”
“Shush.” She was looking at him with a playful smile on her face. “Eat up, there’s a good boy. You’ll need your strength for the gym.”
To his surprise, Gareth felt his cheeks colouring. He picked up his fork and stabbed it into the pasta in front of him. The conversation he and Laura had just had was an almost identical replay of one he had had with Jennifer in a different pub. Back then, just like now, he had been busted.
They ate in silence for a while, their meal interrupted briefly by the barman checking if they had everything they needed, and whether everything was okay. Gareth had waved him away, telling the young man that everything was fine.
“Gareth, I’m sorry,” Laura eventually said as she finished the last piece of her panini. She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “That was out of order of me.”
“That’s okay, Laura. No problem,” Gareth replied, looking at her inscrutable expression.
“But you were staring.” The smile from earlier had crept back onto her face.
“I wasn’t staring, Laura,” Gareth replied, thinking hard. “I was admiring. Appreciating the beauty of your form, like a Manet painting of some bird in a garden. It’s the light behind you. It was shining through your blouse and it was outlining your, er, your profile.” He sat back in his chair, pleased with his response even if the ending was a bit shit.
“A Manet painting? Very cultured, Gareth,” Laura said, her smile broadening. “Is it the light through yonder window?”
“Eh?” Gareth replied. “Sorry, you’ve lost me.” Laura’s face fell and she opened her mouth as if she was about to explain something to him when Gareth’s mobile started buzzing on the table. Saved by the bell, Gareth thought as he picked up his phone and looked at the screen.
“Annette?” Gareth said as he answered the call, suddenly alert. His little sister rarely called him, preferring instead to text. “Is everything okay?”
“Gareth,” Annette’s tinny voice came down the line. “Can you come round?”
“Now?” Gareth looked at Laura. Her eyebrows went up a notch in a silent question. “What’s going on?”
He listened for a moment, staring at Laura as he did so. The second he disconnected the call, she leaned toward him urgently.
“What is it? Is there news?”
“I need to go round to Annette’s, Laura,” he replied. “The police are on their way. They’ve found something.”
“What?”
“They wouldn’t tell her over the phone.”
“Do you want me to come too?”
“Do you not have to be back at work?”
“Not really, no,” Laura said, finishing her drink. “Paul’s at the hospital for some sort of test. So I can come if you want me to?”
“I’d love you to come with me, Laura. Would you mind?”
8
Annette muttered to herself as she pushed the hoover around her lounge. The carpet didn’t need hoovering, but she needed to do something to take her mind off the fact that the police would be here soon. She just hoped that Gareth got there before they did—if it was bad news that they were bringing, then she didn’t want to be on her own when she got it.
After she put the hoover back into the cupboard underneath the stairs, Annette grabbed a duster and polish and set about polishing the surfaces in the lounge. As she did so, she picked up a photograph of Philip that had sat on top of the bookcase since the day he had moved in. The photograph had been taken before she had met him, and Annette didn’t even know where it had been taken, or by whom. It wasn’t anywhere in this country—the palm trees in the background and white sand he was standing on proved that—and he was looking relaxed in the sunshine. It was typical of the man, Annette thought, that he wouldn’t even put any photographs of them together up in the house, preferring instead to have one of just him, doing what he loved.
Annette jumped at the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside the house. She darted to the lounge window and peered through the net curtains. Thank God, it was Gareth. He climbed out of his truck and was followed—to Annette’s surprise—by a young woman. Despite the situation she was in herself, Annette hoped for a few seconds that perhaps her older brother had found someone new. She had never even met his wife, Jennifer, or attended his trial. Philip would have none of it. I don’t care if he is family, he had said at the time. He’s made his bed, now he’s got to lie in it. By the time Annette eventually came back to England, Gareth was a free man already.
She put the duster away and hurried to the door to let Gareth and his companion in.
“Gareth,” Annette said as she opened the front door. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“Hey, little sis,” Gareth replied, pulling her into a hug. Annette looked over his broad shoulder at the woman with him. She was very pretty, and dressed in a business suit like she had just stepped out of a boardroom meeting. “Let me introduce Laura,” he said as he disentangled his arms from
hers. “Laura, this is my little sister, Annette.”
“Hi, Laura,” Annette said, making an effort to smile at the woman. They shook hands formally, which Annette thought was a bit strange.
“Hello, Annette,” Laura said. “I’m really pleased to meet you. Gareth’s told me a lot about you.”
“All good, I hope?” Annette replied, keeping the smile forced onto her face as she slapped Gareth’s arm. She would have preferred it if he had come on his own.
“Yes, Annette,” Gareth said, winking at her as he replied. “All good.”
A few moments later, Annette was alone with Gareth in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. Laura was sitting in the lounge, busy on her phone. Or at least pretending to be. With the noise of the kettle covering her voice, Annette whispered to Gareth.
“She seems nice,” she said, nodding through the door between the kitchen and the lounge toward Laura. “Are you…?”
“No, Annette,” Gareth replied with a frown. Annette thought she probably wasn’t the first person to assume that the two of them were an item. “We’re just friends. Laura’s a lawyer. It was her firm that got me out of prison.”
“Seriously?” Annette said, reappraising the young woman in the other room. “She doesn’t look old enough.”
“She’s about the same age as you.”
“She looks younger.”
The kettle boiled for a few seconds before cutting off. Annette filled a mug, her hand shaking as she did so. Some water spilled onto the granite worktop, and she swore under her breath.
“Here,” Gareth said, taking the kettle from her. “Let me do it.” He filled up another two mugs and wiped away the spilt water with a tea towel. “What did they say on the phone?”
Single Handed (Gareth Dawson Series Book 3) Page 3