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- Herausgeber: Saxon Publishing
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
When a faceless body is found floating in the river on a summer’s morning, Detective Kay Hunter and her team are tasked with finding out the man’s identity – and where he came from.
The investigation takes a sinister turn when an abandoned boat is found, covered in blood stains and containing a child’s belongings.
Under mounting pressure from a distraught family and an unforgiving media, the police are in a race against time – but they have no leads, and no motive for the events that have taken place.
Will Kay be able to find a ruthless killer and a missing child before it’s too late?
Cradle to Grave is the eighth book in the Detective Kay Hunter series by USA Today bestselling author Rachel Amphlett, and perfect for readers who love fast-paced murder mysteries.
Praise for Cradle to Grave:
"Great plot, great characters, and a thoroughly enjoyable read" Goodreads
"I appreciate a good police procedural and these books definitely fit the bill!" Goodreads
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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Cradle to Grave
A Detective Kay Hunter murder mystery
Rachel Amphlett
Copyright © 2019 by Rachel Amphlett
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. While the locations in this book are a mixture of real and imagined, the characters are totally fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Reading Order & Checklist
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
About the Author
Missed a book? Download the FREE Official Reading Order and Checklist to Rachel Amphlett’s books here
Also available in audiobook:
One
Michael Cornish placed his hand on his young son’s shoulder as they crossed the footbridge over the River Medway, mindful of the hidden dangers from the dark waters below.
The seven-year-old hadn’t stopped talking since they’d left their house in Loose half an hour earlier. At first he’d been sleepy, grumbling about being woken at six o’clock in the morning. Then, as Michael had checked in his rear-view mirror that the boy had fastened his seat belt properly, Daniel’s face had broken into a wide grin, his sheer joy and excitement at the prospect of spending the day fishing with his dad evident by the questions peppered from the back seat as the car had woven through the roads towards the river.
Michael knew it wouldn’t last.
It was this fear that now kept Michael’s attention on the narrow stone-covered path that snaked away from the blue railings of the bridge and along a public byway at the water’s edge. He couldn’t shake the thought that he only had a few more years left before Daniel decided that hanging out with his dad on a Saturday morning was the last thing he wanted to do.
Fear turned to sadness; a pre-emptive grief.
‘Dad, look!’
Michael turned his attention to the heron that rose into the sky.
‘We scared him, right?’
‘He’ll be back, don’t worry. I’ve seen him here before. Mind your step.’
He tightened his grip as Daniel stumbled, then righted himself.
As they walked, Michael turned his gaze to three boats on the far side of the riverbank, varying sizes of cabin cruiser that bobbed on a gentle current, colourful hulls offset by white decking. In all but the first one, the curtains were closed, the owners away – or enjoying a lie-in.
A lone figure sat on the back deck of the first cruiser, an older man who wore a baseball cap as he polished a brass trombone, the metalwork gleaming in the sunlight. He raised his hand in greeting as they passed.
Daniel waved back, grinning. ‘Do you think he’s going to play that, Dad?’
‘I hope not. I don’t think his neighbours would thank him for it this time of the morning. Maybe he was playing in a band last night, or getting ready for tonight.’
‘Could we hire a boat one day?’
‘Of course. We’ll have to check with your mum first.’
‘She could come, too. She’d like it.’
‘You’re right, I think she would.’
‘Will I catch anything?’ Unperturbed by the terrain, the boy swatted his bamboo pole fishing net at a patch of stinging nettles they passed.
‘Maybe some small stuff. Remember what I said, though – you need to be quiet and keep still, otherwise you’ll scare them away.’
‘Okay.’ Daniel lifted the bright-red net to his face and pushed his glasses up his nose, frowning. ‘Hope I catch more than just tadpoles this time.’
‘Wrong time of year, mate. Don’t worry. You’ll get something, I’m sure.’
His son’s enthusiasm took him back to his time growing up in Tovil, fishing with his own father at this very spot and trying to land something bigger than a minnow.
Not a pike, though.
Something special.
Then he’d gotten older, and for years the river hadn’t factored into his life at all. It wasn’t until he and Michelle had Daniel that he’d remembered what it was like to be that age – and what he missed about it. He might work all hours in his role as a mobile mechanic, but he spent time with Daniel whenever he could, knowing Michelle relished the few hours of peace and quiet their Saturday outings afforded her.
Michael’s attention was taken by a sudden rumble to his right, moments before a three-car passenger train roared past, its wheels swooshing along the line towards Paddock Wood. As it disappeared between the trees, a calmness returned to the riverbank.
A soft plop reached him, and he paused, crouching next to his son.
‘Keep still. See that log poking out from the bank?’
‘Yeah.’
‘The water’s rippling, see?’
‘Why? What is it?’
‘Either a water vole, or an otter. Quiet now.’
Holding his breath, Michael pointed at movement on the water’s surface as a sleek brown streak of fur burst from the water and scampered up the opposite bank.
‘Otter! We saw an otter!’ Daniel spun around and grinned at him. ‘That was so cool.’
‘Did you like that?’
‘Yeah – wait until I tell them at school next week.’ He slipped his hand into Michael’s and tugged. ‘Let’s fish, Dad.’
‘Okay. There’s a good spot along here, over by that tree. Your granddad used to bring me here when I was your age. Let’s go.’
Moments later, Michael cast off his line and dug his boots into the soft undergrowth, his shoulders relaxing.
Daniel crouched at the water’s edge, his brow furrowed as he swept his net back and forth in the shallows, and Michael smiled at the boy’s expression of sheer concentration. A light breeze ruffled his strawberry-blond hair that was darkening every year, another reminder that his childhood was passing too fast for his father’s liking.
Michael craned his neck to see further up the riverbank, but saw no-one else. They had the place to themselves. Not that he was overly surprised – with the summer drawing to its inevitable end, most people were making the most of the weather and spending Friday nights having barbecues or sitting outside in pub gardens until darkness set in. It was only because it was his turn to be designated driver last night that he was here, and Michelle was having a lie-in.
‘What do you think, shall we buy some cakes on the way home? Do you think your mum would like that?’
‘Yes!’ Daniel grinned up at him, then went back to inspecting his net. ‘Haven’t caught anything yet, Dad.’
‘Patience, kiddo. Waiting is half the fun.’
Michael’s gaze turned back to the river, and he blinked as he caught sight of some thing further upstream.
For a moment, he couldn’t understand what he was seeing. The spread-eagled form floated along on the gentle current, brushing against the reeds that clumped against the bank only a few metres away, then spun around on an eddy and drew closer.
A chill crept across Michael’s shoulders, goosebumps rising on his arms. He swallowed, gagging as the form became something more tangible, more terrifying.
It drew closer, water lapping over the dark material covering the lower half, the upper end covered in dark matted hair that seemed to––
‘Daniel? Grab your net. We’re going.’
‘But, Dad––’
‘Now, please.’
He reached out and steered Daniel away from the riverbank so he was facing the train line instead, all the while fighting down a rising panic.
Pulling out his mobile phone, he peered at the screen.
No signal.
Heart racing, he wound in his line, cursing under his breath as it snagged and tangled around the reel. He snipped the trailing hook and dropped that and the broken line into the tackle box, wrapped his fingers around the handle, and then grabbed Daniel’s wrist.
‘Come on. Back to the car.’
‘What’s wrong, Daddy?’
‘Nothing. I just remembered I promised your mum I’d have you home by now.’
‘But we only just got here.’
‘I know. We’ll do this another day, though. Promise.’
Michael bit back the lie, knowing he would never fish on this stretch of the river again.
Maybe never fish again.
Ever.
As they approached the footbridge, he glanced over his shoulder to the waterway. The trombone player had disappeared inside the cabin on his boat, the others were still deserted.
Beyond, by the tree he’d been standing under with his son only moments ago, the body continued its gruesome journey.
He placed the tackle box on the ground and looked at his phone again. Two bars of signal, thank God.
‘What is your emergency, please?’
‘Police.’
‘Putting you through.’
‘Daddy?’ Daniel’s voice hit a higher note, and he stepped closer to Michael, dropping his fishing net next to the tackle box. His bottom lip quivered. ‘What’s going on?’
He gave Daniel a gentle shove. ‘Go and wait by the car. I’ll be there in a second.’
Michael’s son trudged onwards, not asking why, and not turning back. His heart gave a lurch; his son would never understand, because he’d never tell him what he’d seen.
‘Hello? What is your emergency, please?’
Michael took a deep breath, realising at that moment his life would never be the same. He closed his eyes, and tried to keep his voice steady.
‘There’s a dead man floating down the River Medway near Tovil Bridge.’
Two
Detective Inspector Kay Hunter slammed shut the door of the mud-streaked silver pool car and hurried after her detective sergeant.
Ian Barnes, late forties, greyer around the temples this past year, held up the crime scene tape draped between two ornamental posts, and pointed at the river running beneath their feet.
‘This is the outer cordon,’ he said. ‘The body got tangled up under one of the pylons of the bridge after the call came in. Uniform organised the underwater search team and forensics.’
‘Witness?’ said Kay.
‘Got sent home after his initial statement was taken. You heard he had his seven-year-old son with him?’
‘Christ. Did the boy see it?’
‘No. I figured uniform did the right thing in the circumstances.’
‘Sounds good.’
They paused in the middle of the bridge and Kay peered over the railings, hooking a tendril of blonde hair behind her ear.
Below, the pathway alongside the River Medway was teeming with white-suited forensic specialists and their accumulated equipment.
A team of three divers stood up to their knees in the shallows, their attention taken by activities underneath the steel and concrete construction. A fourth diver emerged from the middle of the water to Kay’s left, his neoprene suit glistening as he raised his hand and gestured to his colleagues.
‘All clear there, then,’ said Barnes.
A group of six people were milling about on a concrete pier beside the boats. Two uniformed officers stood close by with their notebooks out, one holding a radio to his mouth.
‘What about the boat owners?’ Kay pointed to the three cabin cruisers further upstream on the opposite bank. She spotted two women amongst the men, and all seemed to be middle-aged or older. ‘What do we know about them?’
‘Locals. One couple – the pair nearest that boat at the end – are from Thanet. Apparently, they come down here every other weekend for a break. The ones who own the middle boat are from Yalding and stopped here overnight on their way up to the estuary later today. All bar one of them were asleep,’ said Barnes. ‘The nearest boat is owned by a local jazz musician. He saw our witness this morning as he was making his way up the riverbank towards a popular fishing spot. You can see it up there, by that beech tree.’
Kay shielded her eyes against the morning sunlight.
The riverbank curved away from Tovil, its path mirrored by the railway line to the right beyond a line of trees. A wide grassy bank sloped gently from the railway line to the Medway Footpath that stretched onwards towards East Farleigh and beyond. Wild flowers flourished, and a pair of swans graced the water’s edge. The whole vista was one of Kentish idyll.
Except for the body underneath the bridge where she stood.
She slapped her hands on the railing and turned. ‘Let’s go. Who’s in charge down there?’
‘Harry Davis. He was out on patrol with Parker when the call came in. They were first on scene.’
Kay followed Barnes down the other side of the footbridge and raised her hand at the older police sergeant who hovered on the footpath.
‘Morning, Harry. Good work getting this organised.’
He handed a clipboard to her. ‘Thanks, guv. Morning, Ian.’
Kay signed the crime scene log, then paused at the blue and white tape that fluttered in the breeze off the waterway and cast her gaze towards the group of divers now conversing with the CSIs on the path a few metres away.
‘What’s the current status?’
Harry turned and gestured towards a form that lay amongst a tangle of reeds beside one of the divers. He wrinkled his nose. ‘They’ve managed to retrieve the body from the bridge pylon about ten minutes ago. Harriet is here. Lucas is around somewhere – he’s already confirmed the bloke is dead.’
Kay sought out the Home Office pathologist and spotted him further up the riverbank, the tops of office buildings in Maidstone visible through the line of trees beyond his position.
Lucas Anderson held his mobile phone to his ear while he gesticulated in the air. He saw her, pointed to his watch, then returned to his phone call.
Kay’s eyes moved to the shortest of the three CSIs cloaked in white suits as the CSI lead, Harriet Baker, started to move towards them.
‘Morning, you two,’ she said. She tugged at the mask that covered her mouth and nose, then jerked her gloved thumb over her shoulder. ‘You’re going to have one hell of a job identifying him.’
Kay’s heart fell. ‘Has he been in the water too long?’
‘No – he hasn’t got a face.’
A stunned silence followed Harriet’s words.
‘You what?’ said Barnes eventually.
‘Yes, I know. God knows who he pissed off but he didn’t fall in the Medway by accident, that much is certain,’ said the CSI lead.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Kay. She glanced over her shoulder as Lucas approached. ‘Morning.’
‘Kay.’ He shook hands with her, then Barnes, and tucked his phone into his pocket.
‘Busy morning?’ said Barnes, raising an eyebrow.
‘I’ve got two technicians on holiday,’ said Lucas. ‘And now, this.’
‘All right,’ said Kay. ‘Fill us in, you two – what have you managed to ascertain so far?’
Lucas scratched his chin. ‘Obviously I’ll confirm once the post mortem is complete, but Harriet’s probably told you our man is missing most of his face. Initial examination seems to point to a gunshot wound to the back of the head, with the exit wound causing the damage to the front.’
‘How long has he been in there, do you think?’ said Kay.
‘Not long. There isn’t a lot of bloating to his body, so assuming he fell – or was pushed – face down, I don’t think he ingested much water, and I doubt there’s enough in his lungs to suggest he drowned. Again, I’ll confirm once we do the PM.’
‘Was he killed along this stretch?’ Kay turned away from the pathologist and watched the group of CSIs who were working, heads down, under a copse of trees that lined the riverbank further upstream.
‘I don’t believe so,’ said Harriet. ‘My team are processing that scene further up to rule it out – it’s where the witness said he first saw the body in the water.’
‘So he floated here?’ said Barnes.
‘That’s what we think, reading the witness statement and talking to the divers, yes.’
Kay shielded her eyes and squinted at the river as it curved away to the left and out of sight a quarter of a mile from where she stood.
‘Then where the bloody hell did he come from?’
Three
By the time Kay and Barnes retreated over the footbridge to their car, three more patrol cars and a coroner’s van had joined the throng of vehicles parked in the dead-end street.
An inquisitive crowd had gathered at a third cordon behind two patrol vehicles near the T-junction with the main road, their necks craned as they tried to find out what was going on.
Kay glared up at the sky at the beat of a helicopter’s blades, then back towards the river. ‘Bloody hell, Ian. The vultures are circling.’
Barnes raised his hand to one of the coroner’s team and gestured towards the footbridge. ‘Can you work as quickly as possible to get the body away?’ he said. ‘Before that lot get any footage for tonight’s news. It’ll only be a matter of time before we have more reporters down here at this rate.’
The man’s brow furrowed. ‘Has the pathologist been?’
‘He’s down there with the CSIs, so you’ll be able to get clearance from him to move the victim.’
‘Okay. Leave it with us.’
Kay watched the man make his way over the footbridge, and then tapped Barnes on the arm and pointed at the car.
‘Back to the station. We need to get the team up to date with what’s going on down here, and then take a look at where our victim might have hit the water.’
She scrolled through her text messages as Barnes drove, delegating tasks from her existing caseload as much as possible so that she could concentrate on the major inquiry that would follow the discovery of the body in the river.
Raising her head as the car slowed, she was surprised to find they were already at the security gate to the town centre station.
‘How fast were you going?’
‘It’s early. The traffic’s light. You would’ve noticed, but you haven’t looked up from that screen since we left Tovil,’ said Barnes, and winked.
He led the way through the lower levels of the police station and up a flight of stairs, turned right at the end and pushed open the door into a large office space.
Sunlight streamed through the windows at the front of the room, the sound of passing traffic on Palace Avenue filtering through the thick glass.
Kay paused at the threshold and let Barnes go ahead of her, then took a deep breath.
A new investigation, and with it all the complexities and problems that would no doubt test her skills to the limit.
She exhaled as a familiar lanky form weaved between the desks towards her, followed closely by a woman in her early thirties with short jet black hair who was struggling to keep up with him.
Gavin Piper nodded to Barnes at his desk as he drew closer. ‘We got here as soon as we could.’
Kay narrowed her eyes at him. The detective constable’s blond hair stuck up in spikes despite his efforts to tame it, and she shook her head at his tanned skin.
‘It’s not fair, Piper. You were only away for five days.’
He snorted. ‘And some welcome back this is, guv. Do we know who he is?’
‘No – and it’s not going to be easy, either. Lucas said the victim’s face was shot away.’
Detective Constable Carys Miles winced, then hissed through her teeth. ‘Bloody hell. I wonder who he pissed off? Any identification?’
Kay shook her head. ‘Nothing at all, not according to Harriet. Let’s move over there, and I’ll update you.’
She brushed past Gavin and crossed to where he had set up a freshly wiped whiteboard. Next to it, he’d cleared all the usual social notices from a cork board and had pinned a map of the River Medway along the top of it, the location of the victim’s body already highlighted.
Glancing over her shoulder at a gaggle of uniformed and suited junior personnel who hovered at the periphery of the small group, she snatched up a thick marker pen and turned to them.
‘Good start with this, Piper.’ She paused as Carys thrust a mug of coffee at her. ‘Thanks. Right, actions – Gavin, I need you to organise setting up the rest of this incident room as soon as possible. Liaise with Theresa in admin and see if you can get personnel to assign Debbie West to the team for the duration of the investigation. She’s familiar with everyone, and I’d like to have her on board as office manager.’
Gavin scribbled in his notebook as she spoke. ‘Got that, guv. What about IT?’
‘Get them to help you – we’ll need as many desks set up as possible before lunchtime today. I have a feeling this one is going to take most of our resources this week. Carys – can you make sure this map is complete? Find out how far up this stretch of water goes before it meets a lock or weir. Phone the local office of the Environment Agency as well to see if they’ll provide an idea of flow rates on this stretch of the river. We need to find out where that body could’ve travelled from before the search teams get down there, so we can narrow down a scope of work for them.’
The detective constable looked up from her notetaking. ‘Do you want search teams starting at the possible point of origin as well as from where the body was found at Tovil?’
‘Definitely,’ said Kay. ‘We need to explore the possibility that whoever did this to him may have walked part of the Medway Footpath to make their escape, and having a second search team start from where he might have entered the water, we’ll halve the time. We need results on this today. Ian, I need you to work the missing persons angle from here this morning. Find out if what we know about our victim so far – height, average weight, hair colour – ties in with any reports on file.’
‘Will do, guv.’
Kay finished writing her notes on the board, then re-capped the pen and faced her team once more. ‘Carys – as soon as you’ve finished talking with the Environment Agency I want you down at the river coordinating with Harriet’s lot and the uniformed search team. I’ll need a running report about anything they find so I can keep the team at this end up to date.’
The detective constable nodded. ‘What about media, guv?’
On cue, the clatter of a helicopter reverberated through the windows, and Kay raised an eyebrow.
‘Leave that with me. I’ll speak with DCI Sharp about a coordinated statement before that lot start the rumour mill circulating. Dismissed.’
Four
Carys took a map from Harry Davis and narrowed her eyes against the glare off the River Medway.
The police divers had dispersed half an hour ago, satisfied that the waterway held no further clues to the victim’s identity, and now a group of uniformed police officers and forensic specialists hovered on the towpath, waiting for her instructions.
Her mobile phone vibrated in the vest she’d slipped over her jacket. Her heart missed a beat when she saw the phone number displayed on the screen.
‘DC Carys Miles.’
‘Detective, it’s Ray Annerley from the Environment Agency. I’ve got the information you were after.’
‘Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. What can you tell me?’
‘Based on the time of year and the fact we haven’t had a flood event in recent days, we reckon that your man could’ve entered the water anywhere from East Farleigh lock onwards before reaching Tovil.’
Carys bit back a sigh. ‘That’s nearly two miles.’
‘It’s the best we can do, I’m afraid. The first lock from your position is at East Farleigh – I don’t think he would’ve passed through that without someone noticing.’
‘How long do you think he was in the water for?’
‘From there? A day at most.’
Carys thanked him, and ended the call. At least the Environment Agency’s timings matched the pathologist’s initial findings.
‘Okay, everyone. Gather around, please. Have you all got a copy of the map showing the Medway Path from Harry?’
A murmur rumbled through the group in response.
‘I’ve had the Environment Agency on the phone, and they’ve just confirmed that our search area should start at East Farleigh lock. Given flow rates and current weather conditions, they concur with Lucas Anderson’s opinion that our victim was in the water for no more than a day. Bearing that in mind, we’ll split up into two groups – one to continue from here, and the other starting at East Farleigh lock.’
Pausing, she checked her notes. A bead of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades, and she forced herself to relax. She had conducted many searches before, but had never been responsible for leading one.
The burst of pride that had surged through her at Kay’s instructions to carry out the task threatened to turn to anxiety as the sheer scale of what lay ahead became apparent. It didn’t help that there hadn’t been time to engage the Police Search Advisor to assist in the task – the person responsible was stuck in traffic outside Folkestone and wouldn’t reach Maidstone for another two hours.
Kay hadn’t been prepared to wait, so in the meantime had instructed the allocated Lost Person Search Manager – Sergeant Harry Davis – to coordinate the initial parameters.
Carys cleared her throat. ‘Our search objective is to find any evidence that might be related to our victim, or the perpetrator of the crime. At the present time, we don’t know where the victim entered the water, so you’ll need to include signs of a struggle, blood spatter from a gunshot wound, or other indicators. We also need to bear in mind that his killer may have escaped along the Medway Path after shooting him.’
Turning over the map, she indicated the satellite photograph that had been printed on the back. ‘If you take a look at this, you’ll see that between here and East Farleigh there are several egress routes the killer could have taken. We have another uniform team conducting house-to-house enquiries in streets that border the river, but you’ll need to check all footpaths leading off the main Medway Path as well.’
She cast her gaze around the gathered throng. ‘I realise this is a massive undertaking, but we’ve got almost eleven hours of daylight available to us. DI Hunter is seeking further assistance from Headquarters to bring in additional personnel later today to continue the search. Any questions?’
When no-one raised their hand, she turned to the older police sergeant next to her.
‘Harry, can you lead the first group from here?’
Davis nodded, then began to bark orders at his colleagues.
Carys watched the group move up the towpath away from the footbridge, and turned to the remaining personnel.
‘Let’s go.’
Batting a dancing crowd of midges away from her face, Carys pulled down her navy baseball cap and cursed under her breath as she stood on the medieval bridge that crossed the River Medway at East Farleigh.
A steady stream of traffic flowed behind her.
She hadn’t dared to suggest the bridge be closed, given the assertions by the Environment Agency that the victim had entered the water after the lock to the left of the structure.
The busy thoroughfare was a popular route into the southern suburbs of Maidstone, with the narrow road managed by sets of traffic lights that allowed a few cars through at a time.
If she closed off access without sufficient evidence to give her cause to do so, she’d never hear the end of it from her colleagues in Traffic.
Her lips narrowed as she ran her eyes over the weir to the right of the lock, a concrete quay separating the two, enabling boat owners to progress along the river and the local authority to manage the flow of water.
Leaning her arms on the ragstone-constructed arch, she watched as the group of uniformed officers made their way along the path in a short line.
She’d elected to split them up – one line of five officers taking the lead, a second group behind them. Three forensic specialists hovered at the rear, ready to take any findings into evidence for processing and elimination.
Carys took a deep breath, then waited for a break in the traffic and jogged across the road.
An old converted red-brick pumping station stood to her left, floor-to-ceiling blinds across the windows to offset the bright sunshine – or the sight of so many uniformed police officers crawling over the landscape.
She slowed as she reached the car park beyond the pumping station, squeezed between two patrol cars, and hurried back along the path and under the bridge towards her colleagues.
Brushing past the CSIs, she caught up with PC Aaron Stewart in the second search group.
He paused, his large frame casting a shadow over Carys.
Shielding her eyes, she jutted her chin towards the two teams. ‘Anything yet?’
‘No. No signs of blood spatter on the sides of the lock on the downstream edges, and we’ve checked the other side nearest the weir, too.’
Carys pulled out her mobile phone. ‘I’ve got full signal down here, so I’ll join you.’
‘Sounds good.’
They fell into line, and she lowered her gaze to the ground. Each officer worked methodically, sweeping their eyes across the rough stone and dirt path or, in the case of the two officers over to her far left, the thick vegetation that grew between the Medway Path and the fence erected beside the railway.
Pulling up her collar to ward off the sun, Carys looked up at a call from the group ahead of theirs.
To the right, jutting out into the water, was a concrete jetty and she held her breath as three officers spread out and began combing the rough surface for clues. She recognised PC Dave Morrison as he crouched on all fours and leaned over the edge, before easing back to a sitting position and pointing his thumb downwards.
‘No bloodstains or anything there, either,’ said Stewart.
Carys unfolded her map. ‘Where’s the first spur in this path?’
‘There’s a property about half a mile up, with access to Barming. If you look at the satellite image, it seems it’s a popular spot for narrowboats to moor.’
She flipped over the page, then frowned. ‘With a house and that many boats nearby, you’d have thought someone would’ve reported a gunshot.’
‘Maybe. There are fields all around them, though so they might have written it off as a crow scarer or something. If they’re not used to hearing it, a gunshot can sound like a car backfiring, too.’
Carys bit her lip, then craned her neck to see how the first group were progressing. She tucked the map back into her pocket, and ploughed onwards, trying to ignore the sense of unease that was turning her stomach.
What if the man had been shot elsewhere, and his body then dumped in the river? She shook her head, muttering under her breath. No, because someone would have had to have carried his body – too hard across the fields and a busy railway line, and too risky to cross the bridge with the amount of traffic that used it day and night.
She shuddered as a train flew past, its horn blaring. The stretch of track held too many memories for her – memories that kept her awake some nights, when her mind turned to what could have been if it wasn’t for––
‘They’ve got something.’
Stewart’s voice crashed into her thoughts, and her head snapped up.
‘Where?’
The police constable pointed to a female officer at the right of the first team, who had raised her hand in the air, bringing her group to a standstill.
Carys watched, her fists clenched, as the woman moved towards a brightly coloured cabin cruiser moored next to the path, her movements methodical as she checked the thick grass on the riverbank.
Satisfied the way was clear, a male colleague helped her over the gunwale. She rapped her knuckles on the cabin door, and then peeked through a round window.
A split second later, she spun on her heel and beckoned.
‘Wait here,’ said Carys. ‘I think this is it.’
Five
Reaching the boat, Carys ran her eyes over the blue-striped chine and found a name – Lucky Lady – splashed across the paintwork nearest the bow. At the stern, a registration number had been stamped in white paint, bold and clear.
A single window stretched the length of the cabin along the left-hand side, and as she wandered up to the bow, she noticed that it and the two forward-facing windows had curtains pulled across them.
PC Laura Hanway called out to her before introducing herself, and then pointed to the cabin door. ‘It’s locked, ma’am. But there’s blood spatter over here on the deck, as well as the right-hand side of the cockpit and cabin.’
Carys wandered back to the stern. She reached up for the female officer’s outstretched hand, and hoisted herself onto the fibreglass deck of the cabin cruiser.
Similar to the other vessels she’d seen moored at Tovil, the cockpit was open to the elements, a grey tarpaulin rolled up and stowed at the far end of the cramped space.
The female police officer stepped back to give Carys more room, her light-brown hair pulled back into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck. She gestured to the window with a gloved hand.
‘The door’s locked, but it looks like there was a struggle.’
‘Okay, off you get. Let’s get the CSIs over here and ready to start taking samples,’ said Carys. ‘After you’ve done that, run the registration number past the Environment Agency – as soon as they have any information, get them to phone it through to the incident room. Ask Aaron to join me, would you?’
‘Ma’am.’
Carys turned her attention to the waiting search team. ‘Continue the grid search, and I want three of you concentrating on the riverbank alongside this vessel. This could be the place where our victim went in.’
Moments later, Aaron Stewart climbed aboard and raised an eyebrow. ‘What’ve you got?’
‘Stay close to the cabin door,’ said Carys. ‘I don’t want us contaminating evidence any more than we might’ve done already.’
‘Okay.’
‘Laura’s right. The place is a tip inside, and – look – there are bloodstains. The door’s locked, and I haven’t found a spare key out here. Do you reckon you could break it down?’
‘Probable cause, ma’am?’
‘One dead man, signs of a struggle, and perhaps someone else in there in need of medical attention.’
‘Stand back.’
Carys moved away from the cabin window, and hovered behind Stewart. As he took a step forward, she ran her gaze over the bloodstains.
This had to be the place. No fisherman in his right mind would leave his boat in such a state.
Stewart lashed out with his boot, splintering the thin wooden door under the flimsy lock, and pulled his telescopic nightstick from his utility belt. ‘With all due respect, stay here.’
‘Got that.’ Carys pulled out her nightstick and hovered at the threshold while the police officer ducked his head under the low frame and stepped down into the cabin.
She wrinkled her nose at a faint tang to the air that escaped the living quarters of the boat, and stooped to peer through the broken pieces of door that now clung to the hinges.
Muted sunlight shone through the curtains at the windows, creating a gloom that hung in the air, malevolent and foreboding. Stewart moved through the space with care, his tall frame stooped as he swung left and right, his nightstick held in a tight grip.
‘Police! Anyone here?’ he said. ‘If you’re injured, call out.’
Carys held her breath.
The boat remained silent.
‘There’s a door through to the forward cabin,’ said Stewart. ‘I’m going through.’
The sound of his knuckles against wood reached her, and then he pulled the door.
He swore under his breath.
‘What’s up?’
‘It’s clear. There’s no-one here, but you’d better come and look at this.’
Carys placed her gloved hand on the door frame and climbed down the four steps that led into the cabin, before making her way to where Stewart stood at the far end.
She thrust her arms out for balance as the boat moved in the water, her eyes sweeping the opened drawers, the contents strewn across the cabin seats. In the galley, a refrigerator had been opened, remnants of food smeared up the walls and trampled underfoot.
The police constable stepped to one side as she approached, his face troubled. ‘Look.’
Peering through the door, Carys’s breath caught in her throat. She swallowed to batten down the fear.
She had to concentrate.
She had to do her job.
A child’s clothing had been pulled from an old sports bag that lay open on the bed – blue dungarees, white cotton vest tops, a pair of brown sandals. Amongst the tiny pairs of jeans and jumpers tossed aside, two picture books lay open, their pages creased. A toy car lay abandoned on the floor of the cabin, and a colourful plastic cup lay on its side on a three-drawer dresser.
‘Oh, no.’ Carys took a step forward, and crouched. She lifted the rumpled blankets from the side of the bed, then looked underneath. ‘Not hiding anywhere?’
‘I’ve checked the head as well. No-one in there.’
Carys straightened, and beckoned to Stewart to follow her outside.
‘I’ll get forensics in here. I want you to stay posted by the main door, okay?’
‘Will do.’
‘Give me a hand.’ Carys called to one of the police constables on the river path, and climbed off the boat before pulling out her mobile phone.
She hit the speed dial, her hands shaking, and began to hurry back to her car.
‘Guv? We’ve found an abandoned boat that shows signs of a struggle. There are bloodstains on the gunwale, and the contents of the cabin have been ransacked. We’re waiting for the Environment Agency to tell us who the boat is registered to.’
‘All right,’ said Kay. ‘Get yourself back here. Well done.’
‘Wait.’ Carys held the phone tighter to her ear, and started running. ‘Don’t hang up.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I think we’ve got a missing child as well.’
