Gone to Ground E-Book

Rachel Amphlett

• Herausgeber: Saxon Publishing
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

While attending a crime scene on the outskirts of Maidstone, DI Kay Hunter makes a shocking discovery.

The victim has been brutally cut to pieces, his identity unknown.

When more body parts start turning up in the Kentish countryside, Kay realises the disturbing truth – a serial killer is at large and must be stopped at all costs.

With no motive for the murders and a killer who has gone undetected until now, Kay and her team of detectives must work fast to calm a terrified local population and a scornful media.

When a third victim is found, her investigation grows even more complicated. As she begins to expose a dark underbelly to the county town, Kay and her team are pulled into a web of jealousy and intrigue that, if left unchecked, will soon claim another life.

Gone to Ground is a gripping serial killer thriller full of page-turning suspense, and the sixth book in the Detective Kay Hunter British detective series.

Praise for Gone to Ground:

"Another great book in the Detective Kay Hunter series, they really are addictive!" Goodreads

"Well plotted, fabulous characters and not bogged down with boring police procedural" Goodreads

Leseprobe

Gone to Ground

A Detective Kay Hunter crime thriller

Rachel Amphlett

Copyright © 2018 by Rachel Amphlett

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Also available on audiobook: listen to an exclusive sample here

Discover more of Rachel’s books – download the FREE Official Reading Guide with exclusive extracts here

Contents

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

Afterword

One

Lee Temple let the carbon-framed bicycle coast to a slower speed, turning his ankles outwards to release his shoe cleats from the pedals as the tyres met the rough surface.

He braked next to one of the other riders, noting the look of annoyance that flitted across Nigel Simpson’s face.

‘Puncture?’

‘Second one this week,’ said Nigel. ‘At this rate, this tyre is going to be shredded.’

‘Have you got a spare tube?’

‘Yes, thanks. It’s a pain, that’s all.’

Lee emitted a noncommittal grunt, then glanced over his shoulder as the rest of the group pulled into the lay-by.

The group of four men had started their cycling club eight months ago, and he had been surprised at how fast his fitness levels had improved. Considering that the idea had been first broached over a pint in their local pub one night, they had taken to the new pastime with enthusiasm, much to the amusement of their wives who had given them three months at most before they grew bored.

Over time, they had learned where the best cafés were, and Lee salivated at the thought of the sausage roll he intended to devour at their favourite spot on the other side of Boughton Monchelsea. Not that he would tell his wife – she thought the bowl of cereal he had consumed an hour before would be enough to satiate his appetite and keep his diet on track.

The ride had started well – the route was a favourite one, and perfect for a summer Sunday morning. They had avoided the busy traffic through Maidstone, meeting up at six-thirty when the air was still cool, having set off from West Farleigh. Their route had seen them leave the busy town centre and follow the road south towards Langley before turning west along a quiet country lane.

‘How’s that new carbon frame holding up?’

He flinched at the heavy hand on his shoulder and forced a smile.

Paul Banks was a heavyset man and unaware of his own strength. Lee often thought that the man should be playing rugby, rather than trying to perch on a lightweight bicycle frame, but he never seemed to have any trouble keeping up with the group.

‘Yeah, good. I can really notice the difference,’ Lee said, failing to keep the sense of pride out of his voice.

‘Maybe now Heather will see it was worth the money.’

‘She will, once I’ve sold the golf clubs to pay for it.’

Paul laughed, slapped him on the shoulder once more, and wheeled his bike across to where the other men were conversing.

The golf clubs were the residual evidence of the last attempt the group had had at getting fit.

Lee’s interest in cycling had been piqued years before, when the initial stage of the Tour de France had passed through the county. When he had suggested it to the others, they’d made disparaging remarks about tight Lycra and laughed it off, but once he’d presented them with enough evidence to suggest it would keep them fit and give them a good excuse to get out of the house for a few hours on a Sunday morning, they had soon joined him.

Now, they all looked forward to the weekly event and today was no different.

He removed his sunglasses and wiped at them with a corner of his cycling jersey, squinting against the bright sunlight that crested the hedgerow beyond. Rarely used by heavy vehicles, the lane was awash with the sound of birdsong.

He glanced back at Nigel, who now had the front wheel of his bike on the ground while he wedged tyre levers over the rim. Paul had crouched down to help him, and it looked like they were going to be there for at least another ten minutes or so.

A sudden urge to piss created an ache in his abdomen and, tucking his sunglasses over the collar of his jersey, he walked away from the group.

‘Where are you off to?’ said Tony White as he passed him.

The hospital orderly wore the latest aerodynamic helmet, and Lee noticed his reflection in the rainbow-coloured lenses of the other man’s sunglasses.

‘Need to take a leak.’

The other man grinned. ‘Pit stop. Might as well make the most of it.’

‘Exactly.’

Lee wandered over to the far side of the lay-by, then noticed the discarded work boot on the verge next to the road.

He had always wondered why you only ever saw one single boot at the side of the road, and not two. His childhood imagination had envisaged a man walking around with only one boot, at a loss as to what had happened to the other.

Paul’s voice reached him at the same time he drew level with the footwear.

‘Piss in it!’

Lee chuckled under his breath and shook his head.

‘Go on. Dare you,’ called Tony.

A bluebottle fly landed on his cheek, and he waved it away as a barrage of laughter carried across from the other men.

Then he blinked and shook his head, bile rising in his throat.

He stared for a moment, the others’ jeers fading into a blur of white noise. A car swept past, its motion rocking his body as he stood, arms by his side, trying to comprehend why it was here, who it belonged to, and what he should do.

At last, his brain processed what his eyes were taking in.

A severed foot, cut off at the ankle.

A pool of congealed blood pulsated with flies that buzzed around the torn laces of the leather upper of the work boot.

He took a step back, his anguished cry silencing the others.

His heart racing, he twisted his ankle as he turned away, his shoe cleats slipping across the uneven surface, before he limped to the hedgerow and threw up his meagre breakfast.

Two

Detective Inspector Kay Hunter eased open the passenger door of the pool vehicle and surveyed the scene before her.

She’d received a call from Detective Chief Inspector Devon Sharp as she and her partner, Adam, had been having a lazy weekend brunch on the patio overlooking their garden on the outskirts of Maidstone.

‘This is exactly the sort of sensationalist story we don’t need on the front page of the newspapers,’ he said. ‘I want you to lead this one – Barnes can be your deputy SIO, given that we still haven’t got a new detective sergeant assigned to the team. I’ll have him pick you up as soon as possible.’

Kay had sensed the familiar spike of an adrenalin rush caused by the prospect of a new investigation.

She had to give the newly promoted DCI credit, too. Since her promotion to DI, Sharp had ensured that she got the opportunity to work on a number of high profile investigations in between her management obligations.

Detective Constable Ian Barnes had turned up on her doorstep twenty-five minutes after Sharp ended his phone call.

Kay enjoyed working with Barnes. In his late forties, he possessed a humour and fortitude that had been a welcome tonic to the dark crimes they were often faced with.

Now, standing beside their vehicle as she peered up the lane to where a strip of crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze, she turned to him as he slammed the driver’s door shut and joined her.

A little taller than Kay, he had pale brown hair that had turned to grey at his temples, and much to his consternation, he had started to wear reading glasses.

‘Still glad to be out of the office?’ he said as they watched the scene-of-crime officers working in the lay-by.

‘Shame about the circumstances,’ she said, and pushed a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear. She straightened her shoulders. ‘All right. Let’s go and find out what’s going on.’

She made her way up the sloping gradient of the lane, nodding to the traffic officers who kept passing motorists from gawking at the scene and ensured any passing traffic remained at a constant low speed to avoid injury to the emergency responders attending the site.

The crime scene investigation team had erected a screen between the lane and where they worked, while two uniformed officers stood on the perimeter of the crime scene tape to ward off any nosy passers-by. A female uniformed officer and her colleague had corralled a group of garishly-clothed cyclists and glanced up as Kay and Barnes approached.

Kay relaxed as she recognised the familiar face. Debbie West had been a police constable since her early twenties, and Kay held high hopes for the woman. She was one of the most meticulous officers Kay knew and could be relied upon to manage a tight crime scene.

‘Morning, Inspector.’

‘Morning. What’s the latest?’

Debbie gestured to her colleague, who shepherded the cyclists away from the crime scene tape and continued to speak with them as he took notes. She turned back to Kay.

‘The guy in the red and yellow jersey is the one that found it. Lee Temple. Apparently, he and his friends are all local to West Farleigh and cycle together on a regular basis at weekends.’

Kay squinted against the bright sunshine to where the man stood next to Debbie’s colleague, and noted the line of expensive bicycles propped up against a telegraph pole or laid on the thick grass that bordered the road.

‘How is he doing?’

‘Threw up his breakfast, but thankfully not on the evidence.’

‘That’s something, I suppose.’

Barnes jerked his chin towards where the CSIs were painstakingly checking the verges and hedgerow bordering the lay-by, their heads bowed as they worked.

‘Have they found the rest of him?’

Debbie wrinkled her nose. ‘Not yet.’

Kay checked over her shoulder at the steady stream of traffic that now passed the crime scene, and had to agree with Sharp’s view that the media would be keen to have the story on the six o’clock news that night, with whatever scant information they’d glean from witnesses.

‘I take it you’ve warned Mr Temple and his associates not to speak to anyone about this?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Debbie.

Barnes tapped Kay on the arm at a shout from beyond the taped-off area, and she turned to see one of the CSI officers beckoning to them.

‘I’d like to speak to Mr Temple before you let him go,’ she said to Debbie.

‘No problem. I was going to organise a taxi mini-van to take them all home. Can’t imagine they’d want to ride back after this.’

‘Good thinking, thanks. Back in a minute.’ She followed Barnes to the perimeter tape and hovered at the temporary boundary. ‘Morning, Harriet.’

‘Morning. Debbie said you two were on your way over.’

Kay noted the weariness in the crime scene investigator’s voice and resolved to let her get on with the task at hand as soon as possible.

‘What can you tell us?’

Harriet handed them a set of disposable overalls and waited while they donned them and placed the matching bootees over their shoes, then held aloft the tape for them to duck under before leading them behind the screen towards the far end of the lay-by via a demarcated path.

‘Before you ask, the only footprints we’ve lifted from here match the cyclists’ shoes – pretty easy to deduce because of the cleats they were wearing to clip into their pedals.’

The CSI officer slowed as she reached the work boot.

It seemed incongruous in its position next to the long grass of the verge now that they knew what it contained, and yet Kay recounted numerous occasions where she’d seen similar lone shoes discarded at the side of a road and had thought nothing of it.

She crouched a metre or so away from the boot and batted a fly away from her face as Harriet continued.

‘Our victim is definitely male based on what we can see without removing the footwear. The boot is made from quality leather, but worn, as if it were one of a favourite pair. The heel has been eroded on one side, but Lucas will be able to tell you more about characteristics of our victim once he’s taken a look at it.’

Kay mumbled a response. She’d worked with Lucas Anderson, the Home Office pathologist on previous occasions, and his attention to detail and tenacity in providing as much information as possible about a victim had helped her more than once.

She didn’t doubt his ability to add more to the picture of the victim that they needed to create if they were to find the person responsible.

‘And no sign of any other parts?’

‘No – we’ve almost concluded our preliminary search. Obviously, I’ll let you know if anything changes.’

‘How long has it been out here, do you think?’

‘Hard to say, to be honest. A lot of the dirt and dust on the leather uppers has been caused by passing traffic as much as the bad weather we’ve had at the beginning of the month. Again, Lucas might be able to pinpoint a rough time of death for you to help to narrow it down.’

Kay straightened and turned to Barnes, whose upper lip curled as he watched the flies congregating upon the bloody stump. She spun on her heel and craned her neck until she could see beyond the screen and to the lane that disappeared in a straight line in each direction.

‘We’ll need to speak to homeowners along this stretch of road. You never know – they might have security cameras.’

Barnes nodded. ‘I’ll speak to Debbie to get uniform to start that straight away. I’ll give Gavin and Carys a call this afternoon to make sure they’re in early tomorrow morning, too.’

They moved back to the perimeter of the crime scene, and as she stripped the protective coveralls from her clothes and handed them to one of Harriet’s assistants, Kay let her gaze rest on the amputated foot once more.

‘Who the hell are you?’ she muttered.

Three

Debbie and her colleague paused in their interviewing as Kay and Barnes approached, then introduced them to the four cyclists.

Kay noted the washed-out pallor of Lee Temple’s features, and the almost sheepish expressions his friends wore.

It never ceased to amaze her that witnesses to a crime would often feel guilty about what they had seen, despite having no other involvement.

Or maybe it was simply the effect of being surrounded by uniformed police officers and crime scene investigators.

She turned her focus to Temple and eased him away from the others.

‘Mr Temple, I’m DI Kay Hunter and this is my colleague, DC Ian Barnes. I understand it was you who first found the work boot?’

He nodded, then swallowed and Kay automatically stepped back in case the man was about to vomit once more.

He flapped his hand as if to ward off the sensation. ‘I’m all right, it’s okay.’

‘You’ve had a terrible shock, and you’re doing really well,’ she said. ‘I realise you and your friends have spoken to PC West, but I’d like to have a word before we get you all home.’

She glanced to the right of him as a liveried minivan drew to a standstill a little way off from the lay-by and the driver applied the hazard lights, before turning her attention back to Temple.

‘Tell you what, let’s get your friends and all your bikes into the taxi, and then me and Barnes will drive you home once we’ve had a chat.’

He let out a shaking breath, then ran his hand over mid-length dark brown hair that had been flattened by the helmet he now cradled in his hands. ‘Okay, thanks.’

The three other cyclists were full of concern for their friend as they shook his hand and then followed the uniformed officers towards the taxi.

‘I’ll pop round later to see you,’ said the taller of the men, before he picked up a second bicycle from the grass verge and wheeled it over to the taxi.

Kay watched while Temple raised his hand in farewell as the vehicle pulled back out into the lane, his expression wistful.

‘Guv? We’ve got company.’

Kay spun on her heel at Barnes’s words, and stifled a groan at the sight of a familiar figure extricating himself from a four-door car that had been parked further up the lane from the lay-by.

Despite the distance between them, she could sense the excitement emanating from Jonathan Aspley as he hurried towards the crime tape on the far side of the screen.

‘Get Lee to the car, Ian. Be with you in a moment.’

She intercepted the reporter as he drew level with the screen and turned him away from the direction of Barnes’s car.

‘Now is not a good time, Aspley.’

‘Come on, Hunter – before the rest of them get here. At least give me a quote I can use.’

Kay narrowed her eyes. ‘Trust me, you won’t be able to print what I say if you don’t back off. There will be a media conference later today at headquarters. Come along to that, and I’ll give you as much information as I can then.’

‘And I’ll simply end up with the same story as everybody else. You owe me.’

‘I do not.’ She sighed. ‘Look, it’s too early for this. Be at the press conference later on, let my team get on with their jobs now, and I’ll see what I can send your way in a couple of days.’

‘Exclusive?’

‘That’ll be up to Sharp, but I’ll do my best.’

‘You mean, you’ll use me if you need to drip feed information.’

‘I can give it to one of your competitors, if you like?’

His mouth thinned. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Kay waited until he had reached his car, then spun on her heel and hurried back to where Barnes sat in his vehicle, Lee Temple on the back seat.

‘Sorry about that.’ Kay reached into her bag for her notebook and a pen before twisting around in her seat. ‘Okay, I know that you’ve already spoken to our uniformed colleagues about what you found, Lee, but please could you take me through what happened this morning? Tell me everything, even if you think it isn’t important.’

He bit his lip, then nodded and proceeded to describe his time from leaving his house that morning up until he’d discovered the grisly remains in the work boot. His friend, Tony White, had been the one to phone triple nine.

Kay remained silent as he talked, taking notes and jotting down his responses to her questions while she listened.

Although Debbie and her colleague had taken initial witness statements from the four cyclists, Kay preferred to hear accounts from witnesses herself whenever possible. Often, someone like Lee would remember a detail the second time around that hadn’t been mentioned before as his mind continued to process what he had been through.

When he had finished speaking, she gave him a moment to collect himself, then cleared her throat.

‘When you were approaching the lay-by, did you notice any vehicles?’

‘No – we had the road to ourselves. We were riding side by side, with me and Nigel in front. Nigel got the lead on me, before he noticed he had a puncture. That’s when we pulled off the road. There were no vehicles in front of us, and the first time I noticed one was after I’d found the boot.’

‘Is this a favourite route of yours?’ said Barnes.

‘It was,’ Lee mumbled, then dropped his gaze and turned his cycling helmet over in his hands.

‘How long have you been coming this way?’ said Kay.

‘About eight months.’

‘Ever seen someone in that lay-by?’

‘I’m sorry – I can’t remember.’

‘That’s okay. What sort of vehicles do you see along here?’

‘Normal ones, I suppose. Cars, motorbikes. Sometimes a van, perhaps. It’s usually quiet along this stretch. It’s why we come this way.’ His forehead puckered. ‘I’m not being very helpful, am I?’

‘You’re doing fine,’ said Kay. ‘It all helps us.’

‘Okay.’

‘When did you last cycle along here?’

‘About four weeks ago.’

‘Did you notice anything then? Anything that seemed out of place?’

‘No – we only stopped today because Nigel got that puncture. Otherwise—’

She saw Barnes raise his eyebrow as she dropped her notebook back into her bag and nodded.

There would be no more questions for Lee Temple today. She would let the man rest, then speak to him again in a day or so, to see if time had added anything to his memories of the route and the circumstances in which he’d discovered the work boot.

Kay fastened her seatbelt. ‘What’s your address, Lee?’

The cyclist rattled it off, and Barnes nodded in recognition, before accelerating away from the crime scene.

Half an hour later, Barnes flicked the indicator as he slowed the vehicle, then turned left into a lane that led around the back of West Farleigh and past the train station.

He braked to a gentle halt at a row of terraced houses, then climbed from the car and opened the back door for Temple. He handed him a business card before sending the man on his way and sliding behind the steering wheel once more.

‘Poor bastard,’ he muttered.

Kay bit her lip as she watched the door to the house open wide.

A woman appeared, her dark blonde hair swept up into a ponytail and a little girl balanced on her hip.

Lee staggered over the threshold and into the woman’s embrace. They remained there for a moment, and then she led him inside and shut the door.

Barnes released the handbrake and edged the car away from the kerb.

‘I don’t think Mr Temple will be doing much cycling for the foreseeable future.’

‘I can’t say I blame him,’ said Kay. ‘I’d imagine he’s going to be having nightmares for a while yet.’

Four

Kay unbuttoned her shirtsleeves and rolled them up until they reached her elbows.

The morning had turned warm by the time they’d reached Maidstone police station, while the cloudless skies above provided a perfect summer’s day.

Though they would all prefer to be at home with their families, she knew the team would now be focusing on the tasks at hand. She was pleased that she and Barnes had been on call, otherwise the crime scene would have been handed over to someone else, and she would have been stuck in a three-day workshop entitled “Advanced Management Techniques” from Monday morning.

Her relief was tempered by the thought that someone could have been injured or died in horrific circumstances, and she would do all she could to bring the person responsible to justice.

The incident room buzzed with activity when she pushed through the door and crossed to her desk. Phillip Parker had taken the initiative to set up a whiteboard and source extra computers while she and Barnes had been at the crime scene.

She’d first met the constable when he was completing his probationary period twelve months ago, and it was evident that, under the tutelage of PC Norris, the young man was settling into his role well. He’d filled out, too – where once he’d been a lanky twenty-something, he’d added weight to his slight frame and Kay realised he’d probably done so to take on some of Maidstone’s more colourful characters.

Friday and Saturday nights could be a menace in the town centre, and Parker would have surely been a target for troublemakers.

‘Great work, Phil,’ she said as she approached.

He grinned. ‘Thought it’d save some time.’

‘Thanks.’

She peered over her shoulder at the rest of the assembled team.

At present, there were only four other uniformed officers assisting, but that would change in the morning once rosters were adjusted and help gleaned from other investigations.

She wouldn’t be popular, that was for sure.

Kay resolved to take her fellow detectives out for a drink in a few weeks to soften the blow of losing resources to her murder case, and then turned her attention to the whiteboard.

Parker had printed out a large colour map of the Maidstone area, the location of the morning’s bloody discovery already highlighted with a large red pin. He’d obtained images of the lane via online mapping software and had pinned these next to the map.

They would suffice until the scene-of-crime officers provided their own photographs.

Once satisfied that the administrative side of the investigation was organised, she returned to her desk and flicked through her notebook until she found Lee Temple’s interview and began to type up her scrawl.

A new investigation would be set up in the HOLMES database by a specially assigned officer later on that day, and she would add her interview to the growing amount of collated information, beginning the process of enquiry.

She glanced up as Barnes sank into the chair opposite her desk and wiggled his mouse to wake up his computer.

‘Have you spoken to Gavin and Carys?’

‘Yes – they’ll be in at seven tomorrow. They both offered to come in today, if you want them to?’

‘No, that’s okay. I’d rather they rest today – goodness knows when they’ll next get time off, and we need everybody to be focused on this one.’

She looked up as DCI Sharp approached their desks, the senior detective exuding an air of efficiency that he had carried with him from his time in the military, then years spent as a detective in the Kent Police area.

‘What can you tell me?’ he said.

‘First off, we’re going to need to organise a press conference for this afternoon,’ said Kay. ‘Jonathan Aspley from the Kentish Times turned up as we were leaving with the witness, and he won’t be the only one sniffing around for a story. We need to manage this from the start to avoid the media creating panic and speculation.’

Sharp ran a hand over his close-cropped silver flecked hair and sighed. ‘I agree – I would rather have left it a day or so, but with the crime scene in such a public place, I’m surprised we haven’t seen anything on social media yet.’

‘The first responders and Harriet’s team did a great job of shielding the area from passing cars, guv,’ said Barnes. ‘No-one will be able to get anything on camera, anyway.’

‘They’re keeping a look-out for drones, and I know for a fact that the local news helicopter is in for servicing this week,’ said Kay, ‘so no-one is going to get an aerial shot, either.’

‘Good.’ Sharp turned and pulled a chair over, lowering himself into it before speaking again. ‘I understand there were four cyclists, and one of them found the boot?’

‘Yes, Lee Temple,’ said Kay. ‘Works as a primary school teacher in Paddock Wood. Lives in West Farleigh, and he and his three mates cycle together every Sunday morning. The lane is a regular route of theirs to get to Boughton Monchelsea, but this was the first time in four months they had ever stopped in that lay-by.’

‘So, any idea how long that severed foot has been there for?’

‘Harriet was reluctant to hazard a guess. Hopefully, Lucas Anderson will be able to tell us more when he does the post mortem.’

Sharp nodded and leaned back in his chair. ‘You can both appreciate that we are going to be under the microscope with this one. Especially as the team is still missing a detective sergeant role since your promotion, Kay. We’ve got interviews lined up for next week, and you’re going to be expected to sit in on some of those, so make sure you factor that into the tasks you set everyone.’ He raised an eyebrow at Barnes. ‘Are you sure we can’t persuade you to apply?’

Barnes’s mouth twisted at the corner. ‘No thanks, guv.’

Sharp shrugged. ‘It was worth a shot.’

He didn’t say anything further, but Kay could sense his disappointment in Barnes’s decision. Often, it was easier to recruit from within an established team than bring a new person on board and hope that it didn’t upset the dynamics between existing personnel.

On the other hand, she respected Barnes’s decision – there was no sense in him taking on the role if he wasn’t happy to do so. They were sharing the detective sergeant duties between them in the interim, but they wouldn’t be able to sustain it – not with a murder enquiry underway.

She couldn’t blame Sharp for trying – she’d mentioned the role to Barnes last week when they’d sneaked out of the incident room and taken their lunch down to a favourite spot next to the river behind the Bishop’s Palace.

He’d been adamant, though, and said he was content to stay as a detective constable.

Sharp rose from his chair and tucked it out of the way under another desk. ‘Right, I’ll let you both get on. Kay – expect to be at headquarters for four o’clock this afternoon so we can do this press conference together. I’ll see you in the morning, Barnes.’

‘Guv.’

Kay turned away at a ping from her computer and wheeled closer to the screen. ‘Harriet’s just emailed through the initial photographs from the scene, Ian.’

Barnes moved around the desks to join her, and they flicked through the images.

As she cast her gaze over the shocking scene depicted in the photos, she couldn’t help wondering what he had done to deserve such a brutal end.

‘What sort of person does that?’ said Barnes.

She closed the last attachment and rubbed at her right eye. ‘More to the point, where was he taking it, and where’s the rest?’

Five

Kay’s first impression was one of pure pandemonium as she strode into the large meeting room that had been seconded for the afternoon press conference.

It appeared that word had travelled fast amongst the Kentish news corp, with all the chairs taken up and news cameramen and photographers jostling for space along the walls.

She wrinkled her nose at the faint aroma of stale cigarettes that clung to the reporters’ clothing as she moved down the aisle towards the dais where a long table had been set up.

Joanne Thomas, an administrative assistant from headquarters who had been brought in to help with the press conference, had told Kay that some of the reporters had turned up an hour before to ensure they got a front row seat, and Kay wondered how many of them were now gasping for their next nicotine fix.

The noise level was deafening as she dumped her handbag behind the table and faced the room.

Six months ago, she’d been terrified at the thought of facing all those people, the camera lenses with their unblinking eyes upon her and the worry that she’d somehow slip up and make a mistake.

Now, she ran a practised eye over the gathered throng, taking her time and sizing up her audience.

She nodded to a few familiar faces and ignored the scowl that a raven-haired female reporter shot her way – she’d had a run-in with Suzie Chambers a while back but was surprised to see her perched on one of the seats at the front. Usually, the woman worked as the local television news show’s roving reporter, and Kay wondered if Chambers had annoyed her bosses somehow to be relegated to covering the murder investigation from this angle. As it was, she sat with a thunderous expression and her arms folded across her chest.

A commotion near the door caught Kay’s attention, and she looked across to see Jonathan Aspley hurrying down the aisle, his neck craned as he sought out a spare chair.

The reporter’s pale eyes locked with hers for a moment, and he pushed his hair out of his eyes, before his head jerked sideways at a loud whistle to his left, and Kay saw another reporter wave Aspley over, indicating a seat next to him.

Grumbling ensued as the reporters stood to let him pass before the hubbub increased to its previous raucous level.