Lesley came to a stop on the path, her body thrumming with anger. “She’s done what?”
“Sorry, boss,” Dennis replied, his voice subdued. “Just wanted to let you know.”
Lesley turned to look back where Ed Rogers had disappeared. After his argument with Yolanda Harte, he’d gone round the back of the church. Was he inside? She needed his help with this, not to mention those uniformed officers, now busily knocking on doors.
“OK,” she said to Dennis. “Have you got any information about what kind of boat this might be?”
“Sorry, boss,” he said. “Just thought I’d warn you.”
“Thanks.” She sighed. “I appreciate it.”
“How’s it going over there?”
“Slow,” she replied. “I get the feeling not everyone here is on speaking terms.”
“Isolated community. Can get a bit nasty.”
She shook her head, looking around her. The grassy area in front of the church was empty, a few hens waddling around, clucking quietly. The place seemed so peaceful. What had led to a woman being murdered here?
“I’ll call you later,” she said. “Have you got any background for me? Anything on Simone?”
“Mike’s checking her background,” Dennis told her. “But there’s nothing of any interest yet.”
“No record? No criminal connections?”
It was a long shot, she knew.
“Nothing.”
That was what she’d been expecting. It made it all the more likely her killer was here on the island.
“We found her next of kin, though,” Dennis said. “Her parents, they live in Southampton.”
Lesley closed her eyes. She pictured the state of the body on the beach, the bloating and foaming at the mouth. Hopefully Whittaker would do a good job of cleaning Simone up before her parents came to formally identify her.
“OK,” she said to Dennis. “Make contact with them, set up the appointment.”
“Already on it, boss,” he said.
“Is that everything?”
“Yes. Sorry to interrupt. You in the middle of something?”
“I just need to follow up on an argument I just witnessed.”
Chapter Seventeen
Gail surveyed the passenger boat moored to the quay below her feet. It bobbed up and down on the water, reminding her of what Lesley had told her about Johnny. Poor guy, she thought. Not the best assignment to be drafted in on when you suffered from seasickness.
Gav appeared behind her, lugging an equipment bag. “We checking this one first?”
She looked past this boat towards the flat-bottomed one they’d come in on. It was attached to a buoy further out. “We can use this one to get to that one, I suppose.”
“Assuming it’s clean.”
“Of course.”
“Let’s get started, then.”
He clambered down into the boat, easy enough with him being six-foot-five, and held up a hand to guide her in. Gail was short, heavier than she’d like to be. She had the kind of body that wasn’t suited to clambering in and out of boats.
She stood in the centre of the boat, surveying the structure. This boat had been used since Simone had been found on Tuesday night. Lesley and Johnny had come in on it. But prior to that, it hadn’t been used since Sunday afternoon. That was something, she supposed. Lesley hadn’t mentioned anything untoward about it. It was unlikely they’d find anything, but they had to cover all bases.
“You start that end,” she told Gav, pointing towards the bow of the boat. “I’ll start at the back. We’ll work our way inwards, cover every surface.”
Gav gave her a nod and climbed over the seats to the front of the boat. Gail made her way to the stern, starting with the outside of the boat. She leaned over, holding onto the rail. She examined the area around the motor, looking for anything Simone or her attacker might have left behind. Strands of hair, fragments of clothing. There was nothing.
She took photos as she went, planting her feet firmly in the boat, her legs wide apart. The last thing she needed was to fall in, especially with this camera being worth a small fortune.
After she’d checked the back of the boat inside and out, she moved on to the rear seat. It spanned the width of the boat and was made of moulded plastic. She examined its surface, kneeling down and using her camera to zoom in and get a better view.
It was clean, the surface scoured by sea water. Gail groaned as Gav moved behind her and the boat tipped to one side.
“Careful, mate,” she muttered.
“Sorry, Gail. I’ll be more careful.”
“You do that.”
She bent over to see beneath the seat, but it was difficult without losing her balance. Instead she turned her camera and held it out, under the seat, pointing upwards. She moved the camera slowly along the underside of the seat, firing off photos as she went. When she reached the other side of the boat, she lifted the camera and checked the screen. On the third photograph, she squinted.
“Hang on a minute,” she said.
“You got something?” Gav asked.
She didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, she flicked through to the next photograph, which overlapped this one.
“I think I might do,” she said.
Aw, hell. She would have to get under there.
“Gav, I need you to sit up there but stay very still. I’m going to have to get right down in the bottom of this boat.”
She twisted herself so she was on her back and all but lying in the bottom of the boat, her head beneath the seat. She peered up.
“I can’t see anything,” she said. “Pass me a torch, will you?”
She reached a hand out, blindly taking the torch Gav placed in it. She pulled it close to her face and shone it up at the surface above. The floor was damp, water swishing from side to side. Her hair was getting wet. Filthy too, probably. She’d regret this later.
She worked along the underside of the seat with the torch until she found what she’d seen in the photo.
“Got it.”
She lifted her head to get a better look, then dropped down again and raised the camera to her eye. She fired off a few more photos, struggling to focus in the confined space. Eventually, she managed to struggle out and stand up again. Gav was watching her, his movements small, anxious not to make the boat topple.
“What have you got?” he asked.
She took a few deep breaths. She felt light-headed; she’d been holding her breath.
“Blood,” she told him. “There’s blood under this seat and it’s relatively fresh.”
Chapter Eighteen
Lesley put her phone away and turned back towards the castle.
She had to speak to that woman. She wanted to know why she’d been arguing with Ed and whether it was connected to Simone’s death.
She strode towards the gates and pushed them. Nothing. There was no handle, no latch for her to grab hold of. She pushed her fingers into the gap between the gates and tried to pull.
Again, nothing. There had to be another way into that castle.
She walked towards the quay. There was a shop down here, and a café. The people who worked in them would either be on the mainland or tucked away in their houses, instructed to stay put by Ed. But it was worth a try. The café was on the right as she approached the quay. She turned down a path leading to it and pushed at the door.
Nothing.
She pulled back and looked over the low building towards the castle.
There was another gate around the side of the cafe. She went to it and knocked. Still no answer.
Bloody hell, this is ridiculous. They had to let people in somehow.
She skirted back to the gates she’d already tried and checked again for some sort of intercom or buzzer.
Bingo. She’d missed it the first time, hidden in ivy that climbed up the wall.
She pressed the button. After a few moments, a voice crackled over the intercom.
“Hello?”
“My name is DCI Clarke. I’m investigating a suspicious death on the island. I need to speak to Yolanda Harte.”
“Sorry, who?”
“Yolanda Harte. I’m told she manages—“
“No. Who are you?”
Lesley pushed down irritation. “DCI Clarke, Dorset Police. Let me in, please.”
“Oh.” A pause. “Hang on a minute.”
Lesley waited. After a few moments she heard movement behind the gate and at last it opened. A short woman in a grey uniform stood beyond it, giving her a wary look. This wasn’t the woman who’d argued with Ed.
“I’m Greta, I manage reception. You can talk to me.”
Lesley raised her badge. “Like I say, I need to speak to the hotel manager.”
The woman tightened her lips and turned towards the castle. It was even more imposing close up, staring out to sea like a fortress. A broad garden led down to the waterfront, manicured flower beds and neat paths. People strolled between trees near the water, and a man sat in a sun lounger on a terrace next to the building. So the John Lewis staff hadn’t been told to stay indoors. But still, they were all imprisoned in here, thought Lesley, in their luxurious compound.
She followed the woman into the building and a wide hallway. Wooden stairs swept up ahead of her. The walls were panelled to waist level, with ornate wallpaper above. The carpet beneath her feet was plush. Someone had spent a lot of money on the upkeep of this place.
“Wait here, please.” The woman turned and disappeared through a door.
Lesley folded her arms and tapped her foot on the carpet. She checked her watch. Two o’clock. She hoped Tina and Johnny were making progress with those witness statements.
At last the door opened and the tall blonde woman she’d seen with Ed emerged. The woman cocked her head as she saw Lesley.
“You’re the one who was watching me with Ed Rogers.”
“I am.” Lesley held up her badge. “DCI Clarke, Dorset Police. I imagine you know why I’m here.”
“Terrible business,” the woman said.
She held out a skinny hand and Lesley took it. The woman’s handshake was limp and half-hearted.
“Come into my office,” Yolanda said. “You can update me on your investigation.”
Lesley was about to say that wasn’t why she was here, when the woman turned to retreat down a broad corridor.
Lesley followed, disgruntled at the unease this woman made her feel.
Chapter Nineteen
Gail stood to one side to let Gav pass. She shuffled towards the front of the boat, careful to keep her movements steady, and sat down on one of the benches, checking it first to be sure she wasn’t contaminating evidence.
Given Gav’s height, it wasn’t easy for him to fold himself into the confined space, but he somehow managed an origami-like move and squeezed himself in.
“We’ll need to remove this bench,” he said. “Only way to get that blood off.”
Gail nodded. “Have we got the cutting equipment with us?”
He unfolded himself and stood up. “Not here, but it’s on the island. That Ed bloke let me use a storeroom.”
“He’s very helpful, isn’t he?” Gail said.
Gav reached up behind his neck and massaged the muscles, screwing his face up as he did so. “You think it’s suspicious?”
Gail wrinkled her nose. The problem with this job was that you started to suspect everybody of being fishy. Even a bloke who was just being nice.
“Nah,” she said. “Ignore me.”
Stop being paranoid. And she wasn’t even one of the detectives.
“OK,” she continued. “You go and get the kit. I’ll examine the area around that seat before we do any damage. Check there isn’t anything else.”
“We need to let the National Trust know we’re wrecking their boat.”
“Shit.” The CSI team were perfectly entitled to damage property, if it meant uncovering forensic evidence. Gail knew teams who didn’t bother with even the basics of putting things together afterwards. But as far as she was concerned, it was about respect, and cooperation. If she didn’t do people the basic courtesy of leaving their property in the best state she could, how could she expect their cooperation?
She searched under the seat and in its vicinity, using a torch and then a UV light. There was nothing else. Just that patch of blood. It was smeared. She hoped there would be prints, but couldn’t make any out.
Lesley needed to know about this. The blood was a reddish-brown. Not the bright red of fresh blood. But not the rusty brown of a very old stain, either. It had been left within the last few days.
Gail clambered out of the boat, glad no one could see her making an absolute hash of it. She stood on the edge of the quay, panting, thinking for the hundredth time this month that she needed to get fit.
She dialled. The phone rang out twice and clicked into voicemail.
“Lesley,” Gail said into the phone as she saw Gav approaching. He was carrying a case with the cutting kit and had Ed Rogers with him. Ed didn’t look happy. “We’ve found blood on the National Trust’s boat. It could be Simone’s.”
She thought back to the state of the body. A drowned body had its secrets, but she hadn’t seen blood.
She took a breath as Gav and Ed reached her. She raised a hand: just a moment.
“Or it could be her attacker’s,” she breathed into the phone.
Chapter Twenty
Yolanda Harte’s office was a grand room at the rear of the building. Tall sash windows looked over a copse of trees and the sea off to one side.
Lesley took one of the two chairs opposite the desk, while Yolanda sat behind it. She placed her elbows on the desk and eyed Lesley.
“So you’ll be wanting to talk to our partners as well, I imagine.”
“I want to speak to you to start with. Tell me how closely the two teams mix. Do you have much contact with the National Trust people?”
Yolanda shook her head. “We keep ourselves to ourselves, really. We’ve got our own boat. We bring the partners over on changeover days.”
“Changeover days?”
“Fridays and Mondays. That’s when people come and go. Today’s a Wednesday, and Head Office have told me to clear the place out. It’s not going to be easy. But some of our guests are pretty spooked.”
“I’d like to speak with your guests and staff before anyone leaves.”
“You’ll have to be quick.”
Lesley placed a hand on the desk. “Ms Harte, this is a murder investigation. Anyone staying on this island could be a witness. Or a suspect.”
Yolanda pursed her lips. She opened a desk drawer, and pulled out a sheet of paper which she placed on the desk between them.
“A list of the partners living here.” She pointed to a list of people at the top of the sheet, then moved her finger down. “Staff living on the mainland who’ve been on duty this week.” She turned the sheet over. “And current guests.”
“Are they all here now?”
“They are. We’ll be using the boat later, sending guests home first.”
“Not just yet,” said Lesley. She took the sheet of paper. She would ask Mike to run these names against the HOLMES database.
Yolanda shrugged. “Not much I can do to stop it,” she said. “But you’ll find our people have got nothing to do with all this.”
Lesley raised an eyebrow. “Let’s not make assumptions.”
Lesley knew that it was more likely Simone’s killer was one of her National Trust colleagues. But she couldn’t imagine that on an island with a permanent population of just forty-two, the two groups didn’t mingle.
The potential suspect list was like an onion. The team Simone worked with in in the centre, the next layer the National Trust staff. Outside that, the John Lewis staff, and then the outer edge, the hundreds of visitors who’d been here over the last two days.
They needed to narrow it down.
Lesley picked up the sheet o
f paper, folded it, and put it in her inside pocket, just as her phone rang. She pulled it out and hit the button to reject the call. Whoever it was, they could wait.
“Can you tell me what you were arguing with Ed Rogers about before?”
Yolanda straightened in her chair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I saw you up by the church, about fifteen minutes ago. You were clearly having a heated discussion about something.”
Yolanda shook her head. “I saw Ed, sure. He was updating me on what you people were doing.”
You people.
Lesley thought of Yolanda’s body language when she’d been talking to Ed. The way she’d stormed off, Ed’s wild gesticulations as he spoke. There was no way that had been a friendly update.
“Is there often conflict between the two groups on the island?” she asked.
Yolanda leaned forwards, clenching her fists on the desk. “You’re making up stories where none exist,” she said. “Just because a woman has died here, doesn’t mean there’s conflict between my team and hers. We get along fine. We have very different roles and we live side by side here. Nothing more to it than that.”
Lesley wasn’t convinced. There was clearly no love lost between this woman and Ed Rogers, and she wanted to know why.
Chapter Twenty-One
Johnny was walking from the direction of the church when Lesley emerged from the castle.
Yolanda Harte’s attitude had left a nasty taste in her mouth. The woman was keen to get her guests and staff off the island, to shield them from the tragedy of Simone Browning’s death, and that seemed fair enough. But when Lesley saw that kind of agitation on someone, her copper senses began to tingle.
“How far have you got?” she asked Johnny as he hurried towards her.
Johnny shook his head. “I’ve spoken to four people so far. Just called Tina and she’s on her third. This is going to take a while.”
The Island Murders (Dorset Crime Book 3) Page 7
