Death on the River: A gripping and unputdownable English murder mystery (A Tara Thorpe Mystery Book 2)

by Clare Chase

  Wilkins had prevented Tara’s access to significant information. What the hell was he playing at? Was it really just him being territorial? ‘What would explain that?’

  Agneta sighed. ‘That’s the trouble. Pathology cannot crack every puzzle. The most likely conclusion – in the absence of any other evidence – is that he had a sudden seizure of some kind. Unfortunately, as there were no witnesses and of course’ – she gave a brief smile – ‘his brain activity at the time is unknowable, I cannot say for sure. But for me there were question marks over that as the most likely answer.’

  Tara raised an eyebrow.

  ‘He had no medical history of fits. In addition, I might have expected other circumstantial evidence – loss of bladder or stool control, for instance. That sometimes happens even just as a result of the fear induced by a crash. There was nothing in this case, but that doesn’t prove no seizure took place. And if one did, it would tie in with the lack of tyre marks on the road. He wouldn’t have been in a position to brake. As alcohol poisoning can result in a seizure, the package of evidence led to the misadventure conclusion. His own actions had likely been a deciding factor in his death.’

  Tara’s eyes were on Agneta Larsson’s. ‘You’re not completely convinced?’

  ‘Seizures due to alcohol poisoning are brought on by lowered blood sugar levels. Ralph Cairncross’s weren’t as low as I would have expected. But when a man has drunk that much, such technicalities come across as minor details. The coroner had to decide between misadventure and accidental death and on balance he came down in favour of the former. If he’d been satisfied that the fit hadn’t been alcohol related then he might not have.’

  Tara nodded. It was interesting, but it didn’t point to the foul play Monica Cairncross suspected. She ought to let the pathologist get on. ‘Just before I go, I wondered if there were any incidental things about the case that struck you. You visited the scene of the accident?’

  She nodded. ‘It was a horrible day. The night before had been calm and warm, but when we went to recover the body the weather suddenly broke. Thunder, lightning, the whole show. It didn’t make the job any easier.’

  Agneta closed her eyes for a moment. ‘The only other thing I remember from that bit of the day was seeing an eel in the water, slithering off the body when it was moved.’ Her shoulders quivered. ‘That and hearing Patrick Wilkins and Max Dimity arguing.’

  Tara raised an eyebrow. ‘What about? Do you know?’

  She shook her head. ‘DS Wilkins was trying to show how at ease he was, seeing death at close quarters. It’s a way of coping, of course, but the way he expressed himself was inappropriate. So I focused on my own thoughts.’

  Always a better option than listening to Wilkins. She caught Agneta’s eye and a look of understanding passed between them.

  The pathologist drained her coffee. ‘I looked Ralph Cairncross up afterwards. I knew he was a famous author, but not much more than that – I had never read his books. I said to you what a waste it was, him dying when he did, but given his views on aging he got what he wanted in some ways.’ She pulled a face. ‘Not much comfort for those left behind.’

  ‘Were you there when his wife came to identify his body?’

  She nodded, looking down at the table. ‘She was in a terrible state. Of course, that’s what you’d imagine, but the sound of her crying was so raw, so abandoned.’ She shook her head, like a cat trying to get water out of its ears. ‘I can still hear it, you know?’

  ‘Was anyone with her?’

  Agneta nodded. ‘Her daughter. And she looked angry. Those eyes will stay with me too. Not that I am surprised. Ralph Cairncross had been careless of his own safety and the results were affecting her and her mother.’ She put her hands on the table as though readying herself to stand up. She must need to get on. ‘Anger was not an unnatural reaction.’

  Tara thought again of the image of the Forty Foot Drain that Philippa Cairncross had put up on Facebook.

  Back at Parkside, Tara greeted those of her colleagues who were in the office, earning her a grunt from Wilkins, who didn’t ask her for an update. No surprises there. She was back on research for the Hunter drugs case. She was beginning to think there’d be nothing to find on Ralph Cairncross and Lucas Everett’s deaths anyway. The only odd circumstance she’d managed to identify was the note that Lucas had left with his clothes, torn from a notebook that couldn’t be found. He could have slung it into a bin on his way to the beach for all she knew. Other than that it was just Monica’s accusations, and they didn’t hold water. The only feeling of doubt came from the ice on her own doorstep… but that had been nothing more than a nasty prank, and she could think of several people who might have been responsible.

  She glanced up at Wilkins. He was busy looking busy and frowning to show just how very focused he was. To be fair, the Hunter case was important; no argument there. She wasn’t going to have the DS complaining she wasn’t patient enough to complete her routine work.

  By mid-morning, she was ready for a coffee and walked out of the open-plan room and down the corridor to the machine. There were two people in the queue ahead of her – one of them being Max Dimity. After he’d got his drink he paused next to her.

  ‘Sorry you had to cover for me on Friday,’ Tara said. ‘I probably did have a wasted trip in the end.’

  Max’s brown eyes were friendly. ‘Don’t worry. What were you after anyway, over in Suffolk? The DI said something about the death of a man connected to Ralph Cairncross?’

  Tara put her mug underneath the coffee dispenser. ‘That’s right. The visit was to this other man’s mother, just to check some of the details. Although the deaths might be interrelated, it doesn’t look as though there’s anything untoward about them.’

  Max nodded. ‘I see. Still, you can’t know unless you check.’

  So much better than Wilkins’ attitude. Tara smiled. ‘True. You attended the scene of Ralph Cairncross’s accident, didn’t you?’

  Max nodded.

  Tara took her full mug from the machine and raised it to her lips. It was too hot for her to do anything more than taste the coffee. ‘I just wondered, was there anything that stuck in your mind from that day?’

  Max raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re still wondering about the death?’

  She held her mug to her chest, enjoying its warmth through the polo-necked sweater she was wearing. ‘No, not really. It’s just a compulsion, you know – to know everything there is about something.’

  Max nodded. ‘I recognise that feeling.’

  ‘I’ve spoken to Agneta over at Addenbrooke’s. I gather the weather was stormy?’

  His eyes were far away now and looked darker still. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘It was.’

  ‘And did you and DS Wilkins discuss the accident much: the way the car appeared, the position of the body? Anything like that?’ She was hoping Max might mention the argument Agneta had overheard. She couldn’t help wondering about it.

  ‘We talked about the fact that there were no tyre marks on the road,’ Max said. ‘And no sign of potholes or anything like that.’ He sighed. ‘To be honest, I found the scene a bit hard to take. My wife’ – she saw his Adam’s apple move quickly as he swallowed – ‘my wife was killed in a car accident four and half years ago. The DS did a lot of joking, to try to take away from the awfulness of what we could see, I suppose. That’s what he told DCI Fleming later, anyway – someone mentioned it to her. But it was too near the knuckle for me.’

  Tara had had no idea about Max’s wife. She’d assumed he was simply young, free and single. She caught her breath. ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ she said. ‘Attending the scene of Ralph Cairncross’s accident must have been horrendous.’ Wilkins’ behaviour would explain the argument Agneta had overheard. ‘Did you tell DS Wilkins what you felt at the time?’ How could he have been so unfeeling?

  But Max shook his head. ‘I should have, of course. I focused in on the job instead – or tried to. B
ut it meant I was short-tempered with the DS, and he’s not my biggest fan, even at the best of times.’

  Tara wondered if Max knew about the cruel nickname her boss had given him. ‘You argued?’

  Max nodded. ‘Over trifles – that’s the stupid thing. But I had local knowledge to contribute and I thought I might as well give it, even if it wasn’t important.’

  ‘What was it?’

  A sad smile crossed Max’s lips. ‘The DS made some kind of joke about an “eel” that slid off the dead man’s body as it was moved. London boy, the DS is. You get eels in the Fens of course – that’s even how the city of Ely gets its name. But you get grass snakes there too. They’re swimmers. And that was most definitely a grass snake.’ He gave Tara a look. ‘Doesn’t make any difference, I realise that. But I’m a country boy and I know this area. That’s one thing DS Wilkins can’t take away from me.’

  Back at her desk, Tara thought about what Max Dimity had said. She was a local too; she understood his frustration. She’d seen a grass snake once, swimming in water close to her mother’s house, out in the Fens. It had been longer than an eel – over a metre, she guessed. And their bodies weren’t the same shape – not when you looked properly, anyway. Eels had a fin along their backs. But she couldn’t blame Agneta for misidentifying the creature at a distance. And even closer to, with the rain coming down, dark skies and swirling, muddy waters, one might have passed for another. Wilkins ought to have listened to Max when he’d explained though. If he’d been a decent guy Tara would have put his lack of attention down to being preoccupied with the victim, but she knew better. It sounded as though he’d taken time out to rubbish Max’s assertion, given that Agneta had heard them arguing.

  She battled on with the work on Hunter – cross-checking phone numbers on a series of account records – until lunchtime. Every so often she was conscious of a fresh wave of fruitless frustration at Wilkins’ behaviour towards Max but she tried to shelve it. She wouldn’t allow herself to lose concentration.

  All the same, at 1 p.m., over a sandwich, her mind was back on Ralph Cairncross’s death and the scene that had played out on the morning that his body had been recovered. She found herself idly googling grass snakes in a childish desire to prove to herself how ignorant Wilkins was.

  Two minutes later she was caught up in an article she’d found. The room around her faded until anyone could have come up to her without her noticing. She sat there at her desk for a moment, gooseflesh creeping over the skin of her forearms, the hairs rising on her scalp.

  No, this is crazy…

  She dug for more information, scanning multiple web pages, and even watched a YouTube clip with her headphones on. She was sitting back in her chair as she started the video – in denial – but by time she’d finished she was full of doubt.

  She waited for a moment, irresolute, before crossing the room to Max Dimity’s desk. She was glad Wilkins was on the phone. ‘Max, do you remember who it was that actually pulled Ralph Cairncross’s body out of his car?’

  He looked surprised, but nodded. ‘Young guy called Tony Griggs. You’ll find him on the system.’

  Back at her desk she looked up Griggs’s number, keyed it into her mobile and left the room. Just outside the front entrance she called him. She didn’t want Wilkins to know what she was on to until she did.

  Two minutes later she had her answer. But it was ten more minutes before she made her way to Blake’s office. Even by her own judgement her idea sounded like something someone would dream after eating too much cheese. But she couldn’t let it go, even if it meant ridicule. The more she thought about it, the more she knew it was her responsibility to say something. Yes, her idea sounded mad, but so mad she could write it off? Ignore it with a clear conscience? The answer to that was no – rather to her regret. Why the hell couldn’t the first meaty case she had to deal with in her new job be something straightforward?

  Ten

  Blake’s eyes met Tara’s across his desk. It was ten minutes since she’d entered his office and started to explain her theory. It seemed ludicrous on the face of it, and yet… it could explain the odd injuries on Cairncross’s right arm and hand. And the lack of braking before his car went into the water… It would account for the reservations he’d noted in Agneta’s report too. She hadn’t been satisfied with the seizure theory. But all the same…

  ‘I know it’s as weird as hell,’ Tara said, giving him a look. ‘But I felt I had to share it with you once the idea had come to me. It seemed important enough to risk being thought of as delusional.’

  At last he nodded. He could see where she was coming from. ‘You’re not going to like this, but I want to get Patrick in here, so you can relay it all to him too.’ He could see she’d known it was coming.

  ‘He won’t take it seriously.’

  They shared a look. It was doubtful his DS would take anything Tara said seriously, which was a problem he needed to address. However, this particular theory was going to be an especially hard sell. ‘Granted. But Ralph Cairncross was his case to begin with, and if anything comes out of all this, he’ll need to know the facts so far.’ And if Blake was about to appropriate Tara again, it was best that Patrick knew why, though he wished the judgement call he’d have to make could be based on something more solid. After a moment, Tara nodded. There was a second’s silence. ‘We can’t have him – or anyone – thinking some members of the team go off and cook things up in isolation.’ Patrick was just the sort to jump to that conclusion. Blake sat back in his chair. ‘Fleming’s right about that. Once the whispering starts, things become unworkable.’ And he wasn’t sure what form the whispering might take. He had a feeling it would revolve around matters that were a lot more personal than Ralph Cairncross’s death.

  He picked up his phone and called Patrick in. The man took a minute to appear at the door and made his journey to his seat as slow as possible, Blake noticed.

  ‘Go ahead, Tara,’ he said, once his DS was finally settled.

  ‘I’ve got information and a theory I need to share regarding Ralph Cairncross’s death,’ Tara said, looking at Patrick. ‘It’s in relation to the possible involvement of a third party.’

  Blake watched Wilkins’ face as surprise turned to irritation and then to disbelief. As soon as he heard the details he’d start pulling her theory to pieces. But then her ideas wanted testing. Blake knew he ought to feel more enthusiastic. And less irritated by the way Patrick picked an invisible speck of dust off his suit trousers as he waited.

  ‘I spoke to Tony Griggs a short time ago,’ Tara said, directing her words to Patrick again. ‘He was one of the guys who retrieved Ralph Cairncross’s body from the Forty Foot Drain, though obviously you, Agneta Larsson and Max Dimity were watching too, amongst others.’ Patrick had been looking out of the window and Tara paused until his eyes were back on the room. ‘Both you and Dr Larsson noticed there was a creature you thought was an eel, entwined with Ralph Cairncross’s body as it was pulled free. But Max Dimity told me it was actually a grass snake, and that caught my attention. They’re both common in the fenland waterways, but given the different stories, I asked Tony Griggs for more information. He’s local, like Max, and he saw it right up close. He says it was definitely a grass snake. And that it was dead.’

  ‘This is starting to sound like something out of Sherlock Holmes,’ Wilkins murmured. Tara’s expression remained neutral, which Blake thought was impressive, under the circumstances. Having said that, he could grudgingly see where Wilkins was coming from on this one occasion…

  ‘I looked up grass snakes,’ she went on, ‘and they swim along the surface of the water. They can stay under for an hour if something frightens them, but not longer than that. So, the question is, did this grass snake dive underwater because it was disturbed, swim in through Ralph Cairncross’s submerged car window and fail to find its way out again? Or did someone slip it into his car whilst he was parked outside the house where he and the Acolytes met, and then wai
t for it to give him the shock of his life when he got in to drive home, full of booze and travelling by moonlight?’

  Blake noted the deliberate smirk that Patrick allowed to play around his lips. He was on the edge of his seat now, as though he was impatient to get going.

  ‘It’s a fascinating theory,’ his DS said, ‘but we are only talking about a grass snake, Tara. They’re not the most threatening of creatures.’

  ‘I can understand your thinking,’ she said. ‘And if they think they’re in danger they sometimes even play dead. But females can grow to well over a metre long, and if they’re trapped in a confined space. Well, I’ll show you.’ Blake watched as she opened the laptop she’d brought in with her. She angled it so that he and Patrick could both see. She had her web browser open on a YouTube page, and clicked the video there, making it full screen.

  The film showed a grass snake stuck in a large, plastic tub. It looked substantial – certainly as long as Tara had said, and solid too. The creature raised its head high in the tub and hissed. Its body movements were sudden, fast and aggressive. Each time it drew itself up you got an idea of just how big it was. It made repeated, violent striking movements. The people making the video had identified it as a grass snake. They knew it couldn’t reach them and that it wasn’t poisonous. And yet he heard the way the pitch of their voices rose, each time the snake suddenly stretched itself towards them and struck out. It was gut instinct, and he felt their nervousness.

  ‘I think if it had been me,’ Tara said, looking at them each in turn, ‘and I’d been driving along the Forty Foot Bank, drunk, in the dark, and a creature that big had slid out from under my seat, hissing and striking, it would have been enough to send me off the road.’ Her eyes were quite calm, but she must have seen that the video had done its work. ‘It would account for the bruises Agneta Larsson said were on Cairncross’s body when he was discovered. I suspect I might have flailed around in terror. What do you think?’