by Faith Martin
And had Rachel been in any condition to know that she’d been so overlooked until now, especially when she might reasonably have expected to be the centre of attention, the actress would have been seriously put out, Jenny mused as she watched everything closely.
Then she felt slightly sick that she could think something so flippant at a time like this. The poor girl was dead. Jenny sighed heavily, knowing that her thoughts were all over the place because she was still in shock and felt so unsettled.
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Dr Pryce answered the DI’s question quietly — too quietly for any of the nearest bystanders to hear. He indicated the body, and once more crouched down on his knees beside her.
Franklyn, brought up short by the doctor’s unexpected answer, also squatted down, careful to keep the knees of his trousers from actually touching the damp ground.
‘There’s no frothing in the mouth for a start,’ Martin Pryce said, ‘which I would have expected, had the victim inhaled water.’ And he then proceeded to give the inspector a rather complicated but mercifully short lecture on various other signs and indications that should have been present at a drowning — and weren’t.
He then pointed out various other anomalies so rapidly that, at the end of it all, Franklyn wasn’t much clearer than when the medical man had begun.
‘So, you think . . . what, exactly?’ he asked flatly. Unlike many other SIOs, Franklyn had never felt the need to come across as if he knew everything about everything, and had never had any concerns about asking straightforward questions. In his view, it often saved a lot of time and confusion. If you didn’t know something — just ask. Some smug bugger was usually more than happy to enlighten you.
‘I’m not sure,’ Dr Pryce said cautiously. ‘And until I’ve had her on my table and been given the chance to have a good rootle about, I won’t be sure either. And I want to get started on that right away.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Might as well — my Sunday’s ruined anyway. Oh, and I’ll need to do a diatom test of course, just to be sure, as well as getting some other blood work done. Just in case we are talking natural causes here.’
Franklyn frowned slightly. He knew a little something about diatoms — they were some kind of microscopic organisms found in water; a species of algae, presumably. So if you detected their presence in the lungs of drowning victims, you could compare it to a water sample taken at the scene, thus confirming that the victim had indeed inhaled water from the same place that they were found. Or not, as the case might be, in which case you knew that the body had been moved after death.
‘You’re sounding more and more as if you suspect foul play,’ he complained, getting to his feet and pretending not to hear his knees click ominously as he did so.
‘Let’s just say,’ Dr Pryce said, also rising to his feet but with considerably less noise, ‘that I wouldn’t be so eager to sign off on this as an accidental drowning just yet. Not that I’m saying it might not turn out to be the case after all, mind!’
Which, in Franklyn’s experience, was typical of medical men. ‘Right. OK. Well then, in that case,’ he grumbled, ‘O’Connor,’ he turned to his sergeant, ‘we’d better call out the works. I want photographs and a fingertip search of the immediate area organised. Better tell the uniforms the good news. Oh, and get a diver in to do a sweep of the pond. I dare say he won’t find anything except the usual obligatory shopping trolley, but it had better be done.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Lucy said smartly. ‘I know someone on the diving team; he lives quite close by. He loves getting wet, sir, so I don’t think he’ll mind coming out on a Sunday. I also think that he and his diving buddy will probably be able to cover this little pond on their own,’ she advised. It didn’t hurt to give her boss a gentle reminder that their superintendent wouldn’t be too pleased with paying overtime, let alone stretching the budget to cover the use of the whole diving team.
‘Oh. Yes, right,’ Franklyn agreed vaguely. Like most men tasked with actually solving crimes, he tried not to worry about such things.
He took a quick look around at the small group of people who were still milling around on the periphery and watching him curiously, but his eyes quickly settled on the wet and shivering young man who was standing a little away from the others. Leaning against a low stone wall, he was looking morosely down at his feet.
This, presumably, had been the one who had gone in the water and dragged the body from the pond. Had he been first on the scene? Clearly, interviewing him was a priority.
His eyes moved further on, went past a tall, rather striking-looking woman with long dark hair and dazzling blue eyes, on to another woman who looked rather pale and shaken . . . And then, stiffening slightly, his eyes jerked back to the tall, dark-haired woman.
‘I know her,’ he blurted out loud.
But since Lucy had, by now, already moved away to make the phone call to her diving friend and organise the uniforms into cordoning off the area and starting a search, he was speaking only to himself.
Instantly, the policeman’s mind went into overdrive. First he racked his brains for known criminals. But no female perpetrators matched this woman’s description. Was she some local celebrity? Had he seen her on some local news station? No. It was definitely something related to police work. Something that was making him feel rather uneasy. Something . . .
And then he remembered.
‘Oh bloody hell,’ he muttered.
And Jenny Starling could only watch, appalled, as what was clearly the police officer in charge of the scene made an uncompromising beeline straight for her.
She felt her spine stiffen instinctively as he approached. She had been hoping that, this time around, she could slip under the radar and go unnoticed.
‘It’s Miss Starling, isn’t it?’ DI Franklyn said flatly, the moment he was in range of her. And the people who’d been standing either side of her instantly moved nervously away, like a flock of sheep suddenly spotting a predator in their midst, or as if she might somehow have become contagious. And all of them were clearly wondering why she’d been singled out for such instant attention.
Feeling a bit like a leper, Jenny heaved a sigh.
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged simply.
Thomas Franklyn nodded glumly. ‘I thought so.’
First of all, Dr Martin Pryce wasn’t happy about cause of death. And now there was this woman on the scene. Although he wasn’t a superstitious man, he wryly acknowledged to himself that the omens could hardly be more ominous if a group of crows were perched on a wall glaring down at him.
For Franklyn knew all about the travelling cook. Most coppers in the area did.
‘So, I suppose you already know who did it and can give me the name of the guilty party on a plate?’ he asked, irony and sarcasm vying for first place in his tone.
Jenny blinked, a little taken aback by the forthright attack.
‘Sorry?’ she temporised.
Franklyn sighed. ‘Miss Starling, I’m well aware that, in the past, let’s just say that you’ve proven to be a very useful witness,’ he stressed the word tellingly. ‘This isn’t the first time you’ve been present when someone has died, not by a long shot. So don’t come with the all-innocent act, OK?’
Jenny bowed her head in silent acknowledgement.
‘So shortly I’m going to ask you to give me a competent and reliable statement about what you know about this,’ he waved a hand at the black-clad body on the grass.
He watched her carefully, trying to dredge up from his memory what several of his fellow police officers had said about her, when they’d had the misfortune to lead a murder investigation where this woman had been present.
Hadn’t all of them told him that she could be both immensely helpful, and at the same time utterly annoying?
‘She misses nothing, and has a clear and logical mind,’ Franklyn could now remember one of them saying. ‘If you ever come across her, keep an eye on her, or else she’ll make a total fool of you,’ he�
�d then gone on to warn him.
And so, bearing that in mind, he reached out a hand to take her arm, intending to lead her to a quiet little corner and ask just how she came to be here, and what the hell was going on.
But before he could do so, however, a young uniformed officer came rushing up to him. He sounded slightly breathless with excitement, his eyes all but gleaming with glee. Clearly, this was his first major case, and he was feeling jubilant.
‘Sir, sir, you need to see this,’ he said urgently. ‘We’ve found a firearm!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘What?’ Franklyn yelped, his jaw dropping open, looking and sounding actually gobsmacked. ‘You found a gun? What kind of gun?’
His mind raced. Surely the victim couldn’t have been shot, was his very first thought. For one thing it was impossible for him to believe that the legendary Dr Pryce might have missed something so obvious as a gunshot wound — in fact, his mind practically boggled at the very idea. Even given the fact that the corpse was dripping wet and concealed head to toe in that outlandish black garment, which might make spotting even a rather large bloodstain very difficult, it was hard to believe such an oversight had happened.
Beside him, Jenny Starling too was staring at the uniformed PC in astonishment, her mind feverishly going over the events of the past hour or so. Although she had no idea of the attending physician’s almost legendary status in the local CID, she was concerned with her own powers of observation — or maybe lack thereof.
Surely she would have heard and recognised a gunshot if she’d heard one? Even if, somehow, the killer had managed to fire a round at the peak of one of Min’s frantic screams, a shot would echo louder than a human voice, surely? And especially at such close range. Unless they’d used a silencer, maybe?
But immediately as she thought it, she felt stupid. Silencers on guns were something you saw in those slick American thrillers on television or at the cinema. But not in real life, surely? And most definitely not in a sleepy little Cotswold village, for Pete’s sake! The area was hardly known for being a hotspot for gangsters!
‘It’s an air rifle, sir,’ the PC admitted at once, and a little less enthusiastically now, trying not to notice the way his superior’s shoulders slumped in relief, or the way his brow was starting to furrow with annoyance at the way he’d delivered the news so dramatically. ‘It’s just lying in the long grass, over there,’ he swept on quickly, and pointed to a spot on the far side of the pond, where his colleague was waiting, obviously guarding their find.
Franklyn, letting out his breath in a relieved gush, ran a harassed hand through his already thinning hair. When he’d first heard the word ‘firearm’ he’d instantly thought of a handgun, and thus had been utterly perplexed. Why would there be a gun at the scene? Now, he supposed, it made a bit more sense. ‘I dare say some yokel just left it there when he was out shooting crows or pigeons or something,’ he muttered angrily.
But even as he offered this explanation to the now slightly red-faced constable, he could feel his brow furrow in a frown. Because why would a local leave his air rifle behind? It was a reasonably expensive item after all, and wasn’t the sort of weapon you could easily forget about, was it? It was a weighty, long and rather inconvenient thing to have about you. Was it really something that you could just put down for whatever reason and then wander off, forgetting that you’d brought it out with you when you left the house? Hardly! And why put it down on the ground at all?
Jenny Starling was wondering the exact same thing. Just like Franklyn, she was staring over at the spot where the weapon had been found. Although she’d never used one herself, her grandfather had, and her memory of it had been of a wooden-handled rifle with a long metal barrel. A fairly heavy and sturdy piece of kit, it had fascinated her, simply because it had been a gun. What’s more, the only gun, as far as she knew, that ordinary members of the public of his generation had a right to use with impunity. For that reason alone, she’d been drawn to it. But she hadn’t thought about it in years, and now she racked her brain for more up-to-date information.
Did you have to have a licence for them nowadays, she wondered, and thought it highly likely that you did, given the modern-day obsession with such things. Gone were the days when you could just casually have these things and think nothing of it. And yet, having said that, in a rural community like this, there probably were still dozens of the things to be found, lying forgotten or unregistered in attics or outhouses.
If her memory served her right, they fired little single-shot round lead pellets or some such thing. But what on earth was it doing here though? As a potential murder weapon it seemed absurdly inadequate. It wasn’t exactly the kind of weapon that could do anyone much damage, surely? Maybe take an eye out, if you were unlucky.
Impatiently, Jenny shook her head. There she went again — her mind instantly turning to thoughts of murder! It was a simple air rifle, not a sniper’s rifle! And besides, Rachel had drowned, or had a heart attack. Either way, she certainly hadn’t been shot — either with an air rifle or anything else.
‘Well, you’d better show me I suppose,’ Franklyn said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Then, turning to point an imperious finger at Jenny, added darkly, ‘Please don’t go anywhere, Miss Starling. I still want to have that word with you.’
Jenny blinked. ‘Of course,’ she said faintly.
And ignoring the curious look the PC gave her, she wandered over to a nearby wooden bench, set against a low-built stone wall, and sat down heavily. It felt good to take the weight off her feet. She was beginning to feel that this had been a very long day already, and it was not over yet, not by a long shot.
Further along the wall, she noticed that Ion was leaning, gently steaming in the warm summer air as his wet clothes began to dry out, and looking blankly down at his feet. He was wearing white trainers that were now sodden and stained slightly green where some algae from the pond had stuck to them. He still looked shell-shocked and disbelieving, and every now and then, a series of shivers would wrack his frame.
She had a vague idea that he’d been seen by the paramedics who had come in the ambulance, and the fact that he hadn’t been whisked away to A&E reassured her somewhat that they hadn’t deemed his condition serious enough to warrant further medical attention.
She wondered if she should go to him and try and offer some words of comfort. But then she acknowledged grimly that there was probably no comfort that she could possibly offer him that would be of use, and decided to leave the poor man alone with his grief.
* * *
Over by the far side of the pond, Franklyn stared down at the rifle, lying concealed in a thick patch of tall, rough couch grass. He frowned, wondering if this had been a deliberate attempt to hide it. Or had someone simply been out looking for rabbits or pigeons to pop into their pie, and had sat down in this pleasant spot near the pond for a rest? Maybe they’d even been tempted by the Indian summer heat to do a last bit of sunbathing. It wasn’t much of a stretch to think that they might then have dozed off before rousing themselves and going home.
Forgetting all about the rifle? Granted it wasn’t as significant as a shotgun. But even so . . . But perhaps an older person, getting a little bit senile? It certainly didn’t look like a modern rifle — it had an old-fashioned hefty look to it. So that might fit. Some old codger who still liked to play the role of a mighty hunter.
He sighed heavily. Here was yet another complication he could do without. Chances were it had nothing at all to do with the matter in hand, but it would take up their valuable time and resources in checking it out. ‘Better get it tagged up and printed,’ he told the man guarding it. ‘Then see if it has any serial numbers on it, anything that can help you trace who might have owned it. Oh, and get someone to take a photo of it and show it around the village. Hopefully someone will recognise it and come forward to claim it.’ That is, if they had an innocent explanation for why it was here.
‘Sir.’ The elder of t
he PCs looked sceptical, as well he might. The rifle didn’t look new to him either, and he’d already decided that the chances of successfully tracing it were likely to be very slim indeed. What’s more, he thought the odds were very high that no villager, no matter how innocent they were, would not be all that keen to admit to owning it. Not once it got around that it was now the object of an official police investigation. In his experience, nobody liked to get mixed up in things that could end up with them having to testify in court. And this scenario would be only more likely if the owner hadn’t ever bothered to get a proper licence for it.
In these hard financial times, having to pay a fine or spend precious hours off work sorting out a legal wrangle would be something any sane person would be keen to avoid. And if whoever owned the rifle did have something to do with the death of a young girl, then he’d be a fool to bring himself to the police’s attention.
Franklyn nodded at them to get on with it, then tramped back towards the pond.
It was time he got the full picture from that Starling woman. Since it seemed it was his turn to be stuck with her, he might as well make use of her fabled sleuthing powers. And who knew — she might actually live up to her reputation and have something worthwhile to tell him.
On the way over, Lucy O’Connor waylaid him, and told him that the two-man diving team couldn’t do a sweep of the pond until first thing tomorrow morning. Franklyn told her that was fine, and ploughed on.
If his sergeant was surprised by the set, rather grim look on his face as he left her, she showed no sign of it.
* * *
‘So, I assume you were just taking an afternoon stroll and happened to see a body in the water?’ he asked Jenny a few minutes later, sitting down heavily beside her on the bench.
At this unpromising and totally unexpected start, Jenny shot him a startled look. ‘Oh no, Inspector . . . er . . .’
‘Franklyn.’
‘Franklyn. No, I wasn’t just passing by at all. None of us were,’ she added, waving a hand around at the people who’d stayed to watch what happened next. ‘We’d all come to watch her drown, you see,’ Jenny said helpfully.
