by Helen Phifer
The door opened and a woman carrying a clipboard walked in, smiled, then held out her hand. He grasped it in his, shaking it.
‘Detective Constable Alison Bell, thank you for agreeing to come in for a chat.’
He smiled back. ‘No problem, although I don’t know what we’re going to be chatting about.’
She sat down. ‘It’s just a witness statement as you were there on The Tequila Sunrise when Tamara Smythson went overboard. I just need to know the circumstances surrounding the event.’
He nodded. ‘I was there, on the boat. I didn’t see her go into the water though. I was talking to some of the guests, heard the commotion, turned around and she was already over the railings.’
‘Do you know who it was you were talking to?’
He shook his head. ‘No, sorry.’
‘Can you talk me through what happened in the moments before she fell into the water?’
He began to feel uncomfortable. The tablets felt as if they were stuck in the back of his throat and the chalky, vile taste was making him feel nauseous.
‘Do I need a lawyer?’
‘Not unless you feel that you should have one. Do you think you should?’
She smiled again, and he felt as if he was being set up, like she was a spider weaving a big web and he was the unsuspecting fly about to get trapped inside it.
‘Erm, I don’t think so, because I told you I don’t really know how she got in the water. It all happened so fast.’
‘Before it happened did you go downstairs and see anything untoward happening with Tamara and anyone else?’
He squeezed his eyes shut. Christ, they knew about Marcus. He didn’t want to grass him up, but what else was he to do? He nodded, feeling miserable even though he owed him nothing. She waited patiently while he sipped at the water.
‘I went downstairs to get some more champagne and saw them.’
‘Saw who?’
‘The girl who went into the water; she was backed into a corner. Marcus had his hands on her, trying to…’ He really didn’t know what to say. What would be the correct terminology? Grope? Assault was far too strong; it was probably more of a drunken fumble.
‘What was he trying to do, and what did you do?’
‘I wasn’t sure if they were, you know…’
She shook her head.
‘Getting it on.’
‘Did she look happy about the advances Marcus was making?’
He sighed. ‘No, she didn’t. She looked upset. I told him to get off her, and she pushed her way past him and went back up on the deck.’
‘Then what happened?’
‘I got the champagne, told Marcus he was an idiot and went back up. I didn’t see what happened. The first I knew about it was when I heard a group of girls screeching followed by the splash. But she was okay; there was a boat nearby that pulled her to safety. Look, I know it was a mess, but why don’t you ask her what happened. She can tell you far better than I can.’
‘We can’t ask her. I’m afraid Tamara Smythson was found dead this afternoon.’
He wondered if this was some kind of sick joke. He stared at the detective’s face, waiting for her to break into a smile. She didn’t. Her face was like granite and the serious expression on it told him this wasn’t a joke at all. The girl really was dead.
Fifty-Nine
James Marshall was sitting back in his chair, his legs crossed and hands behind his head. He didn’t look in the least bit bothered about being here, which infuriated Josh when he walked into the room
‘James, I’m Detective Sergeant Josh—’ He was interrupted before he could finish his introductions.
‘I know who you are, we only spoke the other day. I have a good memory. What is this about?’
Sam sat down. ‘We need to find out what happened last night.’
He turned to stare at her. ‘What’s to know, that girl drank too much and fell into the lake. End of story.’
‘That girl is called Tamara Smythson; she fell off your boat into the water. She told me that someone pushed her. I want to know who. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, is it?’
‘I want a lawyer. You told me this was to give a witness statement. I don’t like the tone of your voice, therefore, I won’t be talking to you until I have legal representation.’ He sat back and crossed his arms, glaring at them both.
‘That’s your choice. Do you have a preferred one you’d like me to contact?’ Sam asked him.
He nodded then reeled off the number of the family solicitors. ‘Ask for Oliver; I don’t want anyone else.’
Josh stood up, leaving the room before he exploded; he didn’t like the cocky, self-assured idiot. Sam followed him outside, closing the door behind her.
‘It was worth a shot.’
‘He’s an arse.’
‘Yes, and a rich one. You didn’t really expect him to spill his guts, did you, Josh?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
Sam went to make the call, and Josh went to find an officer to sit with James until the solicitor arrived.
Paton walked out of the interview room where Marcus Johnson was, and Josh hoped he had something more than he had.
‘Anything?’
‘There’s some huge misunderstanding; he thought that Tamara liked him and now he wants a solicitor.’
‘Crap.’
‘Yes, it is. If it’s any consolation, he’s looking very uncomfortable in there and is sweating like a pig. He’s asked for the heating to be turned off.’
‘Guilty conscience?’
‘That or he’s got the beer sweats.’
Josh walked away. Why did everything have to be so complicated? For once it would be nice to catch a break and put this to bed before anything else happened.
Sixty
Beth gave Abe the go-ahead to begin to sew Tamara Smythson’s body back together. She’d been right: when she’d removed the lungs and measured the liquid inside them it had been less than twenty millilitres. The small amount of freshwater had inactivated the surfactant, leading to alveolar collapse and pulmonary dysfunction damaging the basement membranes, which then led to pulmonary oedema. The progressive neurologic failure through the swallowing of fluid had caused her to vomit a small amount of gastric content. The cause of death was indeed secondary drowning, only this time, from what Josh had told her, it wasn’t accidental. Someone had pushed her into the water.
Beth wanted more than anything for Josh to catch the person who had done this. Someone had pushed her into the water, and whether they’d meant for her to drown or not, she had. There had been no trace evidence under her acrylic nails. She knew it was highly unlikely as Tamara hadn’t had to struggle alone in the water and had been pulled out to safety pretty quickly.
Only herself, Abe and the body were in the mortuary.
Radio One played softly in the background; Beth thought that it was more fitting music for a teenage girl than the Smooth FM that she favoured. She watched as Abe carefully stitched the girl back together, knowing he was being overly careful; his way of making amends.
She looked so small lying there under the spotlight. Her matted hair extensions would be a nightmare for the undertaker to sort out when the body was released, which, unfortunately for Tamara, might not be in the near future. She would be kept in the mortuary longer than Beth would like because of the pending murder investigation.
Checking her phone, there were no missed calls from Josh. Paul had told her he was speaking to witnesses at the station. She wondered how it had gone; had they arrested anyone for these senseless deaths?
Abe finally stopped what he was doing, stretched then stood up. Beth looked at the neat row of stitches, all of them even. She liked that he hadn’t rushed. She didn’t know Tamara, but she felt that it was the least that she deserved. The phone in the office began to ring and she went to answer it; her mobile didn’t always get a signal in the mortuary.
‘Good afternoon, mortuary.’
&nb
sp; ‘Hello, this is probably a long shot but I’m hoping to speak with Doctor Adams. Is she available?’
Beth didn’t know this voice. ‘Yes, speaking.’
‘Really, wow. What a stroke of luck that was. I didn’t expect anyone to be there on a Sunday tea time, if I’m honest. I guess death has no concept of time.’
She laughed, feeling instantly that whoever this woman was, she liked her.
‘That’s true, when death comes calling you answer the door. How can I be of assistance?’
‘My name is Michelle Jones, I’m a research microscopist at the forensic science laboratory. I specialise in identification of small particles and small quantities of unknown materials. I’ve been studying the samples you sent in.’
Beth felt a surge of adrenalin rush through her. ‘That’s brilliant.’
‘Yes, I’m a bit behind so came in to work extra hours today. I found both your samples very interesting. They both came from under two separate victims’ fingernails?
‘Yes, they did.’
‘Are you aware of the process we use to identify them? Would you like me to explain?’
Beth had a rough idea but wasn’t an expert. ‘Not really, and yes, I’d appreciate it if you talked me through it.’
‘The samples were only minute, so I had to use the infrared microscope which allowed me to examine them without any damage or having to prepare them. I then had to heat the samples up to a high temperature which made them decompose into a gaseous product.’
‘So you were able to put them in a chromatograph?’
‘Yes, that’s right. A pyrogram was produced showing the chemical make-up of the binder, which is the same for both samples. I can confirm that both samples come from the same object. They both share the same properties and have an identical chemical fingerprint. I then ran them through the database, and it’s come back as a wood stain and marine varnish. But, the bad news is that the test sample you sent in for comparison wasn’t enough to match it with those taken from the victims. Sorry.’
Beth let out a sigh. She had been convinced the paint would match the boat tied up beside The Tequila Sunrise.
‘Thank you.’
‘I’m sorry it’s not the result you wanted. Maybe you could get a better comparison sample, slightly bigger, and I’ll run it through again?’
‘Yes, I’ll try. It’s good that you’ve managed to confirm the evidence recovered from both victims was a match. At least that ties them together; now we just need to find where they were before they went into the water.’
‘Yes, I suppose that’s better than nothing. Anyway, I’ll send everything over on official documentation. I just thought I’d ring on the off chance. What exactly happened to them?’
‘One girl was found face down in the water next to the boat she’d last been seen partying on, and the other victim was last seen in the vicinity of the same boat. She went into the water first, but it took longer for her body to be discovered.’
‘How sad, I hope you manage to find which boat it was. If it helps, I think you’re looking for a wooden boat that hasn’t been painted in a while.’
Beth closed her eyes, picturing the boat attached to the rear of The Tequila, though it had been too dark and wet for her to see clearly that night.
‘Thank you for this. I’m so glad you called.’ Beth signed off and put the receiver down. It didn’t make sense; if they’d both come off a rowing boat, wouldn’t it have been adrift, or wouldn’t they have been with someone else? Someone had to have been in the boat with them, and she had no doubt that whoever it was had pushed the girls in and left them to drown. What kind of sick person would do that?
Sixty-One
They regrouped in the office. Josh waited for Paton and Sykes to arrive before discussing how the interviews had gone. They all walked in looking sombre.
‘Sorry, Johnson got all antsy and defensive when we asked him what had gone on. Asked for a brief,’ Paton said.
‘He’s sweating buckets though, and looks shifty as anything,’ Sykes added.
Josh looked at Bell, who smiled. ‘Mine was lovely; Ethan Scales is hungover too. Very open, chatty, he was a bit reluctant to talk about what had happened below deck. That’s pretty understandable though, he didn’t want to be seen as grassing his friend up. He did though; he said he caught Marcus with his hands all over Tamara and she looked visibly upset. He didn’t see her go overboard though.’
‘What do you make of him?’
‘I like him; he seems honest, didn’t want a solicitor.’
Josh paused for a moment. ‘Plus, he was the one to jump in and try to save Leah Burton. Right, get him to sign his statement and let him leave. It’s Marcus Johnson I’m interested in. He has motive to push Tamara into the water. He saw red when he was caught groping her and saw an opportunity to get his revenge.’
Sam nodded. ‘We also know Julia Bach was being pestered by him so much that she left her place of work, so he also had the motive to silence her permanently. We don’t know how she ended up in the lake yet though.’
Josh agreed. ‘James Marshall was the same, clammed up as soon as he realised the questions related to Tamara Smythson and asked for the family brief. I’m still not one hundred per cent he’s clean. After all, it’s his boat and he has a reputation as a ladies’ man. We’ll wait for their solicitors to attend and then we’ll tell them things have taken a serious turn and they’re now being interviewed. See what happens.’
Josh stood up. ‘I’ll go and tell Ethan Scales he can go home.’
He walked into the interview room. Ethan Scales was leaning on the table, his head on his arms. He jumped up as the door opened.
‘It’s okay, thank you for your time, Mr Scales.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Yes, you’re free to leave. Can I offer you some advice?’
He nodded.
‘Keep away from the marina, especially The Tequila. I’d probably give your friends a wide berth for a while as well. You might end up getting dragged into something you can’t get out of.’
Standing up, he looked Josh in the eye. ‘Thank you, you don’t have to worry about that. I’ve had enough of boats, alcohol and my so-called friends for a lifetime.’
Josh opened the door and let him into the front office. When Ethan pushed open the heavy wooden door that led into the outside world, he didn’t turn around.
Sixty-Two
Beth got out of her car, the darkening sky casting warped shadows all around the marina. She didn’t know what being here could achieve; she only knew she had to try and locate the boat both girls had fallen out of.
There were still no messages or calls from Josh, which hurt. She knew he was busy, of course he was, but she’d sent him a text two hours ago saying they needed to talk and he’d only texted back ‘sorry’. He would be furious with her if she told him about being at the marina doing her own investigating, but what else could she do? Someone had to put a stop to these senseless deaths.
She pulled the woollen hat down over her ears and zipped her coat up to her neck. The row of shops was all in darkness, closed signs facing the road, but she was thankful the pub was open, the light shining out through its windows casting a warm glow onto the side of the lake. No one was outside and she doubted there were many customers inside either. It was too cold and miserable; people would rather be by the fire watching the television in this weather. Into her pocket she’d stuffed a handful of blue crime scene gloves and several specimen pots. She figured that the boat both girls had come into contact with had to be near The Tequila Sunrise, so that ruled out most of the for-hire ones a good distance away along the promenade. Paul had said that Josh was busy taking statements, so that meant she wouldn’t have to worry about bumping into James Marshall again. Did she have the nerve to go back onto his boat to get a better sample from the wooden boat he had tied up behind it? She could use the excuse she was returning his boots and clothes. Without a search warrant the evidence would be
inadmissible in court, she knew, but it could be the lead they needed to crack the case.
As she reached the jetty where The Tequila Sunrise was moored, a sinking feeling enveloped her: the dinghy had gone. Did James Marshall realise how serious and incriminating the evidence she’d almost got could be? He must have moved it somewhere else. Walking up and down, she realised that not only had that boat been moved, but there were no others like it in this part of the marina. Now what was she supposed to do? Go home and have a glass of wine, she laughed to herself, then spotted the welcoming glow of the pub behind her.
Inside, the television was on and there was an elderly couple sitting next to it watching a programme about buying a house in the country. She walked to the bar and sat on one of the stools. She hadn’t been in here before and it was much bigger than it looked outside.
‘What can I get you?’
The voice came from nowhere and she jumped. ‘Do you do coffee?’
The man, who had a tea towel thrown over one shoulder, nodded. ‘Cappuccino, latte, Americano?’
‘Cappuccino, please. Is it always this quiet?’
He shrugged. ‘Depends on the weather; there’s a storm brewing. Locals don’t come out in this weather and there doesn’t seem to be many tourists around.’ He pointed at the couple who were glued to the television. ‘Well apart from those two.’
He left her and returned a few minutes later with her coffee.
‘Thank you, have you worked here long?’
He laughed. ‘Only since I was old enough to wait tables. My parents own the place, but I kind of run it for them now they’re getting a bit past it.’
‘Do you get a lot of boat owners in here?’
‘Sometimes, more so in the warmer weather.’
