Death on the Coast Page 3

  Jay let them get settled and eat something while he finished off his coffee and drank his water. They were all dehydrated and starving, blood sugar all over the place. It had been a life-changing night. He stared out of the window and watched leaves fall. ‘Right, I guess we need to talk about what happened and what we’re going to do about it, yeah?’

  Scarlett used her spoon to lick out the last of the cappuccino froth and looked up at him under her freshly blackened eyelashes. ‘“Do about it”?’

  ‘It was murder,’ he whispered. ‘Not a night out at a nice little bonfire.’

  Scarlett shrugged. ‘We knew what we were letting ourselves in for, Jay. There’s no going back.’

  Jay winced. ‘I don’t think I did. I never thought she’d actually do it. Did you? And what about you, Amber? Did you expect it?’ He watched the younger girl closely. Her eyes had regained some focus at last.

  ‘It was amazing. The fire consumes and cleans,’ she said simply. ‘We made the sacrifice. The sacrifice has gone to a pure place, cleansed of his impurities.’

  Jay was aghast. Why was she spouting that rubbish? ‘Amber, we just made that stuff up, for the website, remember? That poor guy had his head bashed in by that psycho Kegan. He wasn’t a sacrifice!’ Jay stared at the girls. Bonkers, both of them. Couldn’t they see? ‘Can’t you see that this has got out of hand? That Tana is off her rocker? And dangerous? That we are party to a murder?’

  Scarlett held on to Amber’s hand and glanced around the cafe. ‘You need to be careful what you say, Jay. People might hear you, and then where would we be?’

  Jay shook his head. ‘I don’t believe you two. Get real. The police will be all over that site. They’ll be coming after us. You do know that, right?’

  ‘But they won’t find anything,’ said Amber. ‘Tana has arranged it all so well. None of us has a criminal record, so no DNA. We were disguised by make-up. Anyway, the police are fools, and Tana’s made sure they can’t trace her.’ She reached across the table and took Jay’s cold hand. ‘There’s nothing to worry about. Tana has thought of everything. This was a good thing to happen to that tramp. He’ll be much happier now. Surely you can see that?’

  Scarlett smiled. ‘It was an amazing night, wasn’t it? I never thought it would be like that. So … so … visceral.’ She tucked into her toasted sandwich.

  ‘Visceral? Scarlett, she’s going to do more. More murders, and we are implicated. How are we going to get out of this?’ Jay watched the two of them catching each other’s eye and saw the gulf that had opened between them all. He stared at Scarlett; was there nothing at all left between the two of them?

  He needed to get away from them before he lost it. It was almost eleven and he had a lecture to attend. ‘I’ve got to go. Need to drop my guitar off at home then I’ve got a lecture.’ He couldn’t meet their eyes. ‘See you later.’

  Scarlett stood close to him and placed her hand on his chest. ‘Don’t be mad at us, Jay. It will be all right, you’ll see. Tana will make sure it’s okay. You will be there tonight?’

  Jay shuffled past her. ‘I guess so, yeah,’ he said, lifting the guitar case from the floor and turning away.

  It felt good to get out of the cafe and into clean, cold air. Of course he wouldn’t be there tonight. He hurried across campus, long legs pumping. I’ll run. I’ll go, he thought. He pounded along the pavement, swerving past students with bags and bikes.

  But he couldn’t run, could he? The mad cow had made it clear that they were all in it for the duration. She’d dob him in without a moment’s hesitation. They’d all known what was coming, hadn’t they? Been ‘hand-picked’ for the mission. But he hadn’t known. Not really. It had been fun and exciting, and secret, and very weird, yeah, but he’d not factored in that they would actually go ahead and kill someone. And he couldn’t get his head around the fact that everybody else apparently had, and were okay with it.

  * * *

  The flat was hot, and stank of sweat, sex, takeaway curry, and beer. Kegan sprawled against the bedhead and watched Tana through half-closed eyes. He gave a lazy smile. ‘They’ll start arriving soon. I should clear the place up a bit.’ He didn’t move from the bed, but switched on the television for the early evening news. ‘Did you upload the photos?’

  ‘I did, they’re on the website. Not much reaction yet, but you wait an hour and all hell will break loose.’ Tana pulled Kegan towards her and wrapped her arm around his neck. ‘Now for the next one,’ she said into his ear. ‘Have you got the sacrifice ready?’

  ‘Yeah, contact made.’ He couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. ‘Wow. The cops are throwing everything at it, considering he was just an old tramp.’

  ‘I know. And very soon, I’ll be up there with the best of them, my darlin’, only nobody will ever find out who I am.’ She pulled her laptop onto her knees and sent messages to the rest of the group, telling them what time to arrive. Then she scrolled down to see the responses to her photos. ‘Aha, it’s starting. “Are these for real?” Ha, wait until you see the rest!’ She started to type.

  ‘For Christ’s sake don’t answer them. You don’t know who’s out there.’ He shut up, knowing he had gone too far. ‘I mean, keep a bit of mystery about yourself, build up the excitement.’

  She stuck out her bottom lip, and then nodded. ‘Yeah, good thinking.’

  ‘You know, we should ditch that laptop now,’ Kegan said, staring at the images. He didn’t think you could tell who anyone was in the dark, and, with the flames to help disguise him, it would probably be okay, but you never knew. ‘These things can be traced.’

  Tana punched his arm. ‘Don’t be an eejit. I stole it in Dublin from an old mate three years ago. It’s impossible to trace, and if they do, it will only lead back to him, and he doesn’t even know my real name.’

  ‘I don’t know your real name.’

  ‘Ah,’ she whispered, ‘but you have my heart, Kegan, and you need nothing more.’

  * * *

  Professor Navinder Patel took a sip of the Chablis and pulled a face before he could control it. It was such a waste, a good wine imperfectly chilled. He picked a canapé from the table and popped it whole into his mouth, chewing carefully and wiping his lips with a napkin. Smoked salmon and cream cheese. Very nice. He checked his watch: 5.30pm start, he should be home by 9pm.

  The other professors were sucking up to the dean and the vice-chancellor, which was what he should have been doing, but he couldn’t manage it. He was worried sick about Tana. What if she actually published her photos from the bonfire? What then? Chaos. The police were trained to follow the trails back until they got to the source. And she’d already threatened him. He knew she would betray him to save her own skinny little hide in an instant. He swallowed the canapé before it choked him.

  Why had he taken the money? He knew why: his wife wanted to go back to India for a holiday. The money Tana had given him to take her on the Masters course had covered the cost of the trip and more. Oh, he’d been enjoying the repercussions of that generosity for the past year or so. He patted his stomach. Had he known then what he was taking on? Really?

  And now his life may well be over, unless he could keep everything under control. Clearly the girl was mad. He just needed to be prepared to argue that point. After all, he was a professor at the university, with an excellent reputation, and she was a nobody. A mad nobody. Besides, the money had been given to him in a wad of Euros. Nobody would be able to trace that back, would they? He could just deny everything. And get a good lawyer.

  The chatter around him ceased as the dean tapped her pen on her glass. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she said, ‘before we get to the agenda, it is with great pleasure that I can announce the appointment of our new archaeology professor, Neil Pargeter.’ She left a space until everybody had clapped. ‘Neil has been doing the job brilliantly since Professor Ballard retired, and we were delighted to appoint him to the post. Let’s raise our glasses to Professor Pargeter!’

&n
bsp; Patel clapped and raised his glass as instructed. Pargeter looked delighted, he thought. As well he might. He was young for a professor, and he’d only ever taught at Exeter, so he was lucky, too. And Neil didn’t have ‘accessory to murder’ stamped all across his head, did he?

  He shrugged and took another canapé. It didn’t matter who was appointed to what any more. It was unlikely he’d have a future at the university if the truth about his graduate student ever got out. It was unlikely he’d be out of prison for long either. She was an insurmountable problem, was Tana.

  He caught Pargeter’s eye, raised his glass at him, and mouthed, ‘Well done.’

  Unless he came up with a feasible plan to get rid of her, of course. That should not be beyond his capabilities. He was glad he’d just wiped her off the records and got rid of her from the university completely. No record.

  He dredged up a smile for Pargeter as he wandered over. ‘Good result, Neil,’ he said. ‘I thought you were the best candidate by far.’

  Pargeter grinned. ‘Thanks, Nav. The interview is not an experience I want to repeat any time soon, but it feels good now, I must admit.’

  ‘Excellent, we need new blood at senior level. But now, you must pay for all this jollity by sitting through the weekly executive group meeting. Prepare for death by utter boredom.’ He grabbed several more canapés, wrapped them up in a napkin, and hid them in his pocket.

  Then he refilled both their glasses and led Pargeter into the meeting room.

  7

  Dan studied the incident board in the early evening, once the office had quietened down. No reports had been received from the hospitals on anyone suffering burns. Sam had collected whatever CCTV footage could be had. Bill and Ben were all over the evidence. He couldn’t think of anything else to do and he was tired after the ridiculously early start. No, an early night was called for, and a takeaway.

  He drove quickly to his flat on the quayside. It felt cold and a little empty; he hadn’t been back for several days. There would be a point very soon when he would have to seriously consider whether it was time to give up his place and make a proper commitment to Claire – if she’d have him. He checked the fridge, deemed the carton of milk okay for another couple of days, and rescued two bottles of white wine. He picked up a spare jumper and his heavy winter coat, and on a whim, put his guitar in its case, and lugged it all downstairs to the car.

  * * *

  Claire was home when he let himself in, laden with Chinese takeaway and wine, and the guitar over his back. She was kneeling in front of the wood burner, swearing under her breath. She didn’t say hello. ‘Bloody thing won’t catch light. Light, you bloody thing,’ she said, rattling the casing with a sooty hand.

  ‘Nice to see you, too,’ said Dan, as he hurried through to the kitchen with the food. Rufus the cat glared at him, and rubbed white fur on Dan’s trouser leg until he took the hint and emptied a sachet of food into the cat’s bowl. ‘You’re welcome,’ he muttered to the furball.

  He loaded the food containers into the oven on a low heat, took out plates, cutlery and wine glasses, and set the table before daring to go back into the living room. Placing two glasses of wine on the low coffee table, he knelt behind Claire and massaged her shoulders. ‘Bad day?’ he asked.

  Claire stopped fiddling with the fire, at which point it worked perfectly and flames rose up from the logs. Sighing, she slammed the door shut and leaned back against him. ‘Awful,’ she said, close to tears. ‘Not parents’ evening: earlier in the day.’

  He slipped round so they could both lean back against the sofa and enjoy the warmth from the fire on their toes. He handed her the wine and watched while she took a sip, waiting for the stress to seep out of her shoulders.

  ‘I hate being acting head of department, Dan.’ She wiped her eyes with her sooty hand and made a streak along her cheek.

  Dan said nothing, just reached across and wiped it off with his thumb.

  ‘If it’s not the kids playing up, it’s the parents, and now, now … ooh, it makes me so mad!’ She gulped down the wine.

  ‘Right, why don’t you tell me about it before we eat, then we can enjoy our evening without all this hanging over us?’ he said, wondering when he had become so reasonable. It wasn’t as if teaching was life and death after all. Not like his job, which was always like that these days it seemed.

  ‘It sounds pathetic now. I was telling a kid off in the corridor, and she was mouthing off about getting her mum in. You know, just giving me lip, when Debs Wright comes swanning out of the stockroom and gets the girl apologising to me in about ten seconds flat. Like I couldn’t do it myself, and the look on her face. She enjoyed showing me up.’ The threatened tears became real and trickled down her face. ‘Thing is, she’s right – I can’t do it. It should have been her job,’ she wailed.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, passing her a box of tissues, ‘you were chosen because of your experience and your organisational skills, and your knowledge of the kids and all the exam stuff.’ He shook her arm. ‘It wasn’t charity, Claire. You’re the right person for the job. Debs Wright’s a nasty, jealous old witch in my fully-informed opinion,’ he said. ‘She’s undermining you, so don’t let her. It’s called bullying. Have a bit more faith in yourself, sweetheart.’ He went silent for a moment, thinking he may have to deliver the same speech to Adam Foster soon if he didn't buck up. ‘Come on, scrub up, I need food and wine, and …’ He scooped up Rufus from the rug and pushed him, unyielding, into Claire’s arms, ‘you need a cuddle from the hairy monster.’

  Claire snuffled out a laugh and squeezed the cat against her chest until he squeaked and jumped off her lap. She clambered to her feet. ‘Okay, sorry about all that. I just needed to let it out,’ she said, dabbing at her face.

  ‘No worries. You should have seen me when I was leading on my first case. Total bag of nerves. Let’s eat, shall we? Then I’ll treat you to a few toons on the geetar …’

  8

  Dan’s last post-mortem, back in June, had involved two bodies that had been killed almost ten years earlier. It was a clean, clinical process that day, unlike this morning, he thought. The room seemed unnaturally bright, the corpse wet, smelly and all too recently alive. He cleared his throat and watched the clock. Shouldn’t be more than an hour, he hoped. He watched the technician measure the body using string, to follow the unnatural contours where the victim’s legs had contracted in the fire, and record the results.

  ‘He was over six feet tall,’ she murmured, ‘and there are indications of muscular wastage where there is enough tissue to measure it.’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed Campbell Fox, ‘he was a more imposing man in his heyday than after years of self-abuse, I imagine.’

  Fox had another technician snip the remaining ribs and sternum to enable him to access the chest cavity. ‘Many of the organs are burnt,’ he said. ‘The heart seems to have shrivelled, pulled back in on itself.’ He placed the heart in a tray and cut out the liver. ‘The liver, burnt, of course, is the black, lumpen mass of an alcoholic on the outside.’ He paused and took a slice off the lump, ‘and the medium rare of well-cooked steak on the inside.’ He chuckled at his wit and signalled the technicians to turn the body onto its side.

  Dan made a silent vow in the quiet that followed, that nobody would ever make him eat liver again. Ever. He glanced over at Ben Bennett, who was waiting patiently for evidence, and rolled his eyes. Bennett made a throwing up motion and grinned.

  Fox examined the hole in the back of the dead man’s head and measured it. ‘A weapon at least fifteen centimetres wide, blunt, and heavy.’ He asked the technician to saw open the skull and extract the brain.

  ‘A rock, then,’ said Dan. ‘Not much chance of finding the weapon on a beach full of rocks that have been washed for six hours by the sea.’

  The whine of the blade made him wince as it made light work of the cracked skull. ‘The brain, almost untouched by fire, also shows signs of the characteristic deterioration I would expect to
see in an alcoholic of middle years.’

  Dan’s phone buzzed in his pocket so he left the room to answer it. He wasn’t interested in the guy’s brain, he wanted to be able to identify him, and as far as he could tell, they would need to rely on DNA for this poor guy. It was Sally on the line.

  ‘Thought you might want an excuse to get out of there for a minute or two,’ she said. ‘Is it gruesome?’

  ‘It is,’ he said. ‘And not so far telling me anything I want to know. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Just thought you would like to know that the charming Lisa Middleton has got the front page on the Western Daily. I quote: “Teen party inferno. One dead. Police baffled.” unquote. There follows a load of stuff about antisocial behaviour and half-term holidays, and speculation about whether it was an accident or murder.’

  ‘So much for “please do not speculate”. She’s a piece of work, isn’t she?’

  ‘Well, I suppose, if I’m feeling kind, which I’m not, much, I can say that she is trying to do her job, but I’d rather she was on our side than agin us. And,’ she cleared her throat, ‘I may be to blame for her somewhat hostile attitude.’

  ‘Really? You do surprise me. What with you being so tolerant of other people’s foibles.’ He laughed when she blew a raspberry down the phone. ‘Okay, thanks, I’ll speak to her when we do the next press briefing. Any other news?’

  ‘I’ve got Lizzie and Adam in Exmouth asking in the homeless hostel and around the town, just seeing if a regular has gone missing over the last day or two. We have Paula Tippett doing a check of homeless registers in the south-west. I was a bit surprised that numbers are on the rise again. I’ll have a word with our liaison team, see what’s happening there. Sam’s on misper – you never know, someone may have reported him missing – and Bill Larcombe’s got his PCSOs doing the phone box checks. We need that description asap.’