“I have to go away for a few days,” Alice told him sternly, “for appearances’ sake. It’s up to you what you do with the food. You can gobble it all up in one go or you can ration it. I’ll have Eddie come in and feed you tomorrow. Eddie’s all right.” The jackdaw started to gobble up his food. “. . . for a man,” Alice added.
She packed a few items into a small suitcase, remembering to take some honey with her as a present. She’d run out of port. She hoped that Harriet Taylor had a drop of something at her house. She’s a police woman, she thought, she’s bound to have something to drink. The police were all alcoholics.
She went into the garden to check on the bees. They seemed lethargic today. The sun was out and the mid-morning temperature was already in the twenties. She wondered if Eddie would also keep an eye on them for her. She was about to go back inside when she caught a glimpse of the uneven mound of earth underneath the hollyhock bushes.
That’s where it all started, she thought, almost a week ago.
But how did it come to this?Status quo, Alice thought, there’s nothing more important than the status quo, especially in the autumn of one’s life. Normality and routine above everything else. Whatever it takes.
She smiled at the thought and went next door to the Sedgwicks’ house.
Eddie was in the conservatory reading a biography of somebody she had never heard of — some man who had survived the war and had sold up everything and sailed around the world.
He looked up and took off his glasses. “Morning, Alice. They reckon it’s going to hit thirty degrees today. How are you feeling? I’m so sorry about Stanley. I read about it in the newspaper.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Alice said, “I’m not. Stanley left me years ago. I won’t even miss him. That’s what I want to talk to you about. I’m going away for a few days. I have an old friend in Bristol I’ve been promising to visit and now seems like as good a time as any, what with everything that’s been going on. Would you be able to feed the jackdaw for me? You’ll be doing me a huge favour.”
“Of course. It’ll do you good to get away from here for a few days. I’m thinking of getting away for longer than that. The bloke in the book I’m reading was fifty-nine when he sold up and set sail. It’s not too late to do anything.”
“You’re planning to get on a boat and sail around the world? What about Barbara?”
“We can all dream. I don’t want to lie on my deathbed regretting what I haven’t done in my life.”
“Me neither.” Alice handed him the spare keys to her house. “The jackdaw gets a quarter of a tin of dog food twice a day. It’s on the shelf next to his cage. I fed him this morning so he should be all right until tomorrow.”
“Take all the time you need. I know Stanley wasn’t around much but he was still your husband. And a shark, of all things. I’ll say one thing for Stanley - he didn’t do things by halves. Have a nice trip.”
“Thanks, Eddie. I’d better be off. It’s a long drive to Bristol.”
She didn’t mention the bees.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Harriet Taylor sat alone in her office. She had just come back from getting Alice settled in at her house. Alice had put on a brave face, but Taylor could tell she was suffering inside. Something was gnawing away at her. It had been almost a week since the hiker had found Milly Lancaster’s car at the bottom of Merryhead. Milly’s body had still not been found and it was highly unlikely that it ever would be. Just another body lost to the sea.
DI Killian had called a special meeting for midday. Maybe he’s come up with something, Taylor thought, trying to stay positive. Maybe he’s figured something out. She knew it was wishful thinking — if Killian had something he would have told her already.
There was still half an hour before the meeting so she turned on her computer and checked her emails. The law firm representing Danny’s estate wanted her to get back to them. Taylor ignored the reminder and opened up the second email. It was from Dr Finch, attaching the full autopsy report for Stanley Green. He’d added ‘I’m still up for that drink if you’re interested.’ She smiled. Maybe I should go for a drink with Dr Finch. Maybe I should take a chance for once. What harm can it do?
She opened the report and read it on the computer screen. Stanley Green’s body had been in a mild state of decomposition when he was discovered in the fishing net. There was no water in his lungs. The sea water had barely affected his tissues and organs, which suggested he had only been in the sea a short while. The cause of death was a series of heavy blows to the back of the head. The skull was fractured in three places and the parietal lobe of the brain had suffered severe trauma. The body had been sliced in two. The lacerations were uneven, suggesting he was cut in half in stages. One of the eyes was missing and the ring finger had been removed. Barring the blows to the head, all of the other injuries had occurred after his death.
It was hardly bedtime reading. Taylor winced when she read the report again. Dr Finch’s conclusion was no surprise to her. In his professional opinion, Stanley Green had been hit on the head, hidden away for around a week, chopped in half and dumped in the sea. None of it made any sense.
Why hold on to the body for so long? Why not get rid of it straight away? She was baffled. She printed the report and put it in her bag. The special meeting was about to get underway.
The atmosphere in the main conference room when Taylor walked in told her the next few hours were going to be far from pleasant. The stern faces and low mumbling hinted that a change was on the cards. A change nobody was going to welcome. Taylor sat in the seat between DS Duncan and PC Eric White. Duncan looked very pale.
“What’s this all about?” Taylor whispered to Duncan.
“I don’t know, but I don’t like the look of it. A meeting the whole station is invited to attend can only mean crap from the top.”
“Where’s Killian?” she asked.
“In a meeting with the super.”
“I reckon we’re in for a bollocking,” Eric White chipped in. “It’s been a week and we’re still running around like headless chickens. Three murders on our patch and nothing’s been done about it.”
“What? We’ve been working round the clock since Milly Lancaster’s car was found,” she said.
“And what have we got to show for it?” Duncan pointed out. “Sweet Fanny Adams.”
Killian came in with Superintendent Brian Lemon, a short man in his late fifties. Taylor realised she had only spoken to him twice since arriving in Trotterdown and one of those times had been at her second interview for the DC position. A third man entered the room behind them. Dressed in an expensive-looking suit and looking stunningly sure of himself, he made an immediate impression.
“Who’s that?” Taylor asked Duncan.
“No idea, but I don’t like the look of him either.”
“Good afternoon, everybody,” Killian said into the microphone at the front of the room, “sorry to drag you away from your work. This shouldn’t take long. Over to Brian.”
Killian handed the floor over to the superintendent. Lemon had to lower the microphone before speaking.
“Right,” he said, “good afternoon. I’ll get straight to the point. As you’re all aware, there’s been a number of unfortunate incidents over the past week or so. Three suspicious deaths of elderly people. Three in the space of a week. I’ve been liaising closely with DI Killian and it appears that the investigative team have hit a brick wall of sorts.”