'Don't really know right this minute. I'm sure I'll think of something.' Laura was being deliberately evasive and Philip knew it. He was about to move the conversation on when his mobile rang. 'Philip Bainbridge,' he said. 'Yes. . Yes.' He sounded uncharacteristically curt on the phone, Laura thought. 'OK, I'm only a mile or two away. I could be there in — what? — fifteen minutes. . yes? OK.' He flipped the phone shut. 'Problem?'
'No, just a nuisance. That was the station. They want me to take some pictures, an incident near The Perch. They wouldn't tell me anything more. Sorry, we'd better get the bill.'
Chapter 2
Philip didn't have time to drop Laura at his place first. It was freezing in his thirty-year-old MGB and Laura was relieved when she saw the blue lights ahead. They pulled off the road and across a stretch of muddy verge before stopping ten yards from a brightly lit white box-tent about fifteen feet square that marked the location of the crime scene.
Philip killed the engine and Laura looked through the dirty windscreen, as a figure in a white suit with FORENSICS stencilled on the back in green walked past the side of the car towards the tent.
'Laura, you'll have to stay here, I'm afraid. Police personnel only.' Philip got out, went around to the boot, pulled out a sturdy leather bag containing his camera equipment and slung it over his shoulder. He rummaged through the bag as he walked back to the door of the MGB. Fiddling with the lens of his Nikon digital he bent down to the window. 'You'll be OK?' he asked. T don't suppose it will be very pleasant in there, anyway.' And before she could answer, he had turned away.
Laura sat in the car for a few minutes but then curiosity got the better of her. She stepped out onto the mud and made for the flap of the tent. There was no one around to stop her. She would just take a peek, she told herself.
Pulling aside the plastic sheet just a crack she looked inside but all she could see were the backs of two police officers and the Forensics guy crouching down and placing something unidentifiable in a clear plastic wallet with a pair of tweezers. Behind him was a small red car, the doors open, mud splattered up the panels.
Closing the flap, Laura tiptoed around the edge of the tent. She crouched down and put her eye to a gap in the plastic. The car was only a few feet away and she had a clear view straight through the open offside door.
The body of a young woman was slumped on the back seat. Her arms and legs were splayed, her head pushed back, eyes open, staring, sightless, at the inside of the car roof. She was wearing a simple top and skirt, both blood-soaked. Her flesh was an intense white as though all the blood had been drained from her and her skin seemed to be bleached further by the powerful floodlights inside the tent. The interior of the car was smeared with blood; arterial spray had splashed across the windows and over the cream dash.
The girl looked very young, about Jo's age. She had once been very pretty: her long blonde hair cascaded across the back of the seat, but it was also matted with blood and had stuck to her shoulders in clumps. There was a deep red trough that stretched from ear to ear across her neck and another extending from her throat to her navel. Her ribcage had been opened up and the bones had been snapped back.
Laura stood up. For a long time now she'd believed that she had seen enough crime scenes for nothing ever to affect her, but suddenly she felt a wave of nausea sweep over her and thought she was going to throw up. She took great gulps of air and gradually the sensation ebbed away. She was about to make a dash for the MGB when she heard a voice beside her. 'Good evening.'
She whirled round and saw a young policeman staring at her. She must have looked a mess, she thought incongruously. Her skin felt cold and she knew that the blood had drained from her face. Beads of sweat had broken out on her forehead.
'I, er. .'
'Come this way, please.' The policeman took her by the arm.
Just inside the tent, he called to a plain-clothes officer standing close by. Laura was transfixed by the view she now had into the car a few yards away.
'Well, hello.' The officer looked her up and down. 'And what brings you out on a nasty cold night like this?'
She was about to respond when Philip looked over, lowered his camera and sighed heavily. 'Shit,' she heard him mutter.
'Inspector Monroe,' Philip made sure he did not catch Laura's eye. 'This is a friend of mine, Laura Niven.'
John Monroe was a tall, broad-shouldered beefy man wearing an ill-fitting brown suit and an off-mustard tie that had seen better days. In his early forties, he was bald except for patches of dark hair shaved to a mere stubble either side of his head. He had once been a promising sprinter but had let himself get out of shape. He had a large head sitting on a thick short neck. His most remarkable feature, and something that gave him the merest hint of physical attractiveness, was a pair of large black eyes that suggested both intelligence and grit but no hint of softness or humour. 'Ah, a friend, Mr Bainbridge.' Monroe's voice was a classic baritone darkened with habitual sarcasm.
'Yes, and I apologise. I asked-'
'Oh, for God's sake, Philip,' Laura snapped suddenly. 'I can speak, you know, and I'm not a child.' She turned to Monroe who for a second looked a little startled. 'Officer. .'
'Detective Chief Inspector. .'
'Detective Chief Inspector… Monroe? I'm sorry. Philip told me to stay put. I was. .'
'Curious?'
'Yes, I guess I was. .'
'You realise now, of course, Ms Niven, that this is a murder scene, and a particularly nasty one at that. Members of the public-'
'Detective Chief Inspector, I can vouch for Laura,' Philip persisted. 'I think she knows she shouldn't have, but-'
He was cut short as a white-suited figure near the car called over. 'Chief Inspector? I think you should see this.'
Monroe spun round and took two paces towards the car. Philip glared at Laura and was about to say something when, to his disgust, she strode after Monroe.
'It was just inside the wound,' the Forensics officer said. Between, his gloved thumb and index finger he held up a coin daubed with blood.
Monroe took it in his gloved hand and held it up to the light. Laura managed to get a good look at it before Monroe scowled at her and she took a step back. It was the size of a quarter, and the side facing them depicted a beautifully crafted scene with five naked female figures holding a bowl aloft.
'It looks to me like solid gold,' the Forensics officer said. 'But I'll have to confirm that back at the lab.' Monroe placed the coin gingerly into a plastic bag held open for him. Then, turning, he saw Laura only a few feet away. He gave Philip a sour look.
'Mr Bainbridge,' he said and ran a finger between his shirt collar and the skin of his neck. 'If you have finished here, would you be so kind as to escort your lady friend back to your car, and go home?'
'Well, good night to you too, Detective Chef Inspector,' Laura retorted as Monroe turned on his heel. 'Nice meeting you.'
Chapter 3
'What the bloody hell do you think you were doing?' Philip yelled. He was more angry than she could ever remember him being. 'This is my job, Laura. Stunts like that could get me fired.'
'Oh, for God's sake, Philip, calm down. I was just peeking through the tent flap. That cop made things far worse by bringing me inside, didn't he?'
Philip turned to look at her for a moment before glaring back at the road. 'You know, sometimes. .'
'What?'
'A crime scene isn't open to the public unless the police say it is. You damn well know that, Laura.'
'OK, OK. I'm sorry. I would have apologised -1 didn't get a chance.'