Page 8 of Death on the Rocks (Lily Larkin Mysteries #1)
Chapter Eight
The computer screen in front of PC Grainger showed the social media page for the station. He’d been replying to a post about inconveniently parked golf buggies before he’d zoned out.
Now, the shrill ring of the phone snapped him from his trance. Expecting it to be a call following up on the golf cart situation, he hesitated before answering.
“Scilly police station,” he said, rubbing the creases on his forehead. “PC Grainger speaking.”
“Hi,” the soft female voice said, an air of confusion to the single syllable.
Flynn frowned. “Can I help?”
“I… um…”
Something in her stuttering made him sit up straighter. “Can you give me your name?”
“Lily,” she said. “You gave me your card yesterday.”
“At the bed and breakfast?”
“Yeah.”
He thought back to the guy who’d been in her room.
She’d seemed in full control of the situation, leaving little room for him to play hero, but knowing that the guy had barged into her room left him feeling uneasy.
He’d seen Vinny’s type so many times before.
Misogynistic bullies through and through.
“Is that guy bothering you again?” he asked.
“No.” Her voice quivered and he had the feeling she was outdoors. A hush of wind or waves or both filled the silence. “I don’t think he’ll be bothering anyone ever again.”
Her voice was so quiet, Flynn could barely make out the words. “Excuse me?”
“He’s dead,” she said flatly.
“He’s what? ”
“I think he’s dead.” Her words came in a rush now. “There’s blood. A lot of blood… it’s in the water too. The rock pool is filled with blood. Also, he’s twisted at a weird angle.”
PC Grainger was on his feet in an instant. “Where are you?”
“I’m not sure. Should I do something? I’m fairly sure he’s dead, but should I try to help him?”
“Look around and tell me what you can see. You said there are rock pools?”
“I’m near the bed and breakfast. By the water.”
“Are you okay? Are you hurt at all?” His mind conjured a variety of scenarios which could have led to the guy bleeding in a rock pool. All of them made him concerned about Lily’s welfare.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I was out for a run and I saw him lying on the rocks. I’m sure he’s dead. His face is in the water and there’s a lot of blood…” She made a nauseated grunt. “Like I said, he’s all twisted… his arm and his leg.”
“Don’t look,” he told her, knowing how these things could etch themselves on your brain. At least it didn’t sound as though there’d been any sort of altercation.
Ending the call felt wrong, but they were on the landline and he couldn’t do anything while still on the phone with her. “I’m going to put you on hold for a moment,” he told her. “Just hang on a minute.”
After putting her on hold, he felt a jolt of frustration. He didn’t know the procedure for anything on this stupid island. In London, he’d have got the call from a dispatcher and would be on his way there already.
Grabbing his walkie-talkie, he gave his badge number and then relayed the situation to the dispatcher. They informed him it’d be easier for him to call the medics himself, but that they’d try to get in touch with his sergeant.
“The system is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself while searching for the number for the island’s hospital. Once he’d spoken to someone there and given them a location, he got back on the phone to Lily.
“I’m on the way,” he told her. “Stay where you are.”
He dragged his stab vest on, snatched up his walkie-talkie and coat, then bolted out of the door and almost collided with the sergeant coming the other way.
Graham Proctor lived in the house right beside the station.
His hair was stuck at an odd angle and the missed button on his shirt announced that he’d got dressed in a rush.
He stopped and coughed fiercely before catching his breath.
“What the hell is going on? I had a call from dispatch about a dead body.”
“Yes.” Flynn nodded curtly. “Near the Miller’s bed and breakfast. I was called out there yesterday so I know where it is.”
Sergeant Proctor blinked in confusion. “Who’s the corpse?”
“A guy staying at the Miller’s place.”
“Old?”
“No. Young. Twenties, I guess. Maybe thirty.”
After another coughing fit, the sergeant shook his head. “People don’t just die around here.”
“Maybe someone should have told him that.” Impatiently, Flynn stepped around him to get in the car. “Are you coming?”
“Dispatch said it wasn’t an emergency call… someone called the station?”
“Yeah.” He paused with the driver’s door open. “So?”
“Probably a prank call. We don’t get deaths around here. At least not outside of the old people’s home.”
“Well, I need to check it out,” Flynn growled, conscious of the fact that a young woman was out there, freaking out about finding a corpse on her morning run. “Are you coming?”
With a derisive snort, he lumbered into the passenger seat. “This better be legit. If you’ve got me out of my sickbed for a bloody prank call, it’ll be you for the morgue.”
Flynn started the engine, choosing not to think about the fact that his superior had essentially just asked him to hope for someone’s death.