Page 60 of Worse Than Murder (DCI Matilda Darke Thriller #13)

‘I knew she was going to be trouble the first time I heard she was in the area. You know what they’re calling her online– the angel of death.’

Inspector Gill Forsyth is seething. She has received a call from Sally Meagan at Nature’s Diner telling her a skeleton has been found in their basement.

Gill has just sunk her third glass of Rioja and doesn’t feel she should drive.

She calls her sergeant, Alan Stokes, and asks him to come and pick her up.

She knows he won’t be happy about being called out, but he’s a teetotal and has no choice.

‘First the storm, then the girls in the lake, and now a bloody body in the cellar.’

‘I hardly think she can be blamed for the storm,’ Alan says.

‘No. But I can blame her for bringing her bad karma to my doorstep. Why couldn’t she have stayed in Sheffield where she belongs?’

Alan pulls into the restaurant car park and finds a space next to a marked police car and a CSI van.

‘So, who do we reckon this body belongs to?’ Alan asks as he climbs out of the car.

‘I’ve no idea. But seeing as Matilda Darke is involved, it could be anyone from Lord Lucan to Jack the Ripper. I’d even put money on it being Jesus,’ Gill says as she makes her way to the steps of the restaurant.

* * *

We’re sitting at different tables. Philip and Sally at one, Carl at another with the two dogs excitedly wagging their tails and, at the next table to him, me and Adele are sharing a bottle of wine. Gill enters the restaurant. Her eyes fall on me straight away and give me a dirty look.

‘Mr Meagan, I don’t know what to say. I’m incredibly sorry,’ Gill says.

‘Thank you.’

‘Just to be clear, why were you hacking away at a solid brick wall late into the night?’

‘To see what was behind it. I’ve already given a statement to one of your officers. It was Matilda who noticed it was a false wall.’

‘I’m sure it was,’ Gill says, an icy tone to her voice, as she looks over to me again.

‘My husband was an architect,’ I explain. ‘I recognised the brickwork as not being that of an external wall.’

‘You really are a mine of information,’ Gill says. ‘And you are?’ she asks, turning her attention to Adele.

‘Dr Adele Kean.’

‘Oh, you’re the one who’s been pumping Dr Hailstones for information about the girls in the lake.’

‘Dr Hailstones?’ Carl laughs. ‘What kind of a name is that?’

‘It’s Scottish,’ I say.

‘A fount of knowledge on the history of surnames, too, it would seem,’ Gill says.

‘Inspector, could you come downstairs for a moment, please?’ a man in a paper forensic suit asks from the doorway to the cellar.

Gill walks away, a bitter expression on her face.

‘Aww, it’s nice to see you’ve made a friend while you’ve been here,’ Adele says, sarcastically.

* * *

The way to the cellar is lit up with brilliant white arc lights. At the top of the stairs, Gill changes into a forensic suit and walks down with a hand over her eyes to shadow them from the glare. In the windowless room of the basement, the light is more intrusive than usual.

A team of CSIs is gathering any evidence from the floor while a ladder has been placed against the back wall, half of which is lying in bricks on the floor. A head appears from the other side.

‘Ah, Inspector Forsyth,’ Crime Scene Manager Louise Brocklebank says, pulling herself up. ‘Your new friend is certainly keeping us busy.’

‘She’s no friend of mine,’ Gill hurriedly says. ‘What have you found?’

‘Another piece in your cold case jigsaw. There’s a man back here fully clothed with a gaudy gold-plated watch and a wallet full of identification.’

‘Go on.’

‘All signs point to this being Jack Pemberton.’

‘Jesus! So much for all those sightings over the years,’ Gill says, squeezing the bridge of her nose. ‘You’re definitely sure it’s him?’

‘Not at all. You’ll need DNA to confirm that.

But there’s a watch engraved with his name and a wallet with a credit card and driver’s licence all bearing his name.

I’ve requested a forensic pathologist to come out and take a look, but he’s coming all the way from Manchester so it’s going to be tomorrow before he gets here. ’

‘Can you tell how he died?’

‘Not so far.’

‘Was he dead before the wall was bricked up?’

‘You’re asking the wrong person.’

‘Can you tell me anything?’ Gill asks, her voice growing louder with frustration.

‘Yes. I can tell you there is a body back here and all signs point to him being Jack Pemberton. That’s all you’re getting from me,’ Brocklebank says, testily.

‘Shit!’ Gill spits.

‘Brian, where are you with the camera?’ Louise calls out from behind the brick wall.

‘This flash is buggered. You’re not going to get anything from this. I’m going to have to go back home to pick up a new one.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Gill asks.

‘I dropped my flash down the stairs,’ Brian says, giving a ‘oops’ smile.

‘I’m coming back up,’ Louise calls out. ‘I’m getting cramp here.’

‘We’ll have an officer posted outside. Tomorrow morning, we’ll get a full team down here and a decent set of lights,’ Gill says.

‘My plans for tonight have been buggered up anyway. So much for date night,’ Louise says, dusting herself down.

Gill turns to Alan. ‘Call Claire. She was moaning earlier that Geraint is on nights and she’s alone in the house. She can babysit the body. But tell her to keep her mouth shut. This goes no further.’

* * *

‘Alison, sorry, did I wake you?’ Claire asks. She’s in her bedroom, mobile tucked into the crick of her neck while she changes from her pyjamas into her uniform.

‘No. I was in the bath. What’s up?’

‘I’ve just had a call from Stokes. You’ll never guess what’s been found in the basement of Nature’s Diner.’