Cradle to Grave Read online

  ‘Was he killed along this stretch?’ Kay turned away from the pathologist and watched the group of CSIs who were working, heads down, under a copse of trees that lined the riverbank further upstream.

  ‘I don’t believe so,’ said Harriet. ‘My team are processing that scene further up to rule it out – it’s where the witness said he first saw the body in the water.’

  ‘So he floated here?’ said Barnes.

  ‘That’s what we think, reading the witness statement and talking to the divers, yes.’

  Kay shielded her eyes and squinted at the river as it curved away to the left and out of sight a quarter of a mile from where she stood.

  ‘Then where the bloody hell did he come from?’

  Three

  By the time Kay and Barnes retreated over the footbridge to their car, three more patrol cars and a coroner’s van had joined the throng of vehicles parked in the dead-end street.

  An inquisitive crowd had gathered at a third cordon behind two patrol vehicles near the T-junction with the main road, their necks craned as they tried to find out what was going on.

  Kay glared up at the sky at the beat of a helicopter’s blades, then back towards the river. ‘Bloody hell, Ian. The vultures are circling.’

  Barnes raised his hand to one of the coroner’s team and gestured towards the footbridge. ‘Can you work as quickly as possible to get the body away?’ he said. ‘Before that lot get any footage for tonight’s news. It’ll only be a matter of time before we have more reporters down here at this rate.’

  The man’s brow furrowed. ‘Has the pathologist been?’

  ‘He’s down there with the CSIs, so you’ll be able to get clearance from him to move the victim.’

  ‘Okay. Leave it with us.’

  Kay watched the man make his way over the footbridge, and then tapped Barnes on the arm and pointed at the car.

  ‘Back to the station. We need to get the team up to date with what’s going on down here, and then take a look at where our victim might have hit the water.’

  She scrolled through her text messages as Barnes drove, delegating tasks from her existing caseload as much as possible so that she could concentrate on the major inquiry that would follow the discovery of the body in the river.

  Raising her head as the car slowed, she was surprised to find they were already at the security gate to the town centre station.

  ‘How fast were you going?’

  ‘It’s early. The traffic’s light. You would’ve noticed, but you haven’t looked up from that screen since we left Tovil,’ said Barnes, and winked.

  He led the way through the lower levels of the police station and up a flight of stairs, turned right at the end and pushed open the door into a large office space.

  Sunlight streamed through the windows at the front of the room, the sound of passing traffic on Palace Avenue filtering through the thick glass.

  Kay paused at the threshold and let Barnes go ahead of her, then took a deep breath.

  A new investigation, and with it all the complexities and problems that would no doubt test her skills to the limit.

  She exhaled as a familiar lanky form weaved between the desks towards her, followed closely by a woman in her early thirties with short jet black hair who was struggling to keep up with him.

  Gavin Piper nodded to Barnes at his desk as he drew closer. ‘We got here as soon as we could.’

  Kay narrowed her eyes at him. The detective constable’s blond hair stuck up in spikes despite his efforts to tame it, and she shook her head at his tanned skin.

  ‘It’s not fair, Piper. You were only away for five days.’

  He snorted. ‘And some welcome back this is, guv. Do we know who he is?’

  ‘No – and it’s not going to be easy, either. Lucas said the victim’s face was shot away.’

  Detective Constable Carys Miles winced, then hissed through her teeth. ‘Bloody hell. I wonder who he pissed off? Any identification?’

  Kay shook her head. ‘Nothing at all, not according to Harriet. Let’s move over there, and I’ll update you.’

  She brushed past Gavin and crossed to where he had set up a freshly wiped whiteboard. Next to it, he’d cleared all the usual social notices from a cork board and had pinned a map of the River Medway along the top of it, the location of the victim’s body already highlighted.

  Glancing over her shoulder at a gaggle of uniformed and suited junior personnel who hovered at the periphery of the small group, she snatched up a thick marker pen and turned to them.

  ‘Good start with this, Piper.’ She paused as Carys thrust a mug of coffee at her. ‘Thanks. Right, actions – Gavin, I need you to organise setting up the rest of this incident room as soon as possible. Liaise with Theresa in admin and see if you can get personnel to assign Debbie West to the team for the duration of the investigation. She’s familiar with everyone, and I’d like to have her on board as office manager.’

  Gavin scribbled in his notebook as she spoke. ‘Got that, guv. What about IT?’

  ‘Get them to help you – we’ll need as many desks set up as possible before lunchtime today. I have a feeling this one is going to take most of our resources this week. Carys – can you make sure this map is complete? Find out how far up this stretch of water goes before it meets a lock or weir. Phone the local office of the Environment Agency as well to see if they’ll provide an idea of flow rates on this stretch of the river. We need to find out where that body could’ve travelled from before the search teams get down there, so we can narrow down a scope of work for them.’

  The detective constable looked up from her notetaking. ‘Do you want search teams starting at the possible point of origin as well as from where the body was found at Tovil?’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Kay. ‘We need to explore the possibility that whoever did this to him may have walked part of the Medway Footpath to make their escape, and having a second search team start from where he might have entered the water, we’ll halve the time. We need results on this today. Ian, I need you to work the missing persons angle from here this morning. Find out if what we know about our victim so far – height, average weight, hair colour – ties in with any reports on file.’

  ‘Will do, guv.’

  Kay finished writing her notes on the board, then re-capped the pen and faced her team once more. ‘Carys – as soon as you’ve finished talking with the Environment Agency I want you down at the river coordinating with Harriet’s lot and the uniformed search team. I’ll need a running report about anything they find so I can keep the team at this end up to date.’

  The detective constable nodded. ‘What about media, guv?’

  On cue, the clatter of a helicopter reverberated through the windows, and Kay raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Leave that with me. I’ll speak with DCI Sharp about a coordinated statement before that lot start the rumour mill circulating. Dismissed.’

  Four

  Carys took a map from Harry Davis and narrowed her eyes against the glare off the River Medway.

  The police divers had dispersed half an hour ago, satisfied that the waterway held no further clues to the victim’s identity, and now a group of uniformed police officers and forensic specialists hovered on the towpath, waiting for her instructions.

  Her mobile phone vibrated in the vest she’d slipped over her jacket. Her heart missed a beat when she saw the phone number displayed on the screen.

  ‘DC Carys Miles.’

  ‘Detective, it’s Ray Annerley from the Environment Agency. I’ve got the information you were after.’

  ‘Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. What can you tell me?’

  ‘Based on the time of year and the fact we haven’t had a flood event in recent days, we reckon that your man could’ve entered the water anywhere from East Farleigh lock onwards before reaching Tovil.’

  Carys bit back a sigh. ‘That’s nearly two miles.’

  ‘It’s the best we can do, I’m afraid. The first
lock from your position is at East Farleigh – I don’t think he would’ve passed through that without someone noticing.’

  ‘How long do you think he was in the water for?’

  ‘From there? A day at most.’

  Carys thanked him, and ended the call. At least the Environment Agency’s timings matched the pathologist’s initial findings.

  ‘Okay, everyone. Gather around, please. Have you all got a copy of the map showing the Medway Path from Harry?’

  A murmur rumbled through the group in response.

  ‘I’ve had the Environment Agency on the phone, and they’ve just confirmed that our search area should start at East Farleigh lock. Given flow rates and current weather conditions, they concur with Lucas Anderson’s opinion that our victim was in the water for no more than a day. Bearing that in mind, we’ll split up into two groups – one to continue from here, and the other starting at East Farleigh lock.’

  Pausing, she checked her notes. A bead of sweat trickled between her shoulder blades, and she forced herself to relax. She had conducted many searches before, but had never been responsible for leading one.

  The burst of pride that had surged through her at Kay’s instructions to carry out the task threatened to turn to anxiety as the sheer scale of what lay ahead became apparent. It didn’t help that there hadn’t been time to engage the Police Search Advisor to assist in the task – the person responsible was stuck in traffic outside Folkestone and wouldn’t reach Maidstone for another two hours.

  Kay hadn’t been prepared to wait, so in the meantime had instructed the allocated Lost Person Search Manager – Sergeant Harry Davis – to coordinate the initial parameters.

  Carys cleared her throat. ‘Our search objective is to find any evidence that might be related to our victim, or the perpetrator of the crime. At the present time, we don’t know where the victim entered the water, so you’ll need to include signs of a struggle, blood spatter from a gunshot wound, or other indicators. We also need to bear in mind that his killer may have escaped along the Medway Path after shooting him.’

  Turning over the map, she indicated the satellite photograph that had been printed on the back. ‘If you take a look at this, you’ll see that between here and East Farleigh there are several egress routes the killer could have taken. We have another uniform team conducting house-to-house enquiries in streets that border the river, but you’ll need to check all footpaths leading off the main Medway Path as well.’

  She cast her gaze around the gathered throng. ‘I realise this is a massive undertaking, but we’ve got almost eleven hours of daylight available to us. DI Hunter is seeking further assistance from Headquarters to bring in additional personnel later today to continue the search. Any questions?’

  When no-one raised their hand, she turned to the older police sergeant next to her.

  ‘Harry, can you lead the first group from here?’

  Davis nodded, then began to bark orders at his colleagues.

  Carys watched the group move up the towpath away from the footbridge, and turned to the remaining personnel.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  Batting a dancing crowd of midges away from her face, Carys pulled down her navy baseball cap and cursed under her breath as she stood on the medieval bridge that crossed the River Medway at East Farleigh.

  A steady stream of traffic flowed behind her.

  She hadn’t dared to suggest the bridge be closed, given the assertions by the Environment Agency that the victim had entered the water after the lock to the left of the structure.

  The busy thoroughfare was a popular route into the southern suburbs of Maidstone, with the narrow road managed by sets of traffic lights that allowed a few cars through at a time.

  If she closed off access without sufficient evidence to give her cause to do so, she’d never hear the end of it from her colleagues in Traffic.

  Her lips narrowed as she ran her eyes over the weir to the right of the lock, a concrete quay separating the two, enabling boat owners to progress along the river and the local authority to manage the flow of water.

  Leaning her arms on the ragstone-constructed arch, she watched as the group of uniformed officers made their way along the path in a short line.

  She’d elected to split them up – one line of five officers taking the lead, a second group behind them. Three forensic specialists hovered at the rear, ready to take any findings into evidence for processing and elimination.

  Carys took a deep breath, then waited for a break in the traffic and jogged across the road.

  An old converted red-brick pumping station stood to her left, floor-to-ceiling blinds across the windows to offset the bright sunshine – or the sight of so many uniformed police officers crawling over the landscape.

  She slowed as she reached the car park beyond the pumping station, squeezed between two patrol cars, and hurried back along the path and under the bridge towards her colleagues.

  Brushing past the CSIs, she caught up with PC Aaron Stewart in the second search group.

  He paused, his large frame casting a shadow over Carys.

  Shielding her eyes, she jutted her chin towards the two teams. ‘Anything yet?’

  ‘No. No signs of blood spatter on the sides of the lock on the downstream edges, and we’ve checked the other side nearest the weir, too.’

  Carys pulled out her mobile phone. ‘I’ve got full signal down here, so I’ll join you.’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  They fell into line, and she lowered her gaze to the ground. Each officer worked methodically, sweeping their eyes across the rough stone and dirt path or, in the case of the two officers over to her far left, the thick vegetation that grew between the Medway Path and the fence erected beside the railway.

  Pulling up her collar to ward off the sun, Carys looked up at a call from the group ahead of theirs.

  To the right, jutting out into the water, was a concrete jetty and she held her breath as three officers spread out and began combing the rough surface for clues. She recognised PC Dave Morrison as he crouched on all fours and leaned over the edge, before easing back to a sitting position and pointing his thumb downwards.

  ‘No bloodstains or anything there, either,’ said Stewart.

  Carys unfolded her map. ‘Where’s the first spur in this path?’

  ‘There’s a property about half a mile up, with access to Barming. If you look at the satellite image, it seems it’s a popular spot for narrowboats to moor.’

  She flipped over the page, then frowned. ‘With a house and that many boats nearby, you’d have thought someone would’ve reported a gunshot.’

  ‘Maybe. There are fields all around them, though so they might have written it off as a crow scarer or something. If they’re not used to hearing it, a gunshot can sound like a car backfiring, too.’

  Carys bit her lip, then craned her neck to see how the first group were progressing. She tucked the map back into her pocket, and ploughed onwards, trying to ignore the sense of unease that was turning her stomach.

  What if the man had been shot elsewhere, and his body then dumped in the river? She shook her head, muttering under her breath. No, because someone would have had to have carried his body – too hard across the fields and a busy railway line, and too risky to cross the bridge with the amount of traffic that used it day and night.

  She shuddered as a train flew past, its horn blaring. The stretch of track held too many memories for her – memories that kept her awake some nights, when her mind turned to what could have been if it wasn’t for––

  ‘They’ve got something.’

  Stewart’s voice crashed into her thoughts, and her head snapped up.

  ‘Where?’

  The police constable pointed to a female officer at the right of the first team, who had raised her hand in the air, bringing her group to a standstill.

  Carys watched, her fists clenched, as the woman moved towards a brightly coloured cabin cruiser moored next to the pa
th, her movements methodical as she checked the thick grass on the riverbank.

  Satisfied the way was clear, a male colleague helped her over the gunwale. She rapped her knuckles on the cabin door, and then peeked through a round window.

  A split second later, she spun on her heel and beckoned.

  ‘Wait here,’ said Carys. ‘I think this is it.’

  Five

  Reaching the boat, Carys ran her eyes over the blue-striped chine and found a name – Lucky Lady – splashed across the paintwork nearest the bow. At the stern, a registration number had been stamped in white paint, bold and clear.

  A single window stretched the length of the cabin along the left-hand side, and as she wandered up to the bow, she noticed that it and the two forward-facing windows had curtains pulled across them.

  PC Laura Hanway called out to her before introducing herself, and then pointed to the cabin door. ‘It’s locked, ma’am. But there’s blood spatter over here on the deck, as well as the right-hand side of the cockpit and cabin.’

  Carys wandered back to the stern. She reached up for the female officer’s outstretched hand, and hoisted herself onto the fibreglass deck of the cabin cruiser.

  Similar to the other vessels she’d seen moored at Tovil, the cockpit was open to the elements, a grey tarpaulin rolled up and stowed at the far end of the cramped space.

  The female police officer stepped back to give Carys more room, her light-brown hair pulled back into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck. She gestured to the window with a gloved hand.

  ‘The door’s locked, but it looks like there was a struggle.’

  ‘Okay, off you get. Let’s get the CSIs over here and ready to start taking samples,’ said Carys. ‘After you’ve done that, run the registration number past the Environment Agency – as soon as they have any information, get them to phone it through to the incident room. Ask Aaron to join me, would you?’

  ‘Ma’am.’

  Carys turned her attention to the waiting search team. ‘Continue the grid search, and I want three of you concentrating on the riverbank alongside this vessel. This could be the place where our victim went in.’