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    The Kate Redman Mysteries Volume 3 (Creed, Sanctuary, Siren): The Kate Redman Mysteries
    The Kate Redman Mysteries Volume 3 (Creed, Sanctuary, Siren): The Kate Redman Mysteries
    The Kate Redman Mysteries Volume 3 (Creed, Sanctuary, Siren): The Kate Redman Mysteries
    Ebook615 pages10 hours

    The Kate Redman Mysteries Volume 3 (Creed, Sanctuary, Siren): The Kate Redman Mysteries

    By Celina Grace

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    About this ebook

    This is the boxed set of books 7, 8 and 9 of the bestselling Kate Redman Mysteries, by crime writer Celina Grace.

    CREED (A KATE REDMAN MYSTERY: BOOK 7)

    Joshua Widcombe and Kaya Trent were the golden couple of Abbeyford’s School of Art and Drama; good-looking, popular and from loving, stable families. So why did they kill themselves on the grassy stage of the college’s outdoor theatre? 

    Detective Chief Inspector Anderton thinks there might be something more to the case than a straightforward teenage suicide pact. Detective Sergeant Kate Redman agrees with him, but nothing is certain until another teenager at the college kills herself, quickly followed by yet another death. 

    Why are the privileged teens of this exclusive college killing themselves? Is this a suicide cluster? As Kate and the team delve deeper into the case, secrets and lies rear their ugly heads and Abbeyford CID are about to find out that sometimes, the most vulnerable people can be the most deadly… 

    SANCTUARY (A KATE REDMAN MYSTERY: BOOK 8)

    Dawn breaks at Muddiford Beach and the body of a young African man is discovered lying on the sand. Was he a desperate asylum seeker, drowned in his attempt to reach the safe shores of Britain? Or is there a more sinister explanation for his death? 

    Irritated to discover that the investigation will be a joint one with the neighbouring police force at Salterton CID, Detective Sergeant Kate Redman is further annoyed by her Salterton counterpart, one of the rudest young women Kate has ever encountered. 

    Tensions rise as the two teams investigate the case and when a second body is discovered, Kate and her colleagues are to about realise just how far people will go in the cause of doing good…

    SIREN (A KATE REDMAN MYSTERY: BOOK 9)

    Simon Farraday was a respectable business man; successful, wealthy and with a loving wife and family. He was also heavily into sadomasochistic sex with virtual strangers, judging by the manner of his brutal, squalid murder. 



    Detective Sergeant Kate Redman could do without the complexities of this case, coping as she is with trying to maintain her long-distance relationship with her boyfriend Tin, deal with her recurrent attraction to her boss DCI Anderton and support her friend DI Mark Olbeck in his efforts to adopt a child. But investigating a case with such dark undercurrents of desire and jealousy means that the solution to the mystery may hit just a little too close to home…

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherIsaro Publishing Ltd
    Release dateJul 15, 2016
    ISBN9781536582390
    The Kate Redman Mysteries Volume 3 (Creed, Sanctuary, Siren): The Kate Redman Mysteries

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      The Kate Redman Mysteries Volume 3 (Creed, Sanctuary, Siren) - Celina Grace

      Prologue

      The woodland was alive with birdsong. Small feathered bodies flashed and fluttered through the branches of the trees, breaking through golden shafts of sunlight that slanted through the forest canopy to the leaf-littered floor. In late March, the buds on the twigs of the beech trees were just beginning to unfurl, adding a faint green fuzz to the skeletal outline of the trees.

      John Dawson strode through the woods towards the distant college building, a white mass beyond the treeline. The list of jobs that awaited John once he arrived at his workplace was topmost in his mind as he walked along, but the beauty of the morning was such that, even in his hurry, he was pleasantly aware of the awakening woodland. The first bluebells were beginning to mist over the floor of the forest; the liquid, lilting sound of birds marking their territories; the strengthening warmth of the sunlight on the back of his neck.

      Abbeyford School of Art and Drama stood in a hundred acres of woodland and fields, the bucolic setting a pretty contrast to the white bricks of the large Victorian building that made up the main part of the college. John Dawson had been caretaker at the college for seventeen years and felt that he knew the woods as well and as intimately as he’d ever known a person. He was a solitary man and enjoyed the time on campus when the students and teachers had not yet appeared. For a short time every weekday morning, the college and its grounds belonged to him and to him alone.

      John entered the campus by the back entrance, taking the footpath that wound through the woods, past the outdoor theatre. The drama department building was the furthest from the main part of the college, set back into woodland with the outdoor amphitheatre located about twenty feet from the building. The amphitheatre’s architect had clearly been influenced by the outdoor theatre in Regent’s Park; this more modest version was set into a naturally occurring dip in the ground with the audience seats arranged in tiers around it. Trees and bushes formed a natural backdrop to the stage and the permanent lights were attached to metal gantries, which had been colonised by ivy and other creeping plants.

      John would have walked past the theatre without a second glance, as he normally did. But this morning, something on the level grass platform that was the stage caught his eye. At first he thought someone had left a bundle of clothes out – perhaps one of the students had left their costume behind, was his first thought. As John walked closer, he could see that there were two piles of clothing. Had someone dumped some rubbish? He heard himself make a noise of annoyance, a noise that died abruptly as he got close enough to see what was really lying there on the ground.

      John Dawson was tough. He had served several years in the army before he became a caretaker, and he had seen enough on his last posting to Northern Ireland to not become faint or nauseous when he realised what was there before him on the grassy stage of the theatre. For all that, he could feel his heart beat faster as he looked at the two bodies lying there, side by side, joined by their clasped hands. He knew they were dead; he could see that from the pallor of their skin and the slackness of their mouths, but still he went forward and reached out to feel for a pulse in each neck. His shaking fingers touched cold skin. No blood beat beneath his fingertips. John looked at each empty dead face, realising that he recognised them. Shock was laid upon shock. How could this have happened? It seemed unreal. For a moment, as he stood up again, his head swam and the birdsong that had seemed so beautiful a moment ago now seemed to swell around him until the sweet melodies morphed into something more insistent and sinister. John took another disbelieving glance at the two bodies and again at their pale faces. He knew it was them, it was unmistakeably them but...why? And why here?

      Shaking his head, he backed away until the back of his legs met the edge of one of the front row seats. He almost collapsed onto the chair, unable to take his eyes from the bodies in front of him. This was going to cause a hell of a fuss, he thought, and some semblance of clear-headedness came back to him. Still breathing quickly, he reached for his mobile phone and dialled the three numbers that he had hoped never to dial again.

      Chapter One

      ...and I’m sure you’ll all join me in raising your glasses and toasting the happy couple. Kate Redman took up her own glass of champagne and waited for the rest of the guests to follow suit. She raised her glass in the air. To Mark and Jeff!

      To Mark and Jeff, echoed the room full of people. There was a few seconds of silence as everyone drank and then laughter, cheers and clapping broke out.

      Flushed and relieved, Kate sat back down again. People were still clapping and cheering and, for a second, she thought she might have to get up again and go on speaking – please, God, no – but no, there you go, the tumult was gradually dying down, people were sitting back down and – thank God – the torment was over.

      Well done, Tin said, refilling Kate’s glass for her. See? That wasn’t as bad as you expected, was it?

      It was worse, said Kate. But it’s over now. She looked over to where Olbeck and Jeff were seated and felt a rush of sentiment at their happy faces.

      It was something of a shock to see Olbeck smartly dressed in a suit, his hair cut short, a silk cravat bunched under his chin. What had surprised Kate about the wedding was how traditional Olbeck and Jeff had kept it. The reception was being held in the same place as the service – a stately home situated about eighteen miles from Abbeyford. Kate glanced around at the former ballroom where the wedding breakfast had been laid out. There were large arrangements of flowers in the centre of white tablecloths on every round table. Swathes of white silk were tied around the gilded chairs. The surface of every table glittered with a myriad assortment of wine glasses and there were even little gold organza bags of sugared almonds and miniature packets of Lovehearts next to each plate. Kate had already eaten hers in a nervous frenzy before her speech.

      They’ve ticked every wedding cliché in the book, bless them, she murmured to Tin. He grinned and topped up his own glass. Mind you, Kate went on, Mark always was a bit of a traditionalist at heart.

      They’ll be having kids next, said Tin.

      Kate smiled quickly to hide the jab his remark had given her. Her mind was inescapably thrown back to the argument that she’d had with Olbeck over that very subject – when he’d told her he and Jeff were engaged and she’d gone crazy and yelled abuse and screamed. Remembering it, she winced and then quickly hid her distress. She hadn’t yet told Tin everything about her past – most particularly the event in her teens that had psychologically shaped so much of her adult life – and this, in particular, was not the time to be having that conversation.

      The elation of having successfully given her speech died. Kate drank her champagne moodily. The black cloud that now so often dogged her was coming back. She looked around the room again, at the happy couple on their own top table, at her colleagues laughing and drinking and eating, and tried to feel happy for everyone. But she only felt worse. She stood up abruptly. Want a proper drink? she asked Tin.

      He looked at her in surprise. What’s wrong with champagne?

      Nothing. It’s just – I want a gin and tonic.

      That’s not like you, Tin said.

      Kate tried to smile. It’s a wedding! I’m celebrating.

      Tin shrugged and smiled back. Knock yourself out. I’ll stick with the bubbly, for now.

      Kate made her way over to the bar, which stood in the corridor outside the ballroom. This place was a maze, she thought and then had a secondary thought that she really shouldn’t be knocking back the spirits. It really wasn’t like her, just as Tim had pointed out. As she waited in line to order her drink, she had a flashback to her mother’s kitchen, the clinking piles of empty bottles waiting for the recycling truck. Kate hugged her arms across her body, feeling her stomach cramp and roll. Her mother had drunk whisky for choice. I’ll never drink that, Kate thought, staring ahead. I’ll never drink whisky.

      She came back to reality with a start, realising that someone was asking her a question. She reared her head back, blinking.

      "I said, what can I get you?" Detective Chief Inspector Anderton was stood next to her at the bar.

      Kate stuttered out something about, Nothing, it’s fine, I’m fine, and then managed to get a grip on herself. I’ll have a G and T, please...Sir. She added a moment later.

      Oh, we’re very informal tonight, Anderton said with a twinkle. Kate took the glass he handed to her and took a sip of the effervescent liquid within to cover her confusion. Great ceremony, don’t you think? I’ve never seen Mark look so happy.

      They made small talk for some minutes, shifting over to the side of the corridor to allow other guests access to the bar. Kate tried to surreptitiously look around, to see if Anderton had brought anyone with him as a guest. That blonde piece he’d once brought to the office? Even as she was thinking it, she was chastising herself for using such a sexist term. I hang out with too many men, she thought grimly.

      After five minutes or so, Kate started to wonder whether Anderton might actually be there on his own. Why else would he still be talking to her, to the exclusion of everyone else?

      After another five minutes of small talk, conversation began drying up a little. Kate was conscious of something rather like awkwardness between the two of them. Why, though? She thought back to how it had been after they’d slept together, all those years ago. Perhaps it’s just me being paranoid, she thought gloomily.

      Are you here with anyone? she asked boldly, deciding to clear the matter up once and for all.

      Nope, Anderton said but made no other comment. He pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and regarded it with a frown. You in tomorrow? was all that he said.

      Kate shook her head. Monday.

      Anderton slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket. You’ve heard about the suicides at the art college? He corrected himself. Apparent suicides, I mean.

      Kate was interested, despite herself. You think there might be something more to it than a straightforward suicide pact? Why? It was her turn to recollect herself. I mean, I know we can’t really discuss it here, but...

      I don’t know, Anderton said. He tipped the last of his pint into his mouth and, after looking around in vain for a suitable surface, put his empty pint glass on the floor. I need my team to do a bit more digging. We haven’t even done the PM yet.

      My brother went to that college, said Kate.

      Yes? So you know it?

      Not well. I went to meet him there a few times. He did Art, though, he didn’t have much to do with the drama sides of things.

      Right, Anderton said. Kate could see him looking over her shoulder, semaphoring a ‘hello’ to someone with his eyebrows. Let’s all sit down on Monday and do a proper debrief.

      Kate was just opening her mouth to reply when she was slammed into from behind and a pair of arms lifted her clean off the floor. She screamed and the arms quickly put her down and released her. She turned angrily, although she was pretty certain of who would be stupid enough to do that.

      It was Theo, already half-drunk, tie askew and a beer stain on his white shirt. Sorry, Kate, I was only being friendly.

      Yeah, right, said Kate. You’re friends with Mark. Go on, go up and do that to him and see what happens.

      Theo grinned even more widely. Mark? He’d love it, the dirty bastard.

      Kate gave him a shove. It’s his wedding day, you idiot.

      Children, children, Anderton said patiently. Let’s not fight, today of all days. Theo, go and get yourself another drink, and me too. He looked at Kate, who was still trying to remove the annoyed frown from her face. Kate, you too?

      They were both expecting her to refuse – Kate had never been a big drinker. But ever since her mother died, something had changed. She felt both more reckless and more anxious. She needed something to take the edge off.

      Yes, thanks, I will. Gin and tonic, please.

      Anderton raised his eyebrows a little but said nothing. Theo stumbled off towards the bar with the twenty-pound note Anderton had slipped him.

      You all right? was Anderton’s next question.

      I’m fine, Kate said curtly. The last thing she felt like doing was discussing anything – anything – personal with her boss. Particularly here and now.

      Her prickly tone must have been sufficient to warn Anderton off from probing any deeper. Good, was all he said. Another awkward silence fell before Kate, recollecting what they’d been talking about before Theo so rudely interrupted them, asked him a question.

      Do we have an ID on the bodies yet?

      A minute flash of relief passed over Anderton’s features. Talking shop was always something they could do. Yes, they were identified quickly. Joshua Widcombe and Kaya Trent. They were boyfriend and girlfriend, had been together for over a year. They were the golden couple of the college, apparently. That’s what makes it so strange.

      Kate frowned. What – that they killed themselves?

      Anderton shrugged. That’s a direct quote from one of their parents. Kaya Trent’s mother. The golden couple bit, I mean.

      Kate persisted. But is that what you meant? Why would a couple so popular and successful – that’s what I assume you meant by ‘golden couple’ – why would they kill themselves?

      I suppose so. By all accounts – and we’ve barely begun to scratch the surface yet – they were good-looking, popular, lots of friends, no family dramas, nothing that looked like a source of distress.

      But that doesn’t mean anything, really, Kate said. She shifted position, her feet aching in the unaccustomed high heels. You don’t know what secrets they were hiding, what was really going on in their relationship. We don’t have a clue what other stresses they might be under. Remember Elodie Duncan?

      Oh, yes, Anderton said. They were both silent a moment. Kate remembered the beautiful blonde girl who had been pulled from an icy river, all those years ago, not long after Kate had arrived in Abbeyford. All the secrets and lies of that case had been hidden, buried down deep away from first glances.

      Anderton spoke up. You’re right, Kate. I’m sure there’s more to it than meets the eye. But you know how it is, it might not even be our case. Double suicide or not, if there’s nothing suspicious about it, then it’s not our problem, tragic as it may be.

      Kate shifted again and caught sight of Theo making his way back from the bar with a wobbling tray of spilling drinks in his hands. Hurriedly, not wanting him to overhear them, she asked. But you think there might be something more to it than that?

      Not sure, said Anderton. He too had clearly caught sight of Theo. Listen, let’s wait for the PM, and we’ll talk about it on Monday.

      By now Theo had reached them. Kate and Anderton took their drinks with thanks. Theo swigged back half of his fresh pint in one go.

      Steady, said Kate. We haven’t even hit the dance floor, yet.

      Oh, so you’re dancing with me then, are you? Theo said cockily. There was a trace of a slur in his voice. Whass Tin going to say about that, then?

      With a guilty start, Kate realised she hadn’t even given Tin a thought for the past – she checked her watch – shit, the past forty minutes. He barely knew anyone here and she’d just gone and left him by himself for ages. He’s a big boy, she told herself defensively, but all the same she said a hurried goodbye to her colleagues and made her way back to the table where she’d left him nearly an hour ago.

      Tin wasn’t there, unsurprisingly. No one was. Kate stood for a moment, looking around the ballroom. Most of the tables had been cleared and the chairs pushed underneath, to enable people to get to the dance floor at the other end of the room. She could see people gathering there in a ragged circle to watch Olbeck and Jeff revolve slowly around to the strains of I’ve Got You Under My Skin. Kate swigged her drink, feeling the gin move like quicksilver down to her stomach and – it felt like – straight to her bloodstream. I’m going to get drunk tonight, she told herself, half fearfully, half defiantly. With each swallow she could feel that black cloud lift a little. Where the hell was Tin? She scanned the crowd, catching Rav’s eye and smiling, seeing Jane with her new partner over by the far wall, talking together intently. There was Olbeck’s mother, sitting where she could see the dance floor, white hair glowing under the flashing coloured lights, walking stick by her side, laughing and clapping her hands to the music. Kate made a mental note to have a chat with her later in the evening; it was ages since she’d seen her. She kept looking around for Tin’s face in the crowd but couldn’t see him. Others were pouring onto the dance floor now, joining the happy couple. Kate saw Stuart, dressed in a very sharp dark blue suit, pull his girlfriend onto the floor and start twirling her around. Kate grinned and then the grin faded. Where was Tin?

      She gulped the last of her drink, put the glass down on the empty table, and made her way over to the exit. He must be in the loo, she told herself. Stop panicking. Stop panicking over a man. All the same, she couldn’t help looking from side to side, looking for his familiar face in a crowd of unfamiliar faces. As she reached the entrance hallway that led to the outside terrace, she was almost grabbed again by a visibly swaying Theo.

      Kate! Come ‘n dance, you said you would—

      Nope, not this time, said Kate, side-stepping. She felt tipsy but she was stone-cold sober next to her fellow DS. And for Christ’s sake, Theo, have some black coffee or something. If I lit a match in your mouth, it’d burn for a week.

      Huh? said Theo, blinking owlishly. His date for a night, a very young, very pretty girl, came up beside him and dragged him away sharply, giving Kate daggers over her shoulder as she hauled her boyfriend away. Kate smiled despite herself. Don’t worry love, you can keep him.

      She walked outside onto the terrace and immediately felt calmer and more in control. Perhaps it was the sobering slap of the cold air in her hot face, or the quietness after the noisy din of the ballroom, or the fact there were only a few people out here, mainly smokers. Kate wrapped her arms across her body as she walked slowly down the steps to the main terrace below. Candle lanterns had been placed at regular intervals on the wall that encircled the terrace. Beyond the wall, the gardens of the house were mere black and grey shapes in the darkness. There was another flight of steps that led from the terrace down to the lawn, and Kate caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure sitting right at the bottom of the steps. There was something familiar about it; the set of the shoulders, perhaps. Shivering, she walked closer and as she got within a few feet, breathed a sigh of relief. It was Tin.

      What are you doing here? she exclaimed, coming up to him. She didn’t sit down but remained standing, teetering a bit on her heels.

      Tin didn’t look up. He was looking across the dark gardens with great concentration. After a moment, he lifted a lit cigarette to his lips.

      You’re smoking, Kate exclaimed.

      Yes. I do, sometimes.

      Oh. I didn’t know that, Kate replied, a little lamely. There was so much about Tin that she didn’t know. There’s so much about me that he doesn’t know, she said silently to herself. Listen, I’m sorry I’ve been so long...

      Tin said nothing.

      I ran into Anderton, and you know how it is, we just got talking. I lost track of time. Tin still said nothing. I’m sorry, Kate finished.

      Tin took a final drag of his cigarette and pitched it into the darkness before him. Kate and he both watched the orange tip describe a glowing parabola in the dark before it hit the wet grass and fizzled out. Have you finished talking shop, now?

      His tone was polite, but there was a fine needle of – what? Something unpleasant – underneath that stung. Yes, said Kate, not wanting to get into an argument. I’m sorry, she said again.

      Tin sighed and got up. Christ, it’s freezing out here. Let’s go inside. He looked at Kate, who stood shivering, and some of the anger in his face melted away. Do you want my jacket?

      Kate shook her head, trying to stop her teeth chattering. No. Thanks. Let’s just – come on, let’s go and have a dance.

      They walked back up the steps, side by side but apart. It wasn’t until they had almost reached the house that Tin finally took her hand. Kate took it gratefully but a small part of her was wondering if one of them was overreacting. Her? Him? She put the thought aside for a later perusal.

      Want a drink? she asked Tin, wanting to make up for her inattention. He nodded.

      Kate joined the queue at the bar, Tin waiting for her a few feet over. Goddamn it, I am going to get drunk tonight, thought Kate with a sudden anger. She was aware that her feet were now aching viciously.

      She bought their drinks and they went and chatted to Rav and his fiancée, and then they danced and bought more drinks and danced some more and eventually went home and fell into bed in a drunken, giggling haze. The argument, if it had been one, appeared to be long forgotten. Kate stumbled to the bathroom and forced herself to drink a pint of water and take an ibuprofen tablet before staggering back into bed and curling up next to Tin, who was already snoring. Just before sleep claimed her, Kate had an odd vision. She’d never seen the crime scene, if it had been a crime at all, but her last thought was of the two young people in the grassy clearing in the woodland, lying there with their clothes jewelled with tiny drops of the morning dew, their cold hands clasped together, their sightless eyes staring up at the gradually brightening sky.

      Chapter Two

      Kate walked into the office on Monday morning with only the faintest pulse of what had been a terrible hangover in her temples. She took one look at Theo, face down on his desk, and realised she’d got off lightly.

      Dear Lord, Kate said, walking over. You’re not still suffering, are you, Theo? Saturday was two nights ago.

      Theo raised a haggard face. Be nice to me today, Kate. Please.

      Felicity Durrant, otherwise known as Fliss, was hovering solicitously. Apparently Theo didn’t stop at Saturday night.

      Dear Lord, Kate said again. What happened?

      What happened, it transpired from Theo’s faltering narrative, was that he had continued drinking at the wedding, commandeered the dance floor when the DJ had started playing You Should Be Dancing, tried to head-butt a guest who had objected to being violently shoved out of the way, been escorted from the premises by Anderton and Rav (who had courteously stopped to let Theo vomit in the bushes on the way), and had put him in a taxi with his furious girlfriend, who had immediately dumped him, prompting a lengthy bender through the whole of Sunday, which only ended in the early hours of Monday morning.

      Oh dear, Kate said, somewhat inadequately, when Theo had finally wound to a close. Never mind. How about a bacon sandwich? Theo dry-retched and buried his head in his hands again. Okay, maybe not, said Kate, hastily. Have you had some painkillers?

      Fliss, of course, had already supplied paracetamol, Berocca and water. After a moment, Kate patted Theo lightly but sympathetically on his shoulder and made her way back to her desk.

      Anderton arrived a moment later. Morning, team. All recovered from the excitement of Saturday night, are we? He looked at Theo, who looked remarkably like someone who’d been recently disinterred from a grave. "Okay, I see most of us are. Anyway, to business. He strode up to the whiteboards and started sticking up photographs. This is our top priority at the moment. Double suicide at the Abbeyford School of Art and Drama. The first photograph was of the crime scene, the two bodies lying side by side, their hands clasped, looking like a pair of dolls posed by giant hands. Anderton continued talking. Now, it may be that it’s not a suspicious death. In fact, the most likely explanation is that that is precisely the reality – in which case, it won’t be our problem. But I need to make sure, as you well know."

      You said we had an ID on the victims, didn’t you? Kate asked. She couldn’t recall the names Anderton had told her at the wedding. Too drunk, probably, she chastised herself.

      Yep. The boy is Joshua Widcombe, the girl is Kaya Trent. I should say ‘man’, really – Joshua was eighteen, Kaya too. They were in their first year at the Abbeyford College and had apparently been a couple since the first term.

      The team were on their feet now, moving closer to the whiteboards and peering at the photographs.

      How did they die? asked Rav, looking at a close up shot of Kaya Trent’s dead body.

      First impressions are that they cut their wrists, Anderton said. Kate winced at the thought but he went on. However – and this is what gives me pause about this case – there’s a few anomalies that struck me when I first saw the photographs.

      Which are? asked Jane.

      Anderton tapped the photograph of Joshua Widcombe’s pallid corpse. There doesn’t seem to be as much blood around his body as perhaps there should be, given the wounds in his wrists. It might be that there’s a simple explanation for that but... Well, we’ll see what the PM throws up. He glanced around at his team, and a thought seemed to strike him. But I don’t know why I’m doing all the talking. Come on, Fliss, you were actually on the scene. What do you think?

      Kate looked at Fliss in surprise. She hadn’t realised that her young colleague had actually attended the scene although, thinking about it, it made perfect sense, because everyone else had been at Olbeck’s wedding that day. She watched as Fliss drew herself up and spoke, rather hesitatingly. Kate realised it was probably the first solitary case that Fliss had taken on.

      Yes, that’s true, I did take the call and go there. Kate watched Fliss as she spoke, the girl’s cheeks stained a little pink with embarrassment at being the centre of attention. Kate was suddenly struck with how young she looked. Could Fliss be any more than twenty? No, she must be, she’d been to university. Twenty-two at the most, surely? Kate shook herself mentally and listened to what Fliss was saying.

      The bodies were identified by the groundskeeper, John Dawson – Joshua and Kaya were quite well known on campus, apparently – but of course we had them formally identified by their parents as well, obviously. Um...I didn’t have a chance to talk to their friends or anything, or their teachers yet, but their parents were obviously very shocked and upset and they couldn’t understand why the kids had done it. There was no obvious motive for suicide that they could think of.

      No mental health issues? asked Kate.

      Fliss shook her head. Nothing reported. They were just normal teenagers, apparently. They liked acting, that was what they were studying at college – in fact that’s how they met. They were in the same class.

      Anderton spoke up again. Obviously, if the PM throws something up that warrants a full investigation, we’ll have to interview everyone: parents, teachers, friends. But there’s no point starting anything until we have something to go on. So, for now, we’ll wait to hear the autopsy results and take it from there. His gaze fell on Theo, who looked, if possible, even more ill than he had been twenty minutes before. Fancy being our representative at the post mortem, Theo? Anderton asked with a touch of sadism.

      Oh, please God, no, said Theo in a voice that was very near to tears.

      Kate couldn’t help laughing. I’ll do it, she said, and Theo’s reddened eyes gave her a look of intense gratitude.

      Good stuff, said Anderton. I’d like to hear back from you as soon as you get back. And Theo, go home and sleep it off, for God’s sake. Don’t let me catch you coming in again in this state.

      Sorry, mumbled Theo, his pale face now scarlet. Anderton rolled his eyes and then dismissed them.

      *

      Kate chuckled most of the way to the pathology labs. Still grinning, she parked the car, sprang up the steps, stopped to have a quick chat with Doctor Gatkiss, who was leaving the building, and then checked in at reception.

      Doctor Kirsten Telling was doing the post-mortem on the two students, and Kate was glad, because she liked the quiet doctor and admired her skill at her work. They had one of those relationships that had almost but not quite deepened into real friendship. Every time Kate saw Doctor Telling, she told herself that she really should reach out, try and suggest a proper social meeting, but somehow it just never happened.

      She hadn’t seen the doctor for several months, and it was something of a shock, and not a particularly pleasant one, to realise that Kirsten was pregnant. The doctor’s normally gaunt face had softened and rounded, and her baby bump was clearly visible beneath her white lab coat. Quickly, Kate pasted a smile on her face to hide her feelings.

      Congratulations! she cried, hoping she sounded more sincere than she felt. I had no idea. When are you due?

      They chatted about the baby for some minutes, somewhat incongruously Kate felt, given the presence of the two shrouded bodies between them. Kirsten looked very relaxed and happy.

      I’m hoping for a girl, actually, she said, drawing on her rubber gloves. But I’m pretty sure Peter wants a boy. Oh well, we’ll just have to see what we get. A healthy baby, that’s all you can really ask for, isn’t it?

      Yes, agreed Kate. Her face ached from smiling. Well, I’m very happy for you, Kirsten.

      Doctor Telling wheeled the instrument trolley up to the first gurney. I don’t believe I’ve ever asked if you have children, Kate. Do you?

      Even after all these years, Kate couldn’t help the slight hesitation she always gave before answering. No. No, I don’t.

      There is never any good response to that answer. As with most people, Kirsten just gave a slightly embarrassed smile and bent to her work. Thankfully, Kate relaxed her face and moved back a bit to let the doctor concentrate on what she was doing.

      After ten minutes, Kirsten looked up from the body of Kaya Trent. Kate had been looking at Kaya’s face. Even in death, she was strikingly pretty, with high cheekbones and finely arched black eyebrows, the lines of her mouth and chin like a finely modelled statue. Kate’s high spirits had already evaporated, on hearing Kirsten’s news, but looking at Kaya was making her feel worse. So young, so beautiful, so much life ahead of her, and now nothing, everything truncated, her life a dead-end. Why had she done it? With a start, Kate realised Kirsten was speaking to her.

      Sorry, I missed that.

      Patiently, Kirsten repeated herself. I said, have you heard Andrew’s news?

      Andrew? Andrew Stanton had been a boyfriend of Kate’s some years ago. Kate shook her head. No, I haven’t. We’re not really in contact anymore.

      Well, he’s getting married. Kirsten smiled and continued with her work. One of the nurses he met out in Sierra Leone. They’re coming back to the UK for the wedding this year – September, I think.

      Well, that’s great, said Kate, lying through her teeth. Another bloody wedding! At this rate, she really was going to be the only spinster left in the parish. Spinster...why did that sound so horrible, where bachelor sounded rather, well, cool? Bloody patriarchy, thought Kate, trying to make a wry joke to herself, but it wasn’t very funny. A small childish part of her wanted to stamp her feet and whine why didn’t he want to marry me? But he did, Kate, or he would have done. You dumped him. What’s wrong with you?

      Blindly, she stared at Kirsten’s hands, now stitching up the incision that ran along the breastbone. As always, the doctor’s hands were gentle and precise, but perversely, Kate wanted to see her rip and tear. She looked down at her own hands, which had clenched themselves into fists. What was wrong with her and what was wrong with the world? Why was everyone getting married and having babies and yet she was stuck on her own, just as she always was, unwanted, unloved?

      I have Tin, she thought suddenly, but the thought wasn’t quite the panacea that she wanted to be. After a moment, she took her mobile phone out of the handbag and sent him a text. Want to meet up tonight? X

      Then she pulled herself up with a jerk. Be professional, Kate, you’re at a post mortem, for God’s sake. Hurriedly, she put her phone away and looked up, expecting to see Kristen looking at her with disapproval, but of course she wasn’t. The doctor had moved to the body of Joshua Widcombe and was folding back the green sheet that covered him. Kate was suddenly struck with the thought that the two bodies were in almost identical positions to how they were found. If she linked their hands, they would look as they had done when John Dawson had first discovered them. Kate held the thought for a moment and then discarded it.

      You’ll have to wait for the toxicology results, Kristen said. That will take a few days.

      You think there might be drugs involved? asked Kate, slightly startled.

      Kirsten glanced at her. It’s possible. I’m just covering all bases. She bent over Joshua Widcombe’s body.

      Anderton seemed to think that the cause of death was from them cutting their wrists, Kate remarked after a few minutes.

      Kirsten looked across at Kaya Trent. That would certainly be the case with her, she said, gesturing towards the body. It’ll all be in my report, of course. But him— She walked around the gurney and picked up Joshua’s right hand, turning the pale arm so that the livid red wounds in the wrist could be seen. Kirsten frowned. But as for him... She trailed off. Was he right-handed? She asked Kate a moment later.

      I don’t know, said Kate. I can find out.

      Kirsten shook her pale blonde head. Actually, it doesn’t matter. She walked around to the other side of the body and examined the left wrist. It doesn’t matter. There isn’t any way that these cuts could have been self-inflicted. It’s quite obvious when you look at the position and the depth.

      Kate sat up. Are you sure?

      Yes, I’m positive.

      Kate swallowed. Does that mean... She trailed off, thinking hard.

      Kirsten looked up at her again. It means someone else made these cuts.

      They were both silent for a moment. Then Kate said slowly As far as I’m aware, the knife was found by Kaya Trent’s hand. I’m not sure what the fingerprint findings were. She looked again at the wounds in Joshua’s wrists. So Kaya Trent made those cuts? She murmured the sentence almost to herself.

      Kirsten half-smiled. Well, that’s your department, Kate. I can’t comment on that. All I can say is that Joshua Widcombe didn’t cut his own wrists.

      Right, right, Kate said. She thought back to what Anderton had said at the debrief. What about the blood-loss at the scene? There seemed to be some doubt about the amount of blood found around Joshua’s body – that the amount didn’t seem commensurate with the type of wounds he had. Is that right?

      I didn’t attend the scene, Kate. I’m not sure. Let me talk to whomever did, and I’ll see if I can draw a conclusion.

      Kate nodded. They were both silent for a moment, and Kirsten went on with her examination of Joshua Widcombe’s body. Kate watched her, thinking of what she’d just been told. If Joshua hadn’t slit his own wrists, then who had? Kaya Trent was the obvious person, but what if – just suppose – it was someone else? But why? And did that mean that perhaps Kaya hadn’t cut her own wrists, either? Kate asked Kirsten that exact question.

      Kirsten shook her head. There’s nothing to suggest that Kaya’s wounds aren’t self-inflicted.

      But, is it possible? Seeing Kirsten frown, Kate went on hurriedly. I mean, remotely possible?

      After a moment, Kirsten shrugged slightly. I suppose anything’s possible. I don’t think there’s anything that would stand up in court, though. Kaya Trent looks like a cut and dried suicide to me. She looked at Kate. You are, of course, welcome to get a second opinion.

      I’m sure it won’t come to that, Kate said hastily, wanting to thaw some of the frost that had suddenly appeared in the air. I’m just thinking aloud, really.

      Mollified, Kirsten nodded again and bent back to the table. Kate shifted on her chair, clenching and unclenching her fingers against the metal sides. Had there been a suicide note? She tried to recall the notes she’d so hastily read before getting in the car to come here. Had there been a note? Try as she might, Kate couldn’t remember. She shifted again, impatiently.

      After a long while, Kirsten pulled the green sheet back up over the body and straightened up, wincing a little. She pulled the rubber gloves from her long hands and immediately rubbed the small of her back with her palm.

      Should you really be on your feet for this long? Kate asked.

      I don’t know, sighed Kirsten. She walked painfully over to the hazardous waste disposal bin in the corner and threw the gloves inside. I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to be actually doing the autopsies. It’ll be desk duty for me soon, no doubt.

      Oh well, Kate said, trying to sound sympathetic. How much longer have you got?

      Four months.

      This is your first, isn’t it? Kate asked. She wondered how old Kirsten was and how she could ask without sounding rude. After mulling over the question, she decided she couldn’t. She began to thank Kirsten for her time, in preparation for leaving.

      Kate, there’s one thing you should know that might be pertinent.

      What’s that? Kate asked, alert once more.

      There are indications that Joshua Widcombe died earlier than Kaya Trent – maybe up to a couple of hours earlier than she did. From looking at the stomach contents—

      Kate interrupted her. Seriously? He might have died a few hours before—

      "Up to a couple of hours before. No longer than that."

      Kate brushed the interruption aside: Fine, but he did die earlier than Kaya, right?

      Yes. The findings indicate that.

      And he didn’t cut his own wrists?

      No.

      Kate paused, thoughts sparking around her brain like fireworks. It wasn’t Kirsten’s job to listen to her suppositions, though; there was no point hanging around further. She thanked the doctor, gave her congratulations about the baby once more, and said goodbye.

      Chapter Three

      I knew it, Anderton said, pacing up and down the room as was his wont. "I knew it. I knew there was something odd about the scene, and I didn’t even have to be there. Well done, Kate."

      Kate, who’d just relayed the gist of Doctor Telling’s examination, raised her shoulders in a half shrug. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything, though, does it? I mean, if Joshua Widcombe wanted to commit suicide, he could just have easily have got his girlfriend to cut his wrists for him. There was nothing in the way of defence wounds or anything like that.

      Granted, Anderton agreed, turning on his heel. But what about the time differential? If he died up to two hours before... He trailed off, rubbing his chin with his hand. There’s nothing about this case that makes sense as a suicide pact. Really. If they both decided to die together, why did Joshua die two hours before Kaya? Was she wondering whether she had the nerve to go through with it? But then, if that were the case, how did he not have the nerve to cut his own wrists?

      The team were silent for a moment, all of them to a man (or woman) looking at the crime scene photographs: observing the two dead dolls laid out on the smooth green floor of the theatre. Kate broke her gaze from the whiteboards and looked around the room. Theo, looking a hundred times healthier than he had yesterday, regarded the photographs intently, a frown pulling his thick black brows down. Fliss was silent, biting her lip. Rav’s keen gaze moved rapidly from one photograph to another.

      Theo raised a tentative hand. "If – if – we’re talking about something other than a straightforward suicide pact, where’s the motive? Why, if it was Kaya Trent that cut her boyfriend’s wrists, non-consensually – how did she manage to do it? He was a big guy, for an eighteen-year-old, and she was pretty little."

      All good points, Anderton said. He’d reached a spare desk and hauled himself up to sit on the edge of it. I would also make one further comment. The team turned their faces to him as one, expectantly. If, as Theo says, Joshua was not the one to cut his wrists, then who’s to say that Kaya was the one to do it?

      There was a moment’s humming silence. Then Kate cleared her throat and asked You think there was someone else involved?

      Anderton pushed himself off the desk and began pacing again. "No. Well, perhaps. I’m covering all bases here. On the basis of the forensic evidence, Joshua Widcombe did not cut his own wrists. So either Kaya Trent did, with his permission or not— Again, the room hummed with unspoken thoughts. Or someone else did it for him, again with his permission or not."

      There was another moment’s silence. Then Fliss raised a hand. So, where do we go from here, sir?

      Her use of the word ‘sir’ broke the tension. All the other members of Anderton’s team had pretty much given up the use of any formal terms of address, but Felicity Durrant was still new enough to think it important.

      Start digging, said Anderton. That’s what I want you to do. Start to dig. I want Joshua’s and Kaya’s parents interviewed as a matter of priority. Their siblings, their friends, their teachers. They met at a drama class, apparently, so I’d imagine their drama teacher is a good place to start. Fliss, you’ve already met him, so why not take that on? Kate, go with her and see what you can find out.

      Yes, sir, Fliss said keenly, and Kate muttered something similar in response. Kate wondered what Fliss was thinking. It wasn’t that they were unfriendly with each other, but they’d never really worked together, side by side, before. Kate always preferred working with the male members of the team. She wasn’t sure why, but squaring that preference with her ardent feminism sometimes made for uncomfortable self-analysis.

      The meeting broke up after that. Kate automatically looked up towards Olbeck’s office, as she went back to her desk, before realising that, of course, he was on his honeymoon. He and Jeff had gone to Africa on safari, and Kate remembered turning a pale shade of green when he’d told her. She’d love to do that. One day, Kate, one day, she told herself. As she gathered together her things and arranged to meet with Fliss at her car in five minutes’ time, she was thinking about marriage. How did other people manage it? She thought of her oldest friend, Hannah, who had married quite young and was still, as far as Kate could tell, happily married. And look at Jay and Laura – Kate’s brother and his fiancée. Jay was nine years younger than Kate but somehow he’d managed to find his soul mate and hang onto her. Their wedding was coming up in September of this year, and of course Kate was happy for them – she was very happy for them – but... but...

      She let the thought drift away as she walked out of the room, but was stopped in her path by Theo, waving a hand to her from across the office.

      What’s up? asked Kate, walking over.

      Theo looked rather sheepish. Just wanted to say sorry for being such a dick on Saturday night.

      Oh, that’s all right, said Kate. It’s not like you murdered anyone. I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you.

      Well, yeah, but – me being a complete arsehole was probably the last thing you needed.

      What do you mean?

      Theo looked down at the table. Oh, you know – what with your mum and all—

      Kate could feel it, the ice settling through her at the mention of the word. It was an automatic reaction, as if on hearing that word she turned to stone.

      Don’t worry about it, she said, hating the chill in her tone but unable to stop it.

      Theo looked as if the next words were being dragged out of him. It you ever want to talk, you know, have a beer or something, you know you can—

      I’m fine, Kate said shortly, cutting him off. She said goodbye curtly

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