Peter Lovesey - The Headhunters

The sea wall curved and she faced inland, with the town as a backdrop. To her right were mud flats with boats beached by the low tide. Across the Mill Pond she didn’t yet have a sight of Fiona’s house. She quickened her pace and crossed the little bridge to the quay where another sailing club, the Emsworth Slipper, occupied the former mill. The road turned past a tea room and a malt house and emerged as Bridgefoot Path. Across the water she could see everything.

A police car had arrived and stopped just ahead of her Panda. It wasn’t flashing its emergency light. This was evidently just a routine enquiry. Two men in uniform were in conversation with Gemma and the hunk of manhood, Francisco. Presently one returned to the patrol car and took something bulky from the boot. It proved to be an enforcer, the miniature battering ram used to gain entry. They swung it only once. The door sprang open and the police went inside.

On her side of the water, Jo found a bench and sat down to watch. From this distance no one could connect her with what was going on. Gemma was still outside, chatting with her new friend Francisco. Jo expected the police would soon emerge and confirm that Fiona and her son were not inside, an anticlimax everyone ought to welcome.

Activities on this side of the Mill Pond went on regardless of what was happening across the water. Two teenage boys were fishing near the malt house. To Jo’s right, a mother and toddler were throwing bread to the swans and finding that the gulls swooped in and took most of it.

The police emerged from Fiona’s door. One was using his personal radio. The other said something to Gemma. There was no apparent excitement about what they’d found inside. Some time was spent making the door secure again and then they got in their car and drove off.

Jo got up and resumed her walk towards the little bridge at the top end. In under ten minutes she was across and back to where she’d left her car. Francisco had gone back inside his house and Gemma was waving to her, incapable of keeping a low profile.

‘Hi, poppet. Mission accomplished. No rotting bodies inside, I’m glad to report. They’re going to check with her ex and see if the boy is with him. They listened to the answerphone and picked up my messages, so our master plan worked beautifully.’

‘Let’s be off, then.’

‘No hurry. If we stick around I’m thinking Francisco might offer us a cuppa. The phone inside his house started ringing, so he left me here.’

‘Gemma, I’m not supposed to be here.’

‘Doesn’t matter any more, does it? The fuzz have gone. He’s not just muscle. He’s got personality in buckets. I don’t know what aftershave he uses, but it’s turned me into a tart.’

‘Look, I only agreed to do this if you kept me out of it.’

Gemma folded her arms. ‘What is it with you, Jo? Are you on their most wanted list?’

‘I found the dead woman on Selsey beach. Remember? They made me feel like a suspect. It was horrible.’

‘Chill. I keep telling you, they’ve done their job and gone. Francisco won’t blab when I tell him you’re my best friend.’

Jo let out a sharp, angry breath. ‘You don’t get it, do you? The whole point is that you’re not supposed to have brought a friend. Listen, I’m out of here. It’s up to you if you want a lift.’ She turned and walked towards the car. This was no empty gesture. When she started the motor she would be off.

Behind her, Gemma shouted, ‘I fancy the guy. Since when has that been a crime? I’m not a fucking nun, you know.’

And that’s an oxymoron if ever I heard one, Jo thought. She didn’t turn her head. She unlocked, got inside and then realised there was a hitch. The car was facing south and the way home was north. A three-point turn in that narrow road was an invitation to reverse into the Mill Pond. Instead of making a speedy getaway she would have to pass Gemma and find a turning point at the end where the sailing club was.

So be it, she thought. She switched on and moved off.

Gemma was in the middle of the road, waving her arms like ground crew showing a jumbo where to taxi. No way could the car get past without running her over.

Jo braked.

Gemma came to the side and jerked open the door. ‘All right, I’ve reconsidered. Give me a lift and I’ll take my vows. Promise.’

Jo gave a rasping sigh. At this minute the humour didn’t appeal.

Gemma got in and they drove on. But they hadn’t gone thirty yards when she said, ‘Bloody hell. Stop the car.’

‘For Christ’s sake.’ Jo glanced in the mirror, fully expecting to see Francisco outside his house again. He was not. ‘What’s up now?’

‘In the water.’ Something was definitely amiss. There was urgency, if not panic, in the voice.

Jo braked and turned her head to see. Not a duck was swimming there. The only thing worthy of comment was what she took to be a clump of seaweed close to the surface, its reddish-brown tentacles shifting gently with the water’s slight movement.

‘I’ve got to check.’ Gemma flung open the door and ran to the edge.

‘Check what?’ Jo switched off the engine and joined her.

From the bank she saw what had shocked Gemma. They weren’t looking at seaweed. The tentacles were fronds of reddish hair. Just visible at a lower level in the murky water was the rest of the corpse, face-down and dressed in a black top and jeans.

‘ Is that Fiona? ’ Jo asked, thinking as she spoke that it was not the brightest question considering that the body was face-down. But when your legs are shaking and your last meal wants to make a comeback, you’re not best placed to offer an intelligent remark.

‘She’s got red hair,’ Gemma said.

‘I can see that.’

‘I mean Fiona’s a redhead.’

‘That does narrow it down.’

‘This is where she lives and she hasn’t been seen for nearly a week.’

‘Not much doubt, then. Dreadful.’

‘Gets me right here-in the gizzard.’

Jo happened to know that a gizzard isn’t part of the human anatomy, but she let it pass. In her unique fashion Gemma was paying respect. She let a few seconds go by before raising the next obvious question. ‘What happened, do you think?’

‘Accident?’

‘Must have been.’ She was quick in her response, too quick to carry conviction. Faced with a shock like this the normal impulse is to look for the least upsetting explanation.

Gemma said in support, ‘It’s a risk she took, living so close to the water.’

‘I guess.’

Neither of them spoke while they continued to gaze down at the figure submerged in front of them. Both must have sensed that there was more to this than Fiona’s choice of where to live.

When Gemma broke the silence she was clearly making a bigger effort to convince herself. ‘I feel sure it was an accident.’ Nodding as if someone else had spoken and she agreed, she put her imagination to work again. ‘She could have had a few too many, stepped outside for some fresh air and fallen in. Or she may have come home in the dark and missed her footing. Hit her head and knocked herself out. So easy to see how it could happen.’

Jo said nothing.

‘I feel such a cow,’ Gemma added. ‘All the mean things I’ve been saying about her. Jo, what are we going to do?’

This was the moment to make one thing clear. ‘Not so much of the “we.”’

‘What?’

‘I’m staying out of this.’

Gemma turned to look at her. ‘How do you mean?’

‘I found one body already. That’s enough to be going on with.’

‘But if I report it, what are they going to think?’ Gemma said in a panicky voice. ‘Suppose they get the idea someone pushed her in? I’ve got a clear motive. She’s known to me. She was a threat to my job.’