Peter Lovesey - The Headhunters

The phone rang shortly after.

‘Did you hear?’ Gemma gasped in end-of-the-world mode. ‘It was on Southern Counties Radio. They found Fiona, just when I was starting to convince myself we imagined it. She’s dead, Jo. It really happened. I’m clawing at the walls here, I feel so guilty.’ No problem over poor communication from this caller.

Gemma seemed to expect a show of panic. Instead, Jo said, ‘We should be pleased they found her, Gem. Personally, I wouldn’t have got much sleep tonight thinking she was still in that water.’

‘Yes, but I’m a prize bitch for trying to get her in trouble at work. That dumb trick with the council leaflets makes me squirm.’

‘That dumb trick wasn’t your idea. Anyway, she didn’t find out about it. She wasn’t there all week.’

‘Even so, it’s bound to come out, isn’t it?’

‘There’s no reason why it should if you do what I said and get them pulped. If anyone wonders what you’re doing it’s going to look like an act of kindness. She made a blunder and you’re quietly covering up out of consideration for her memory.’

‘That’s good. No, it’s bloody brilliant. I didn’t think of it that way.’

‘Stay cool, Gem.’

Out on the beach where it shelved steeply Hen Mallin treated herself to an intake of ozone mixed with nicotine whilst listening to the small pebbles being raked by the tide. She had a flat scallop shell in her hand and was using it as an ashtray, over-fastidious, but smokers have learned to cover their tracks. She kept a tiny spray of Ralph Lauren’s Romance for when she needed to suppress the fumes. Behind her, the mobile incident room was being tidied prior to removal. She’d decided this abomination was serving no useful purpose here on the beach. The fingertip searches, the appeals for witnesses, had been tried with limited success. Some of the staff had been so underemployed that she’d seen them down at the water’s edge playing ducks and drakes. Little was in the computer system except the statements by the woman who had found the body and the two local men known to have been on the beach at the time: Ferdy Hamilton, the dog-walker, and Jake Kernow, the ex-con. Hamilton was the nearest they’d got to finding an informant. He’d named Jake as a suspicious character he’d seen along the beach on the morning the body was found. Jake was the big, laconic fellow who had been tracked down, interviewed, and put through the ID parade, but with a negative result. That didn’t mean he was in the clear. Jo Stevens had failed to pick him out, that was all. He remained the only suspect. With his prison record and his shifty responses under questioning he had to be a serious contender. But there wasn’t enough to charge him, and no one else had come knocking at the door of the mobile incident room with names.

She heard the shingle being crunched behind her as one of the team approached.

‘Saying goodbye to it, guv?’ Stella said.

‘Damn good thing, too,’ Hen said. ‘Let it go back to being a beach instead of a crime scene.’

‘Don’t you think people will remember?’

‘Not for long. The tides come and go. The whole thing changes. By next summer there’ll be children bathing from here.’

‘And we’ll have put the case to bed?’

‘Don’t count on it. This one could stay unsolved.’

‘I hope not. It’s an ugly crime.’

‘Too bloody true.’ Hen had been locked for too long in her own morbid thoughts. Sharing them was a relief. ‘I was watching the waves and thinking about the physical and mental demands of holding someone under the water until they stop breathing. Apparently death by drowning can take all of five minutes. Longer, even. Can you imagine holding someone under for that long?’

Stella gave a shudder. ‘Slow murder. Horrible.’

‘Different from pulling a trigger or knifing them. Plenty of time to think about what you’re doing. You’d have to be pitiless.’

‘Imagine being the victim, held for that long.’

‘Yes, you’d fight for your life, but it wouldn’t be easy. All your efforts are constricted by the water. You might inflict some scratches or bruises, but if your killer has a good grip, it must be bloody hard to break free.’

‘I’d give it a go.’

‘Anyone would. You’re also trying to hold your breath until you have to let go and give way to the inrush of water into your lungs. You’re panicking and getting weaker all the time. To be honest, Stell, this is the first case of homicide by drowning I’ve had to deal with, and it gives me the creeps just thinking about it. They’re mercifully rare. Pathologists don’t like them, either. Drowning is difficult to prove at post mortem.’

‘You’d think it would be obvious.’

‘For one thing-and this is what I learned from the guy who did the autopsy-a fresh water drowning produces a reaction quite different from sea water. The blood volume increases rapidly when fresh water pours into the lungs and there’s a strong chance of it causing a heart attack. It can be quick, very quick, if there’s a cardiac arrest, as there often is, from the shock. Then they die from submersion, rather than drowning. But almost the opposite happens in the sea. Water is sucked from the plasma into the lungs, so the heart isn’t under the same strain. Your chance of survival is higher in the sea.’

‘Plenty of people do drown.’

‘I’m not disputing that. You’re more likely to have an accident at sea than you are in the bath at home or the local pool. I’m simply saying that if you’re immersed in salt water you may last longer. When someone holds you down the result is the same; it takes more time, that’s all.’

‘I suppose if they first got you drunk, or drugged, it would be quicker.’

‘True.’

‘Do we know the time of death?’

‘You’re joking, of course. Does a pathologist ever give you a time of death? They can only make informed guesses. The body was found between eight and nine in the morning, so it’s likely she was killed the evening before, or during the night, or in the early hours of daylight.’

‘The reason I asked is that if she was given alcohol or drugs it could have been at some kind of beach party the night before. It was a warm September night, wasn’t it?’

‘Warm enough for a barbie, yes.’

‘But no signs of one? Was any alcohol found in the body?’

‘A small amount. The signs are that she hadn’t had much.’

‘Except that she’d stripped almost naked. I’d need a few drinks before I did that on a public beach. Even on a dark night.’

‘I’d have to be out of my head,’ Hen said.

‘Moon bathing, guv. You must have tried it some time.’

Hen returned the cigar to her lips and visited old times. ‘Once in my youth-and in a decent one-piece costume. I’m an Essex girl. The only beach I knew was Southend. I wouldn’t recommend romping in the nude there.’

‘Do you think he undressed her?’

‘The heavy seduction scene? I can’t picture it happening. It’s much more likely the stripping was voluntary on her part. If, say, we forget the moon bathing and think about an early morning photo call, our lady there to have her picture taken, a boob shot, she might have agreed to strip down to her pants.’

‘Back to the calendar idea?’ Stella asked.

‘Or some sort of glamour picture. We agreed she wasn’t young enough to be working as a model, but any woman in her thirties is vulnerable to some guy with a camera suggesting she’d look gorgeous flashing her tits.’

‘I still favour the midnight bathing. They go skinny dipping and-just like you-she’s too shy to do it in the buff so she keeps her pants on.’

‘Either way, there’s a nasty element of deception. She’s conned into stripping off by someone she trusts. She’d be crazy to do it for a stranger.’