Sophie Draper - Magpie

‘Yes?’ Duncan responded to Sally.

‘Call for you – urgent, they said. I’ll put it through.’

He mouthed a question and Sally shrugged her shoulders. Her lips said police . He glared at her and she jabbed one finger towards his consulting room.

‘Okay,’ he said, biting down his emotions.

‘Duncan Henderson, here.’

He sank into his chair and swung round to face the window.

‘Duncan, it’s Martin. Very sorry to disturb you at work. I’m afraid I have to ask you to come back to your house.’

One phone call, that’s all it took to hijack all those appointments. Duncan turned his car up the drive to his house. The constant slash of rain against the windscreen had left him with a painful furrow of concentration on his forehead and a thick spray of black mud on the paintwork of his car. The vehicle slowed on the deep gravel, cruising between the pink cherry trees that lined the drive. Spring had been interrupted by a blast of cold, stormy weather, and wet leaves and translucent blossom clung like damp butterflies to the big sheet window. The barn glowed a peachy flushed red.

Duncan felt his heart contract, his jaw tighten. There were cars and vans slewed every which way they could, blocking his usual turning circle. Beyond the perimeter fencing, where the fields tipped towards the silver bowl of the reservoir, already a double line of blue-and-white plastic tape rippled down the slope.

He squeezed his car into a gap, in the corner where Claire used to park. He got out. The grumbling blast of a generator assailed his ears. A pair of uniformed officers stood by the top gate, stiff and upright like tin soldiers. By the garage, a tent had been pitched up, and in the distance, at the bottom, were more tents, slick with wet. Grey sheets of rain blustered across the valley and figures in white hooded overalls ran across the scrub. The whole scene had the surreal air of an alien landing site.

Duncan approached his front door.

‘Excuse me, sir. Can I see some ID?’ An officer appeared at his shoulder.

Duncan swung round to face him.

‘I live here,’ he snapped.

‘Even so, if you don’t mind.’

Duncan scowled and fished out his driving licence. There was an awkward pause as the officer scanned the photograph.

‘Mr Henderson, thank you. The boss said to have a word with you as soon as you arrived.’ The man gestured towards the first tent. ‘If you don’t mind.’

The boss . DCI Martin White. They’d known each other since their first day at school.

‘This way, please, sir.’

The tent opening thrashed in the wind. Inside a huddle of officers stood around a table with several computers, and their papers scattered upwards as the flap fell back into place.

‘Duncan?’

A man looked up, his hands holding down the papers. He wore a green waxed jacket, his grey suit loosely buttoned underneath. His hair was cut close to his head, black peppered with white, and a broad platinum wedding ring glinted from the back of his hand.

‘Martin.’

Duncan wiped the rain from his forehead. The police team wasn’t huge for the area, it was inevitable that Martin would be in charge. Duncan had a brief image of Martin standing by his side in the registry office at Claire and Duncan’s wedding, leaning forwards in his shoes, discreetly scanning the room like some kind of security officer.

‘Thank you for coming back,’ said Martin. Their eyes met. ‘I expect this is a shock.’

Duncan didn’t reply and Martin dipped his head in acknowledgement.

‘I’m sorry to be here in these circumstances. And I apologise for the disruption. But I’m sure you understand why this is necessary.’

Duncan’s eyes were drawn to the table. There was a shallow crate covered in a cloth.

He felt his body sway, unaccountably off balance. He clenched his hands and pushed them down his side, forcing himself to stay upright.

‘Cup of tea, sir?’ A younger man stepped forwards, offering Duncan a mug.

‘Do you think I want a fucking cup of tea?’ Duncan turned on the man, eyes flaring.

A blue light flickered from one of the computer screens and the wind sucked at the canvas over their heads. Silence had fallen on the tent.

‘I’m sorry. I …’ Duncan pushed his hand across his head, rubbing the bare skin, then smoothing down to the closely cropped hair at the back of his neck. His jaw moved and his eyes closed momentarily.

‘It’s alright, Duncan.’ Martin followed his friend’s gaze. He gestured to a chair. ‘Everyone here understands. Why don’t we sit down?’

Duncan shook his head. He stood still, his arms held stiffly by his side.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t want …’ Duncan’s breath heaved in and out and his eyes were pulled once again to that crate.

Martin took a step closer.

‘Duncan, look at me. It’s okay. Look at me!’

Duncan lifted his eyes to Martin. It seemed to him there were just the two of them then, in that tent, all sense of the outside, the weather, the people, the cars on his drive, banished to the edges of his mind.

Then he took control of himself, responding to Martin’s unspoken signal.

‘What exactly have you found?’ He pushed the words out between his lips.

‘Human remains. A body has been found by the shore at the bottom of your land.’

Martin paused, as if unwilling to broach what came next.

‘What kind of body?’ Duncan said.

There was another pause.

‘Come on, man, you can’t not tell me!’

‘We’re not sure yet. I’m sorry, Duncan, that’s all I can tell you right now.’

Duncan made himself move, reaching out one hand to clutch the table, forcing himself to stay focused.

‘I don’t understand … I …’ His body swayed.

‘Duncan, are you alright?’

Martin took a step forwards.

‘ Duncan— ’

‘Hey, Becky. How are you this morning?’

I can hear a voice in the background, the clunk of crockery and a tray being set down on a table.

‘Are you up to a visitor around twelve?’ I ask.

‘Yes, please,’ says Becky.

She sounds happy. One of the things I’ve always loved about Becky is her cheeriness. Upbeat and optimistic, despite her circumstances.

‘Great. I’m in town anyway this morning to do some jobs. I’ll bring us some lunch, shall I? Fish from the chippie sound okay?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ she says. ‘It’ll just be me. See you then.’

The phone clicks and she’s gone.

Town is busy. It’s market day and the car park on the small square has been taken over by stalls and vans. Every street is filled with parked cars and the cobbles judder under my wheels then disappear as I turn into the customer car park of the veterinary surgery. I ease the car into a spot furthest away from the front door. One of the advantages of being the boss’s wife is I get to park for free whenever I need to. Through the glass doors I can see the reception desk, the familiar head of Sally bent over the screen. I walk out of the car park, dodging the bus shelter to head towards the main precinct and the estate agents behind the town hall.

‘Hi,’ I say to the young man leaning back on his chair behind the desk nearest to the door. ‘I have an appointment. Claire Henderson.’

My head swings over my shoulder, scanning the street outside. I will the man to speed up and he senses my agitation.

‘Sure. Hold on a minute,’ he says.

He tips forwards and pushes away, standing up to disappear into a conference room. When he comes back, I think how he doesn’t look much older than my Joe, a narrow blue tie swinging against his crisp white shirt. Except these days you’d never catch Joe in a white shirt, let alone a tie.