drains, no extra vermin activity. No lumpy stuff that could be flesh. Pitch pipes
too; they’re old – at least fifty years – and they’re blistered so if there were any chunks of flesh larger than a couple of inches square they would have got
snagged.’
‘Is it freezing out there?’ Robbo reached over for the cafetière as he smiled to himself. The cafetière was wrapped in a leopard-print body warmer: a present from his
wife: tongue in cheek, homage to his feminine side. He found it really useful; it kept his coffee hot for an hour.
‘We’ve got heaters in the mobile unit out the front. We can make tea. But yes . . . it’s bloody freezing. I’m sure I’ll be used to it by the time I finish here
– either that or it’ll be spring. It’s a massive house.’
‘You can ask for a bigger team if you need to pace it up.’
‘No. I need to keep control of who’s dismantling what. There are four of us – that’s enough. If you’re interested you could come and take a look and lend a hand,
though?’
‘Wouldn’t want to get in your way.’
‘Very considerate.’
Robbo never left Fletcher House except to get in his car and drive home. In all the years Sandford had known Robbo he’d watched his agoraphobia grow. Without his realizing it Robbo was no
longer able to work away from his desk.
Sandford hung up and looked at the piece of plastic again; a fine blond hair was caught between it and the staple. He went across to the collection of samples he had on the floor and picked out
one of the small brown bags with a see-though square section in its front; on it he wrote:
piece of plastic from ceiling cornice, bedroom 1.
He opened the crime scene log and drew a diagram of the master bedroom and where he’d found the scrap of plastic. He rang his wife.
‘No, definitely won’t be home tonight, love. I’ll try and make it tomorrow for a few hours. Sorry . . . happy birthday, love . . . yes . . . I’ll be thinking of you. Kiss
the kids for me and you too of course. Love you.’
Chapter 9
Ebony sat beside Harding as she threw the Audi sports car around the unfamiliar roads on the drive out of London towards the Sussex countryside. The snow grew sparser on the
roads as they neared the coast. Some of the fields had a hint of patchy green.
‘Thank you for coming, Doctor.’
‘It’s not a problem. We’ll run through the case notes and crime scene diagrams when we get there. I’ll be interested to see any similarities with Blackdown Barn that come
to mind. Did you speak to the owners of Rose Cottage when you got the key?’
‘Yes. I met Mr Dalson, the owner, at the Tube station. He was on his way to work. He told me they inherited the cottage from an aunt. When they inherited it, it came with a list of people
who regularly hired it for set times in the year. Chrissie Newton had come the year before for the first time. She was lucky, one of the regulars dropped out and she took their May 15th to the 21st
slot.’
‘What’s happened to it now?’
‘No one’s booked it since. He told me that they had only visited the cottage a handful of times since it happened. They just haven’t decided what to do with it. They’ve
thought about selling it but want to keep it in the family. I think he was hoping if they waited long enough they wouldn’t remember what happened there. Did you come to the cottage at the
time, Doctor?’
‘Yes.’
Ebony watched the town quickly disappear and the countryside take over. They were headed on the Hastings Road towards Camber. Camber was a broad sandy beach popular with people coming from the
city. Ebony had been there once before on an outing from one of the children’s homes she stayed in. Two and a half hours crowded into a hot minibus and then let loose for a fabulous day of
sand and sea and freedom. She and Micky had spent the day jumping the waves and building sand castles. She would always remember the smell of the sea as they got nearer to
too; they’re old – at least fifty years – and they’re blistered so if there were any chunks of flesh larger than a couple of inches square they would have got
snagged.’
‘Is it freezing out there?’ Robbo reached over for the cafetière as he smiled to himself. The cafetière was wrapped in a leopard-print body warmer: a present from his
wife: tongue in cheek, homage to his feminine side. He found it really useful; it kept his coffee hot for an hour.
‘We’ve got heaters in the mobile unit out the front. We can make tea. But yes . . . it’s bloody freezing. I’m sure I’ll be used to it by the time I finish here
– either that or it’ll be spring. It’s a massive house.’
‘You can ask for a bigger team if you need to pace it up.’
‘No. I need to keep control of who’s dismantling what. There are four of us – that’s enough. If you’re interested you could come and take a look and lend a hand,
though?’
‘Wouldn’t want to get in your way.’
‘Very considerate.’
Robbo never left Fletcher House except to get in his car and drive home. In all the years Sandford had known Robbo he’d watched his agoraphobia grow. Without his realizing it Robbo was no
longer able to work away from his desk.
Sandford hung up and looked at the piece of plastic again; a fine blond hair was caught between it and the staple. He went across to the collection of samples he had on the floor and picked out
one of the small brown bags with a see-though square section in its front; on it he wrote:
piece of plastic from ceiling cornice, bedroom 1.
He opened the crime scene log and drew a diagram of the master bedroom and where he’d found the scrap of plastic. He rang his wife.
‘No, definitely won’t be home tonight, love. I’ll try and make it tomorrow for a few hours. Sorry . . . happy birthday, love . . . yes . . . I’ll be thinking of you. Kiss
the kids for me and you too of course. Love you.’
Chapter 9
Ebony sat beside Harding as she threw the Audi sports car around the unfamiliar roads on the drive out of London towards the Sussex countryside. The snow grew sparser on the
roads as they neared the coast. Some of the fields had a hint of patchy green.
‘Thank you for coming, Doctor.’
‘It’s not a problem. We’ll run through the case notes and crime scene diagrams when we get there. I’ll be interested to see any similarities with Blackdown Barn that come
to mind. Did you speak to the owners of Rose Cottage when you got the key?’
‘Yes. I met Mr Dalson, the owner, at the Tube station. He was on his way to work. He told me they inherited the cottage from an aunt. When they inherited it, it came with a list of people
who regularly hired it for set times in the year. Chrissie Newton had come the year before for the first time. She was lucky, one of the regulars dropped out and she took their May 15th to the 21st
slot.’
‘What’s happened to it now?’
‘No one’s booked it since. He told me that they had only visited the cottage a handful of times since it happened. They just haven’t decided what to do with it. They’ve
thought about selling it but want to keep it in the family. I think he was hoping if they waited long enough they wouldn’t remember what happened there. Did you come to the cottage at the
time, Doctor?’
‘Yes.’
Ebony watched the town quickly disappear and the countryside take over. They were headed on the Hastings Road towards Camber. Camber was a broad sandy beach popular with people coming from the
city. Ebony had been there once before on an outing from one of the children’s homes she stayed in. Two and a half hours crowded into a hot minibus and then let loose for a fabulous day of
sand and sea and freedom. She and Micky had spent the day jumping the waves and building sand castles. She would always remember the smell of the sea as they got nearer to
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