it and the excitement she
felt. She could smell it now.
‘Did you know Carmichael, Doctor?’
‘Not well.’
‘Did you like him?’
Harding lifted her hands from the steering wheel in a shrug gesture: ‘I had no thoughts either way.’
‘What about his wife?’
‘I met Louise once, that’s all. Carmichael was lucky to get her. She was beautiful, bright. She was an heiress from some major margarine company. Although the money didn’t come
till she was thirty. She wasn’t born with a silver spoon. But she could have picked anyone.’
‘You think she made a mistake?’
‘I think she had her work cut out. Carmichael wasn’t a man without a past.’
They drove down the secluded lane off Lydd Road, close to the long stretch of sandy beach. The cottage was the last one on the left. A man was working in the garden. He stopped what he was
doing, pinning a rose back against the stone front of the house and waited as Harding parked up outside. Ebony got out of the car and took out her warrant card to show him.
‘We won’t disturb you – we just want to take a look inside.’
‘No problem.’ He smiled. ‘I just look after the outside. You have keys?’ Ebony nodded.
He was a posh gardener type with wild unruly hair and a cheeky smile. Harding went back to the car for her bag.
‘Have you been looking after this garden for a long time?’
‘About thirteen years. I look after the gardens of all the holiday cottages on this lane.’
‘So you know the history of this place? Were you around when the incident happened here?’
He nodded. ‘Sort of . . . I had just started working but I was actually on holiday that week. I came back to it.’
‘What’s happened to the property since then?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing really. After it happened I rebuilt this wall to the left of the gate. It got knocked by one of the vehicles. Apart from that, nothing’s changed. Except
no one comes here now.’
Ebony opened up the file she was carrying and turned the pages. ‘Doesn’t mention the wall being knocked down in the report.’
He shrugged, shook his head. ‘Someone knocked down the corner of the gatepost. I presumed it was when they were reversing, trying get round – it’s a tight spot.’
‘So you rebuilt this section?’ Ebony pointed to the pillar and the edge of the stone wall.
‘Tidied it up more than rebuilt.’
She bent down to get a better look. ‘Where was it knocked down, the middle?’
‘No . . . at the top.’
‘Can I have a number for you, in case I need to ask you any questions?’
‘Sure . . .’ He smiled. He went to his Land Rover, which was parked up the lane at another house, and brought her back a card.
‘Sorry it’s a bit muddy.’ He grinned as he tried to wipe the thumbprint from the surface with the cuff of his jacket. ‘I did tell someone at the time about the wall . . .
but they didn’t seem that interested.’
‘Thanks . . .’ Ebony took the card. She looked up from reading his card: Marty Readman, landscape gardener, to see him staring at her. She looked away fast as she felt the heat come
to her face. She wished she didn’t find it difficult to talk to good-looking men. Harding was waiting for her. As Ebony unlocked the door and opened it the low winter sun flooded inside and
set the dust spinning. They stood in the doorway. Ahead of them were the stairs to the upstairs floor. To the right were the living rooms.
‘When you came here that morning, Doctor, what was it like?’
‘I was on my way back from Brighton when I got a call asking if I could cover for a colleague who was on duty but sick. It was a sunny day. It had been a glorious weekend. It was on my way
home so I agreed. When I got here the officers who answered the 999 call from Carmichael were gone; two from the Brighton murder squad were already here.’
‘Why did they hand it over to the MET to deal with? Why didn’t it stay with the Brighton squad?’
‘Because he was a
felt. She could smell it now.
‘Did you know Carmichael, Doctor?’
‘Not well.’
‘Did you like him?’
Harding lifted her hands from the steering wheel in a shrug gesture: ‘I had no thoughts either way.’
‘What about his wife?’
‘I met Louise once, that’s all. Carmichael was lucky to get her. She was beautiful, bright. She was an heiress from some major margarine company. Although the money didn’t come
till she was thirty. She wasn’t born with a silver spoon. But she could have picked anyone.’
‘You think she made a mistake?’
‘I think she had her work cut out. Carmichael wasn’t a man without a past.’
They drove down the secluded lane off Lydd Road, close to the long stretch of sandy beach. The cottage was the last one on the left. A man was working in the garden. He stopped what he was
doing, pinning a rose back against the stone front of the house and waited as Harding parked up outside. Ebony got out of the car and took out her warrant card to show him.
‘We won’t disturb you – we just want to take a look inside.’
‘No problem.’ He smiled. ‘I just look after the outside. You have keys?’ Ebony nodded.
He was a posh gardener type with wild unruly hair and a cheeky smile. Harding went back to the car for her bag.
‘Have you been looking after this garden for a long time?’
‘About thirteen years. I look after the gardens of all the holiday cottages on this lane.’
‘So you know the history of this place? Were you around when the incident happened here?’
He nodded. ‘Sort of . . . I had just started working but I was actually on holiday that week. I came back to it.’
‘What’s happened to the property since then?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing really. After it happened I rebuilt this wall to the left of the gate. It got knocked by one of the vehicles. Apart from that, nothing’s changed. Except
no one comes here now.’
Ebony opened up the file she was carrying and turned the pages. ‘Doesn’t mention the wall being knocked down in the report.’
He shrugged, shook his head. ‘Someone knocked down the corner of the gatepost. I presumed it was when they were reversing, trying get round – it’s a tight spot.’
‘So you rebuilt this section?’ Ebony pointed to the pillar and the edge of the stone wall.
‘Tidied it up more than rebuilt.’
She bent down to get a better look. ‘Where was it knocked down, the middle?’
‘No . . . at the top.’
‘Can I have a number for you, in case I need to ask you any questions?’
‘Sure . . .’ He smiled. He went to his Land Rover, which was parked up the lane at another house, and brought her back a card.
‘Sorry it’s a bit muddy.’ He grinned as he tried to wipe the thumbprint from the surface with the cuff of his jacket. ‘I did tell someone at the time about the wall . . .
but they didn’t seem that interested.’
‘Thanks . . .’ Ebony took the card. She looked up from reading his card: Marty Readman, landscape gardener, to see him staring at her. She looked away fast as she felt the heat come
to her face. She wished she didn’t find it difficult to talk to good-looking men. Harding was waiting for her. As Ebony unlocked the door and opened it the low winter sun flooded inside and
set the dust spinning. They stood in the doorway. Ahead of them were the stairs to the upstairs floor. To the right were the living rooms.
‘When you came here that morning, Doctor, what was it like?’
‘I was on my way back from Brighton when I got a call asking if I could cover for a colleague who was on duty but sick. It was a sunny day. It had been a glorious weekend. It was on my way
home so I agreed. When I got here the officers who answered the 999 call from Carmichael were gone; two from the Brighton murder squad were already here.’
‘Why did they hand it over to the MET to deal with? Why didn’t it stay with the Brighton squad?’
‘Because he was a
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