share my enthusiasm for all things Palkin.’
‘You’re really into all this Palkin business, aren’t you?’ Something about the man’s zest for the subject intrigued him.
‘Absolutely.’ He sounded like an old-fashioned schoolboy discussing the latest comic. He wondered if Butcher, like many people, had a rose-tinted view of the violent and foul-smelling past. But Butcher was paying for the excavation so he smiled back indulgently. Never let cold facts get in the way of someone’s harmless passions.
After a brief discussion of the dig’s latest finds – several large sherds of medieval pottery and a coin dating to the reign of Edward II – Butcher left Neil to resume his work.
As he returned to his trench he noticed that Dave had stopped work and was staring at a newly uncovered section of bare earth with a frown on his face.
‘How’s it going?’ he called across.
Dave turned to look at Neil. ‘It looks as if the soil’s been disturbed in this area. But I guess it might have been done when the bungalow was built.’
Neil stood up and squinted at the place where Dave was digging. The ground certainly looked different here, and as it wasn’t particularly near the bungalow he found it rather puzzling. He tilted his head to one side and stared at the ground. ‘It’d liven things up a bit if we find a body,’ he joked.
Dave rolled his eyes and carried on digging.
Neil looked round. Near the boundary with the next property the wall between the garden and the road was lower and from time to time passers-by stopped to watch them at work. The old man with the weather-beaten face and the old Breton cap had been there on and off since the start, watching, staring as if he was waiting for something. But as soon as he saw Neil looking in his direction he vanished like a ghost.
If you’re looking for something, you can never find it even if you’ve seen it hundreds of times before. So it was with the black-and-white ship badges. As Wesley walked back to the police station by Gerry’s side, he scanned all the people he passed but none of them was wearing the badge. He’d thought it would be easy but now it turned out that there was nobody to ask.
They returned to the station via the waterfront and as they walked the postmortem was still on Wesley’s mind. According to Colin, the victim’s stomach contents revealed that she hadn’t eaten since the evening before she was found. But she’d been drinking whisky around five to six hours before death and she’d also had sex, probably consensual as there were no signs of violence. Samples had been taken and now it was a case of hoping for a DNA match. Wesley could tell by Gerry’s expression that he was optimistic about identifying the lover who might also be her murderer. If his DNA wasn’t on the database, though, Wesley knew they might have a struggle.
Rachel had been sent to get a DNA sample from Mrs Bercival, assuring her that it was just routine. Mrs Bercival had refused to believe that the dead woman could be Jenny, but Wesley wondered if she was deceiving herself. Sometimes the only way to deal with pain is to deny that it exists.
They turned left to walk through the Memorial Gardens where craft stalls were crowded into the little square by the bandstand. People were hovering around them like wasps at a picnic, examining the colourful goods for sale: paintings, ceramics, cushions, preserves, jewellery, driftwood sculptures – the usual items on the tourist wish list. The stalls held no interest for Wesley and Gerry so they strode past; the police station was in sight now and they needed to get back.
Apart from complaining that he needed a strong coffee, Gerry had been uncharacteristically quiet. Wesley guessed he was preoccupied by Rosie’s lack of contact and he felt for him.
They had just passed the last stall when Wesley heard a familiar voice calling his name. This was all he needed.
He was torn between the temptation to ignore
‘You’re really into all this Palkin business, aren’t you?’ Something about the man’s zest for the subject intrigued him.
‘Absolutely.’ He sounded like an old-fashioned schoolboy discussing the latest comic. He wondered if Butcher, like many people, had a rose-tinted view of the violent and foul-smelling past. But Butcher was paying for the excavation so he smiled back indulgently. Never let cold facts get in the way of someone’s harmless passions.
After a brief discussion of the dig’s latest finds – several large sherds of medieval pottery and a coin dating to the reign of Edward II – Butcher left Neil to resume his work.
As he returned to his trench he noticed that Dave had stopped work and was staring at a newly uncovered section of bare earth with a frown on his face.
‘How’s it going?’ he called across.
Dave turned to look at Neil. ‘It looks as if the soil’s been disturbed in this area. But I guess it might have been done when the bungalow was built.’
Neil stood up and squinted at the place where Dave was digging. The ground certainly looked different here, and as it wasn’t particularly near the bungalow he found it rather puzzling. He tilted his head to one side and stared at the ground. ‘It’d liven things up a bit if we find a body,’ he joked.
Dave rolled his eyes and carried on digging.
Neil looked round. Near the boundary with the next property the wall between the garden and the road was lower and from time to time passers-by stopped to watch them at work. The old man with the weather-beaten face and the old Breton cap had been there on and off since the start, watching, staring as if he was waiting for something. But as soon as he saw Neil looking in his direction he vanished like a ghost.
If you’re looking for something, you can never find it even if you’ve seen it hundreds of times before. So it was with the black-and-white ship badges. As Wesley walked back to the police station by Gerry’s side, he scanned all the people he passed but none of them was wearing the badge. He’d thought it would be easy but now it turned out that there was nobody to ask.
They returned to the station via the waterfront and as they walked the postmortem was still on Wesley’s mind. According to Colin, the victim’s stomach contents revealed that she hadn’t eaten since the evening before she was found. But she’d been drinking whisky around five to six hours before death and she’d also had sex, probably consensual as there were no signs of violence. Samples had been taken and now it was a case of hoping for a DNA match. Wesley could tell by Gerry’s expression that he was optimistic about identifying the lover who might also be her murderer. If his DNA wasn’t on the database, though, Wesley knew they might have a struggle.
Rachel had been sent to get a DNA sample from Mrs Bercival, assuring her that it was just routine. Mrs Bercival had refused to believe that the dead woman could be Jenny, but Wesley wondered if she was deceiving herself. Sometimes the only way to deal with pain is to deny that it exists.
They turned left to walk through the Memorial Gardens where craft stalls were crowded into the little square by the bandstand. People were hovering around them like wasps at a picnic, examining the colourful goods for sale: paintings, ceramics, cushions, preserves, jewellery, driftwood sculptures – the usual items on the tourist wish list. The stalls held no interest for Wesley and Gerry so they strode past; the police station was in sight now and they needed to get back.
Apart from complaining that he needed a strong coffee, Gerry had been uncharacteristically quiet. Wesley guessed he was preoccupied by Rosie’s lack of contact and he felt for him.
They had just passed the last stall when Wesley heard a familiar voice calling his name. This was all he needed.
He was torn between the temptation to ignore
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