'Til Death (DI Steven Marr Book 1) - UK Crime Fiction Whodunnit Thriller (2 page)

CHAPTER THREE

There was next to no traffic heading towards Cambridge, with even the worst of the commuters now settled behind their desks. Reaching the edge of the Hendon House estate took even less time than they'd been expecting.

Sam turned off the main road, the gravel crunching beneath the car tyres as it rolled up the path leading to the venue. She’d definitely been right, Marr thought: Hendon House was a beautiful place. The main house was Georgian: four storeys leading onto a stone courtyard, which was in turn surrounded by three barns. Combined with the rolling fields and lakes they’d seen as they drove in, Marr could well see why someone might want to get married here.

It was a shame, then, that the scenery was scarred by the white forensics tent.

Marr was thankful that the location was far enough out of town to keep the murder out of the news, for the moment at least. These days, the press were more easily dealt with than the public: what remaining newspapers there were at least had regulations to abide by. The public, though, were armed with camera phones, Facebook and Twitter: keeping anything under wraps had gone from tough to virtually impossible.

Not that this was always a bad thing. At least three burglars in the last year had been caught as a result of savvy mobile-users taking photos of the van used to load the gear up. Technology wasn’t tactful, though, and sometimes tact really was needed.

There were only two other cars in the car park, both of which Marr knew. A black Ford Focus belonging to the attending officer, and a Silver Merc. As they pulled up, Marr saw that the Merc’s body was shot with dirt from the drive up the trail. He smiled.

The Merc belonged to Dr Eric Yovanovitch, the pathologist known for his love for cars. A love that often seemed to outrank that of his house, his wife and even occasionally, his two daughters.

'His poor beautiful baby, all stuck in the mud.' said Sam, spinning her wheels to add to the brown tapestry.

Marr grinned.

‘You’re brave,’ he said.

They left the car and quickly put on their own white.

'Morning' came a cheerful voice behind them. DS Rebecca Alexander was walking across the courtyard from the house. Becky’s disposition never got much below ‘sunny’. It might have been annoying in some jobs, but in theirs, a bit of chirpiness made a welcome change.

'Morning, Becky' Marr replied.

'Nasty business' Becky said, nodding towards the tent.

'What time was she found?' asked Sam.

‘About seven o clock this morning. Brian, the bar manager, was out walking his border collie. Gorgeous thing.'

'Brian?' said Marr, knowing that Becky had two German Shepherds and a Labrador at home. Becky rolled her eyes at the joke, which was probably as much as it deserved.

'Poor guy's currently working his way through his own bar's finest stock,'

In the case of some officers, it would have been worth double checking that a statement had been taken before the barman started drinking. Becky, though, was about as diligent as coppers got. As they made their way towards the white tent, Marr found himself wondering why Becky was here in Essex when she could be earning six figures in the City.

Anna Markham was lying face down on the mud of the bank, gazing aimlessly towards the water. The doctor was kneeling by the head, checking the neck area.

'Your Merc's looking dirty.' Marr said. The doctor turned around, smiled, and cheerfully raised a middle finger.

‘CSIs are already doing their good work?’ Marr asked, enjoying the sight of Yovanovitch rolling his eyes.

CSI stood for Crime Scene Investigation. Up until eight years or so ago, the men and women responsible for forensically examining crime scenes in the UK had been called Scene of Crime Officers, or SOCOs. In a bid to improve relations with the public, top brass in London had decided to replace that term with the American one, after the TV show.

Yovanovitch still refused to use the term CSI outside of official documentation.

‘I’m assuming someone’s told Anna’s family?’ Sam asked, receiving a nod from Becky.

‘Rob…sorry, DC Alexander has gone to notify the parents…and the groom, of course.’

DC Robert Alexander was the newest member of their team, having transferred over from uniform two weeks ago. He was also Becky's husband of three years. DCS Hume had voiced her concerns, and Brooke had handled the matter with typical delicacy, calling the Alexanders into his office.

‘You fuck up, one of you’s out on your arse’.

For the moment, that had been deemed sufficient.

Yovanovitch was still inspecting Anna Markham’s neck: Marr thought that he could see some dark colouring on the skin, and there was some dried blood on her lips.

‘Strangled?’ he asked.

The doctor nodded.

‘Almost definitely. Judging by the darkest points probably manual. Two thumbs pressed into the windpipe. Crude, but effective.’

Crime of passion, Marr thought. Strangling was a personal way to kill someone: if you didn’t know the victim, why risk leaving evidence?

Not that there was likely to be any here, especially if the body had been in the water overnight. If the killer had any brains, he’d have thrown Anna Markham in there as soon as she’d stopped breathing.

‘Any sign of struggle?’ Marr asked, and Yovanovitch shrugged.

'Nothing under the nails, if that’s what you’re asking. She was probably screaming bloody murder, but it’s not like it would have helped. Who’d hear you?'

Marr leaned his head through the flap and out of the tent. Colchester was visible in the distance, but he knew the doctor was right. This was a good place to kill someone if you wanted to avoid witnesses.

‘She must have known the killer. Otherwise, why come here?’ Marr said, but Sam didn’t look convinced.

‘She could just have been walking around. The night before her wedding? Bound to be a bit restless.’

‘Why wasn’t she staying with her friends, or her mum?’ Becky asked.

Marr nodded. It was a good question.

A very good question, in fact.

CHAPTER FOUR

It took Sam a couple of minutes to find the bar, which was hidden away in a mezzanine floor in the second biggest barn. Sam guessed that Brian McDermott was probably in his fifties. His body was athletic, a bit gone to seed maybe, and there was no obvious thinning in his white hair.

He was sat at the bar itself, sipping from a glass. Next to him was a bottle of 18 year old Glenmorangie.

'Brian?' Sam asked.

As he looked up, Sam saw that the whites of his eyes were tinged with red.

'Aye', he replied.

'DI Reid. You've already spoken to my colleague, DS Alexander?'

He nodded, and smiled sadly.

'Cracking looking lass, she was. I get the sense she was with the other cop, though.'

Sam smiled back.

'They're married.'

The barman sighed, shaking his head like he’d just had his heart broken. It was the sort of thing that you’d want to tear the bollocks off some suspects for, but Sam knew that he was just distracting himself. The only woman on Brian’s mind for the next few weeks would be the one lying by the water’s edge outside.

'I've got to ask a few questions of my own, if that's alright. I know my colleague already spoke to you.'

Brian nodded.

'Get you a drink?' he asked.

'I wouldn't say no to a Diet Coke, if the taps are on.'

Brian reached over the bar, and retrieved a silver can.

'Only cans I'm afraid.'

'That'll do fine, thanks.'

Sam took the seat next to him, and pulled out her notebook. Brian raised his eyebrows.

'I'd have thought you'd be all iPhones and whatnot these days' he said.

'Some people use them. I started about ten years too early to trust them for anything important.'

Brian chuckled.

'Aye, I tell my son the same thing. He's training as a journalist up in Edinburgh. Does everything by phone, even live transmissions. E-mailing him is as far as I go, though. He tried to talk me into getting an iPad last year: not a chance.’

Sam smiled.

'So, I'll just confirm a few facts. You were out walking your dog when you found Anna?'

Brian nodded.

'He's in one of the barns having a sleep. He's getting to be a lazy wee bugger these days, bit like his owner.'

'And you called the police straight away?'

'Yeah. I waited with the body until the two other detectives arrived.'

Sam nodded. That matched with what Becky had told her.

'And you didn't see anybody else nearby?'

Brian shook his head.

'No, sorry. It was pretty foggy, I didn't see the body until I was a few feet away from it.'

'Was there anyone else out and about that early?'

'Not that I saw. It’s usually dead at that time. Even on wedding days no-one shows up much before ten.'

'You must have arrived early to take the delivery?'

'No, I stayed over in one of the suites. Tend to do that when there’s a delivery coming in, gives me an extra hour in bed. I took the delivery in about half an hour before I took Hector for a walk. '

'That's early.'

'Yeah, our drinks supplier is in Colchester, so we're the first trip on the rounds. I don't mind, I'm an early riser anyway.'

'Where do you live?'

'Woodbridge, in Suffolk.'

A decent enough journey, thought Sam. It made sense that the barman would rather sleep here than get up at four.

'Would the driver have seen the body?'

Brian shook his head.

'No, it was too murky for that. The stream's a good fifty metres from the road, and it's not like Kev would have been going out of his way to look for anything that's not a coffee shop at that time.'

'You've got a regular driver?'

'Yeah, Kevin Waterson. The company's called Drinks-u-Like. I know, professional sounding right? But they're a good bunch of guys. I can pass the number on or get Kev to call you if you want.'

'That would be great, thanks.'

Sam handed over her card.

'DI Reid,' Brian read out loud, 'You're a Scot?'

Sam smiled.

'Grandfather's side. Mother's Welsh.'

The barman laughed, his facing brightening a bit.

'Six nations must be fun' he said.

‘Nothing but tension for six weeks. One last thing: have you got any security systems in place. CCTV, that kind of thing?'

Brian frowned and shook his head.

'No. The only cameras are in here and in the office, for the safe.’

That was risky, Sam thought. This was a multi-million pound estate.

Brian was smiling.

'Odd, eh?' he said. 'To tell you the truth, the powers that be just don't want to spend the cash on the extra security. If it wasn’t the law, I don’t think we’d even have a camera in the bar. The office has the safe. I looked, though; it’s fine. No burglary. Bad luck, eh?'

Sam nodded.

‘Bad luck’, she replied.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sam leant against the wall, smoking a cigarette and looking out across the grounds of the house. A number of CSIs were still working the fields, dotted like white scarecrows against the green.

Anna Markham's body had been taken away around fifteen minutes ago, the doctor following the ambulance. From her courtyard vantage point, Sam had been able to enjoy the sight of the good doctor's fury at the extra mud now caked to his car.

Smiling, she took another deep drag of the cigarette.

'DS Reid.'

Sam turned around to see Becky walking up to her, holding out her phone.

'I've just had a call from a Caroline Marcus, asking about Anna Markham.' Becky said.

Sam didn't recognise the name.

'What did she want to know?'

'She was asking me to confirm whether or not Anna was dead.'

'What did you say?'

'Said I couldn't confirm anything. She could have just been press.'

That was true, thought Sam. But if she was press, how the hell had she found out about the murder already? The family could have run to the press, she supposed, but that would have been a first.

‘Give Rob a call, see if he knows who she is.’

Becky did so. A quick thirty seconds later they had the answer.

‘Caroline’s is Anna’s best friend. Rob is still with Anna’s parents, so they didn’t tell her. It must have been the fiancée.’