Too Soon a Death: A Scottish mystery where cosy crime meets tartan noir: Borders Mysteries Book 2 (2 page)

‘Anything else?’

‘In cases of drowning in a river like this you often find grass or weeds clutched in the hands. Even the bandage and the damage to his other hand wouldn’t have prevented such an instinctive reflex.’

Trent exhaled loudly. ‘So not a suicide?’

‘I’m no expert, but it seems likely to me he was already dead when he hit the water.’

‘Any indication what did kill him?’

‘You’ll have to wait for the post mortem to give you the answer to that question.’

‘An answer which will lead to yet more questions, I expect.’

‘Often the way in your line of work, I imagine.’ Zoe’s eye was caught by something sticking out of the waistband of the boy’s jeans. ‘What’s that?’

Trent’s gloved hand halted hers as she reached towards the scrap of green fabric. ‘Let me,’ he said, taking a plastic evidence bag from his pocket. As he gently pulled it free, she saw it wasn’t fabric but something more rigid, with a dirty-brown underside and chipped edges.

‘I think I know where this is from,’ the policeman said. But before he could elaborate, he looked past Zoe and muttered, ‘Here comes trouble.’

TWO

Zoe followed Trent’s gaze to a tall, middle-aged man in a white shirt and grey trousers marching along the riverbank towards them. When approached by the constable in charge of recording the details of all visitors to the site, he pulled off his sunglasses and stood impatiently twirling them.

‘I’m late already,’ he said in a strident voice. ‘Some idiot gave me the wrong postcode. Satnav took me miles out of my way.’

‘Oh dear,’ Trent said. ‘Doc Ferguson’s crabbit at the best of times. Having to venture this far east obviously hasn’t improved his mood.’

‘Doesn’t he usually cover this side of the Borders?’ Zoe asked.

‘Only during the school holidays. Lives in Peebles and not a family man himself.’

They watched Doctor Ferguson put his sunglasses back on then snatch the white coveralls which were offered to him and thrust his long limbs inside them. No one else hindered his progress towards Zoe and Trent, but no one tried to help him either.

The stone ledge felt crowded when he joined them, causing Zoe to imagine it breaking off and plunging them all into the water. She took some deep breaths then pulled off a glove and held out her hand. ‘Hello, I’m Doctor Zoe Moreland, from the Westerlea practice.’

A vein pulsed at Doctor Ferguson’s temple and the large mirrored lenses of his sunglasses filled with Zoe’s reflection as he stared at her before wordlessly responding with a handshake which was over before it began. He turned to Trent and demanded, ‘Why is a GP here?’

‘Doctor Moreland is helping with the identification of the deceased.’

‘I hardly think gloves are necessary for that. She has neither the knowledge nor the equipment to undertake an examination.’

Trent’s ears turned red. ‘She kindly agreed, at my request, to make some initial observations while we were waiting for you to arrive.’

‘That was totally out of order. She’s not even wearing protective clothing.’

‘I think you can see the reason for that, Doctor.’

Chest thrust out and nostrils flaring, Ferguson pushed past Zoe, forcing her to step perilously close to the edge of the stone. She bit back the protest she felt entitled to make and concentrated on getting safely back onto the riverbank, then made for a bench in the shade a short distance away. It felt blissful to sit down, although with no guarantee she would get them on again, she stopped short of kicking off her shoes.

The Tweed’s silent progress towards the coast was barely discernible, only the passing of the occasional leaf or feather indicating it was moving at all, while birds flew low over the water, skimming its surface to scoop up insects. Zoe glanced at her watch. It wasn’t yet eleven but the temperature, even given the slight breeze, already felt more Greek island than Scottish Borders. The heatwave had started in early May and still, in mid-July, showed no sign of abating.

A few minutes later, Trent came over and sat down on the bench beside her. ‘Sorry about that. The Doc’s not the most charming of men, but he does have a way with dead bodies. Which is why he’s tolerated.’

‘He was probably right to question my presence.’

‘If there’s any flack flying, I’ll take it. The DCI will understand when I tell him what happened. And that it’s you.’

‘DCI Mather, you mean?’

‘Aye. I’ve called him with the news that we’ve got a suspicious death. He’ll be along himself, once he escapes the meeting he’s at in Edinburgh.’

Zoe nodded, playing for time. Should she ask how Erskine Mather was, make out to his Sergeant she’d not seen him since they last officially met, just before Christmas? She was saved from having to make that decision by the arrival of a constable whose boyish face she recognised but whose name completely escaped her.

‘Yes, Geddes, what is it?’ Trent asked.

Constable Geddes. Of course
.
Although still looking too young to shave every day, he appeared more confident and less fazed by the presence of a corpse than he had at their first encounter.

‘I found this in the bushes, sir.’ Geddes held out an empty plastic sack which, judging by the pictures on it, had at one time contained feed for game birds.

Trent grasped the sack, stared inside it and looked up. ‘Am I missing something?’

‘The smell, sir.’

Wearing a puzzled expression, Trent positioned his face at the sack’s opening and sniffed. ‘Fish,’ he said.

‘Poachers use these sacks to carry their catch, so it won’t leak in their cars. Scales can be used as evidence.’

‘You’re well informed.’

Geddes beamed. ‘I spent a couple of days with the Wildlife Crime Coordinator earlier in the year.’

‘So you think it may have been a poacher who reported seeing the body?’

‘Would explain why he didn’t want to leave his details, sir.’

‘Good work, Constable.’ Trent turned to Zoe. ‘I need to speak to someone about this and then I’ll drive you back. You’re not pushed for time, are you?’

‘No, I’m not taking surgery until tomorrow morning. I was only at the health centre trying to catch up with some paperwork.’

As she waited for Trent to return, she remembered an ex army friend who reckoned he’d been trained to eat any food which became available, because in combat you never know where your next meal is coming from. Pregnant women soon learned to apply the same principle to visiting the loo. What a pity the surprise visit from a police officer had made her forget this before exchanging the comfort of the health centre for the middle of nowhere. She shifted on the bench in an attempt to get more comfortable and glanced at her phone. Sergeant Trent had been gone nearly twenty minutes.

He surprised her shortly afterwards by approaching from the opposite direction he’d walked off in, no longer wearing a coverall. ‘Sorry to be so long. My car’s parked up near the Chain Bridge. It may look further but it’s actually less of a walk than the path you came down by, and there are steps which’ll be easier to negotiate.’

‘That’s fine by me. I just wish my dog was here. He’d love it.’

‘I remember him. Bit of a Heinz fifty-seven, isn’t he?’

‘Everyone we meet has their own theory as to his parentage. A greyhound crossed with a spaniel is one of the more outlandish ones.’

‘My wife had a greyhound when we first met. It hated me.’

Zoe laughed. She and Trent walked along the side of the river, chatting about dogs and then, inevitably, babies. He and his wife knew the sex of theirs: it was a boy.

The bridge which had seemed so distant loomed in front of them surprisingly soon. It was smaller than Zoe expected, its deck suspended by a network of metal cables between two towers of pinkish stone. A police car drove across; it must be stronger than it appeared.

Trent took the stone steps two at a time, Zoe following at a more sedate pace but still feeling breathless before she reached the top.

‘There’s my car.’ He offered her a set of keys from his trouser pocket. ‘I have to go on to the bridge. It shouldn’t take long.’

‘I’ll come with you, if that’s alright. I’ve never been here before.’

‘You’d have no reason to, living where you do.’

‘What’s on the other side?’

‘That’s England, Doctor. If the body had ended up on the opposite riverbank I wouldn’t be here. Northumbria Police would be running the show.’

A pair of stone bollards guarded the entrance to the Chain Bridge, the scuffs of paint on them warning drivers of anything bigger than a family car to venture no further. As they emerged from under the arch, the breeze Zoe had enjoyed at the riverside felt stronger, causing the sides of latticed metal struts and cables to creak and rattle.

‘A Crime Scene Examiner should be here soon, but I wanted to take a look myself,’ Trent said, striding along one of the wooden walkways on either side of the tarmac deck. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to remind you not to touch anything.’

She peered down at the river, happy to keep her hands away from the painted cables which were stained with rust and bird droppings. A swan cruised directly below them, creating a V-shaped wake. Back where she and Trent had come from, even more white-shrouded figures now milled around the water’s edge.

Trent pulled out the evidence bag containing the fragment of green material found on the dead boy and held it against a horizontal cable. ‘Perfect match,’ he said.

‘So he was dropped into the water from here?’

‘They wouldn’t even have to lift him up over the top cable, because there’s enough room to slide him between two of these lower ones. What they didn’t realise—or probably didn’t care about—was that some of the paint is so loose it got caught in his clothes.’

‘Were they relying on him sinking or floating out to sea? Neither seems a reliable way to dispose of a body.’

‘He wasn’t weighted down and we’re a good few miles from the coast. Seems like they didn’t mind how soon he’d be found. They just wanted rid of him.’

‘What on earth had someone so young done to deserve that?’ Zoe said, unaware how plaintive she sounded until Trent put out a hand as if to pat her on the shoulder. At the last moment he must have thought better of it, and instead plunged his hand into a pocket to take out his handkerchief again.

‘We’ll do our best to find out what happened to him, Doctor, I promise.’

As they walked back, a car came up behind them from the English side, causing the bridge to move. Trent, seeing Zoe’s surprised face, said, ‘Feels like being on a boat, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, it’s meant to. The bridge was designed by a naval captain.’

He turned to glare at the vehicle’s driver, who’d brought his car to a halt and was looking out of the window. ‘Didn’t you see the diversion signs? This road is closed. You’ll need to go back the way you came.’

‘Did the victim jump from here?’ the man asked. Not bothering to wait for an answer, he leaned out of his window, holding a large camera.

Press
.
Zoe turned away but too late to avoid making eye contact with him. The sound of his camera a second or so later took her back to the previous November, when photographers and journalists had made her life a misery until a more sensational story came along.

‘Leave her alone,’ Trent said.

‘Just doing my job. Keep your hair on.’ The photographer raised his car window and sped away, narrowly avoiding a police officer who had emerged from the steps at the side of the bridge. Trent told the officer to turn back any further vehicles, then he and Zoe walked to his car.

They opened every window but the roads were too narrow to drive at any great speed and without the air-conditioning Zoe enjoyed in her Jeep, the temperature inside the car remained intolerably high. It was a toss-up which she felt more desperate to do: have a pee or take off the shoes clamped around her swollen feet.

The car swerved as Trent only just avoided hitting a hare running across the road in front of them, reminding Zoe that a full-to-bursting bladder had priority over everything. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore all the messages her body was sending, to concentrate on what she was planning for the rest of the day. Now the decorators had finished she no longer had any excuse to put off buying nursery furniture.

‘Alright, Doctor?’

She opened her eyes in time to see the familiar sight of a row of five small wind turbines on the edge of a field. Unmoving today, when they turned, the single blades reminded her of batons being twirled by majorettes in a parade. Why was Trent taking her past Berrylaw Farm? Her heart began to beat faster. She knew why.

‘I don’t think we’re going the right way,’ she said.

He slowed the car down and glanced across at her. ‘I thought you wanted to go home, not back to the health centre.’

‘I still live at Keeper’s Cottage.’

‘You didn’t move into the place you were converting last year?’

‘I sold it.’

Trent’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. ‘Sorry.’ He didn’t ask why.

THREE

Sergeant Trent parked up outside Keeper’s Cottage and Zoe undid her seatbelt with a sigh of relief. She had started to wear the lap strap under her bump, but it still felt uncomfortable, especially with an overfull bladder.

‘As I’m so close I thought I’d go into the health centre and see if your practice nurse or any of the other staff remember seeing this laddie.’ Trent held up his mobile, which he’d loaded with several head-and-shoulders photographs of the dead boy. ‘What are you going to do about collecting your car?’

‘I have a friend coming for lunch. She’ll give me a lift.’ Zoe scrambled out of the car then leaned back in to add, ‘Thanks, anyway.’ The amused look on Trent’s face told her he’d guessed why she was in such a hurry to get indoors.

A few minutes later, she walked barefoot out of the bathroom, bladder emptied and feet soothed by the chill of the recently-laid slate tiles. She considered, not for the first time, taking down the hall mirror. Everything was swollen, even her face. And still nearly two months to go.