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The smell of decomposition filled Charlie’s nose. Like everything rotten in the world, all at once.
“Tom, Tom, oh God, it’s horrible.” The screamer had thrown herself at Tom.
“What is it, Violet?” Tom asked, holding onto the woman as she continued to wail.
“It’s a boy. A dead boy. In my studio, oh God.”
Charlie had a horrible feeling he knew who it was. He showed his warrant card to the campus officer and told him to keep everyone as far away from the building as he could. Then he took a deep breath and opened the door, trying not to gag.
The workshop, or studio or whatever Violet had called it, was full of junk. Every kind of junk, from old furniture to broken crockery, children’s toys, boxes of nails, telephone directories, door handles. He thought there might have been some order to it, but he was too busy trying to locate the source of the smell. He found it in the furthest corner, obviously a workspace. The artist had been making a bed from planks of wood, decorated by old toys and children’s picture books. There might have been a few broken christening mugs amongst it. Charlie concentrated on the details of the bed, rather than on the figure laid carefully upon it.
The body was naked, bloated and discoloured, and the smell of putrefaction filled the air. But Charlie could see the brown hair and tattoo of a tree and had no doubt he was looking at the earthly remains of Rico Pepperdine. He was no forensic scientist, but this body was a few days old, and the case would be out of his hands now. All he could do was secure the scene and call for help. He cast his eyes around, but if there were physical clues, they would be indistinguishable from the mountains of junk.
He reached for his phone, unsure who to call, so he started with Eddy.
“We’ve found Rico. In some workshop full of junk at the college. He’s dead. Been dead for days. We need the whole circus, and we need to secure the scene and start taking names. You all get down here and I’ll call Kent.”
A string of swear words came out of Charlie’s phone. “Kent’s on indefinite leave. We just got an email,” Eddy said, “They haven’t used the word suspended, but they’re trying to make him take the fall for everything that’s gone wrong in Llanfair. Ring DCI Ravensbourne. I trust her.”
“You know her, you ring her. Ask her to give me a call straight away. We need an experienced SIO, so do it now.”
Charlie walked out of the workshop, hands in his pockets, careful not to touch anything. Once outside, he closed the door, lessening the smell, though not getting rid of it altogether. He was pleased to see that the screaming Violet had gone, with the campus services officer, leaving Tom with his arms wrapped round himself and his chin almost resting on his chest. There was an autumn chill to the air, and the sky had clouded over to a uniform dull grey. This was a day to be inside with the fire on, not to be standing around, coatless, knowing that a young man was dead nearby.
When Charlie appeared, Tom straightened up. “I sent Violet to have a cup of tea. I hope that’s OK? Can you tell me anything?” Tom said.
“I can tell you that there is a young man’s body in the workshop. Beyond that, I don’t know. I’ve asked everyone from the police station to come down here. We’re going to have to close this whole area.” Despite the lies, Charlie still had the urge to confide in Tom, glad he had waited behind. But Tom was the college principal. Of course he would want to know what was happening.
“What can I do to help?” Tom asked.
Charlie sighed. There would be major disruption to college life, and the tiny amount of progress the four of them had made would disappear in a puff of smoke.
“Nothing, yet,” he said. “We need to make sure all these sheds and workshops are closed, and depending on what the SIO says, the college may have to close. Sorry, Senior Investigating Officer. Not me. I’m waiting for a call.”
They stood in silence for a moment. Then Tom said, “Is this going to be bad for you? That it’s happened on your watch?”
The concern was genuine, Charlie would have sworn it was. The answer would be yes it will be bad. Probably worse than bad. Because the pressure is always worse for a suspicious death, and the media were already watching. But the same was true for Tom. He was principal of the college, and in his brief tenure, had lost two students and found one of them dead. That was apart from the ongoing assaults on women students. He wanted to say some of this when his phone rang.
“Charlie Rees? This is DCI Freya Ravensbourne. I’ll be there in an hour. I’ve called Hector Powell, the pathologist, and he’s on his way. Scenes of crime officers will follow as soon as they can. I’m told you know what you’re doing, so please get on with doing it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Charlie said, feeling weights lift from his shoulders.
“Get the scene secure and start looking for witnesses. I’ll see you soon.”
The ground seemed to steady beneath Charlie’s feet. The police service is a hierarchical organisation—you do what you’re told, go where you’re sent. Charlie had followed his orders to the best of his ability. But he couldn’t help the sense of relief that from here on, what he had to do were the familiar tasks of being a sergeant while someone else took responsibility. Even better, he looked up to see Eddy, Mags and Patsy picking their way through the debris around the sheds. Patsy carried a roll of police tape, and Eddy had a bunch of stakes under his arm. It was a mess, but at least now he wasn’t the only one trying to clear it up.
14
Freya
Tuesday 2pm
From the transcript of a court case somewhere in Spain*
*English translation
Attorney for the Prosecution (AP): Is it your testimony that you spent the night with the defendant?
Witness: Yes, sir.
