Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(31)

It was a little weather beaten, and its feathers had been soaked by the rain and were ruffled. She pulled out her mobile phone and took a few pictures of it, then reached around to her pocket and pulled out the carrier bag.

“It looks like it’s a real crow, packed with something, like stuffing. I think it’s a taxidermy job,” shouted Kate. The talons were fixed in place with what looked like cable ties. She looked around in the car and saw some shards of glass from the front window, which had smashed and covered the front seats. Carefully, she bent down and picked up a piece, then started work on the cable ties. It took her several minutes of sawing at them before they broke apart. There were two on each of the claws, attaching them to the roof rack. The air was cold, and she was sweating in her coat and the gloves.

Finally, the crow came loose. Kate put her hand inside the carrier bag and used it to pick up the crow. She reversed the bag, so the crow was now inside.

“Here, I’ll catch it,” said Tristan, standing below her. She aimed and dropped the bird. He caught it. Then she started the slow, awkward climb, which was easier than getting up.

When she got down, they went to the car and sat for a few minutes, drinking cans of Coke and eating the chocolate bars they’d bought from the service station. Kate was shaking, but she couldn’t tell if it was from fear, elation, or the fact she had used muscles that had been dormant for years.

“It’s a big bird,” said Tristan, peering into the bag. “There was a kid at my school whose father did taxidermy. They were well off. This kind of shit is expensive. He said once his dad stuffed a Great Dane for its owner when it died. Cost eight grand. He made glass eyes to match, even fake balls . . . It was a boy dog.”

“Yeah, I got that,” said Kate.

“The stuffing is expensive and the cleaning, and then they sew everything up . . .” Tristan was turning the bird upside down, when Kate saw something.

“What’s that?” she said, pointing to the bird’s backside. “You said they sew everything up.”

Kate brushed off her hands; carefully, she moved the body of the bird around in the bag until it was facing down and its backside poked out.

“It’s got something sticking out of its arse. Looks like paper,” said Tristan. Just a couple of loose stitches were tacked into place to keep it in. Kate picked at the stitches, managing to tease them open. She pulled out a long piece of paper rolled up and encased in sandwich wrap.

“A note?” asked Tristan, trying not to get too excited. Kate put the carrier bag containing the bird down and unwrapped the cling film. She knew she should call the police and hand it in, but her curiosity got the better of her.

The paper was thick and tightly rolled. It was a handwritten letter. The writing was all in capital letters and written in black ink.

NINE ELMS IS WHERE I BEGIN. EMMA IS THE FIRST, BUT SHE WON’T BE THE LAST.

UNTIL NEXT TIME.





A FAN




“Jesus, the victim is named,” said Tristan. “That note has been up there, I mean up on top of the car, for the past two months? This is like, actual evidence?”

Kate nodded. She had that old feeling back, the thrill of the chase, or breaking through in an investigation, but of course, it wasn’t her investigation.

“I’ll hold them. I need you to take photos of the bird and the note,” said Kate.

Tristan pulled out his phone and took pictures of the note and the bird.

“Now we have to call the police,” she said.

Her hands were still shaking, but now it was with excitement.





15

“They’ve sent local plod,” said Kate when she saw a police squad car come bumping down the muddy track toward them. Tristan and Kate were parked in a turnout on the track, just outside the gates of the scrapyard.

“How do you know they’re local?” asked Tristan.

“They always send local uniform police to check on something. Cat up a tree.”

“Bird up a car . . . Sorry, not funny,” he said, but Kate smiled. The police car came to a stop a few feet from their car, and its blue lights and siren activated and sounded once. “Are we in trouble?”

“No,” said Kate. “She just accidentally knocked the button. It’s by the steering wheel.”

The driver switched them off, and she got out slowly and placed her peaked cap on her head. To Kate, she seemed so young, with creamy, smooth skin and long red hair tied back. An older balding man with a young face got out of the passenger side and placed his hat over his buzz-cut gray hair. They made their way over.

“Wait in the car,” said Kate. She got out, holding the bird in the bag.

“Morning. I was the one who called you,” she said. The woman looked suspiciously between Kate and Tristan still sitting in the car. Kate briefly explained what they had found, holding up the bird and the note, which was now in another carrier bag.

“I believe this is a piece of evidence in the murder case of a woman called Emma Newman. See—the victim is named in the note,” finished Kate. The two officers were silent. They looked at each other.

“So you found this stuffed bird, with a note inside?” asked the woman.

“Yes,” said Kate, handing it over.

The woman took the note in the plastic bag from Kate and scanned it. Wordlessly, she passed it over to her colleague. He read with a wry amusement on his face.