Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(50)

He knows no one is coming. He knows he has me all to himself, she thought desperately. And then the pain was so bad that she felt everything fade to black, and she passed out.





26

Tristan went to a friend’s wedding over the weekend, and she spent Saturday and half of Sunday catching up on university work she’d missed during the previous week’s investigations. It was tough to refocus her mind on the day job. She had no resources and had drawn a blank with Caitlyn. She knew she had probably made things worse for Malcolm and Sheila. She should never have agreed to help them and get their hopes up. She heard nothing from Malcolm over the weekend, which made her think the worst.

Sunday afternoon was brightened by coffee and a walk with Myra on the beach and then a Skype call with Jake. Kate didn’t see Tristan until Monday afternoon, when they grabbed a coffee and she brought him up to speed on everything that had happened in Altrincham.

“And Paul Adler insists he didn’t know Peter Conway?” asked Tristan.

“I’ve already had Alan Hexham pull files on Caitlyn and Paul. He’s telling the truth. He left the force before Peter Conway joined; of course, that doesn’t mean he didn’t know him,” said Kate. Tristan pulled a face.

“What?”

He bit his lip. “Would you ever consider visiting Peter Conway?”

“No. And he would have to send me a visiting order. And that won’t happen.”

“Has he ever sent you one?”

“Never. Tristan, I’m the reason he’s locked up.”

Tristan nodded. “You’re the badass who caught him!”

Kate smiled. Her phone rang.

“It’s Alan. I’ll kill him if he’s canceling his lecture on Thursday . . .” She answered the call and listened. She checked her watch. “Okay. We’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“What?” asked Tristan when she came off the phone.

“Another body’s been found, on Higher Tor near Belstone. A young woman, dumped naked with bites and a bag over her head.”



When Kate and Tristan arrived at the edge of Dartmoor forty minutes later, the light was fading. They drove through the small village of Belstone, and then they hit the moorland and the road became a gravel track lined with drystone walls. The vast moorland was eerie in the twilight. They drove for a mile or so, and then the rocky hill formation of Higher Tor came into view, just visible against the darkening sky. At its base were a group of police cars and a van.

There was a break in the drystone wall, and Kate drove through it and parked the car on a patch of rough ground next to it. A police car was parked on the moor a little way back from the gate. Kate switched off the engine, and they got out.

The police officer in the squad car was in the middle of eating a Cornish pasty. He looked up when they approached and wound down his window.

“Good evening,” said Kate. “We’ve been asked to attend by the forensic pathologist, Alan Hexham.” She hoped that Alan was still in charge of the crime scene and hadn’t yet handed over control to the police. The officer swallowed and reluctantly put down the pasty, wiping his mouth.

“I’ll need some ID,” he said, opening the door. They scrabbled around for their driver’s licenses and handed them through the window. He took the licenses and then closed his window.

“You’re certain Alan asked me to come too?” said Tristan as the police officer peered at their driving licenses and murmured something into his radio.

“Yes.”

There was a whir and the police officer’s car window opened.

“I can’t get hold of him. Have you got a police ID card, either of you? I’m just trying to work out why you’re here.”

“We’re not police,” said Kate.

He looked over at her mud-splattered car by the gate and his face became stern. “You’re not press? Because I can have you for wasting police time.”

“We’re private investigators,” she said. It felt odd to say it out loud. She was a university lecturer, an academic. There was a difference between advising the police and becoming a full-blown private investigator, but the latter made her independent. She wished she had a card. “I’m a former DC. I worked on the Nine Elms Cannibal case. Dr. Hexham asked me and my associate to attend the crime scene because we’ve been sharing information about the murders of Emma Newman and Kaisha Smith. Dr. Hexham believes this murder is linked.”

The officer looked at their licenses again. There was a burst of static, and Kate heard Alan’s voice come over the radio.

“This is Dr. Hexham. I requested Kate Marshall attend with her associate. Please let them through.”

“Go on then,” said the police officer, putting the radio down and picking up his half-eaten Cornish pasty. “You’ll need to sign in at the crime scene.”

Kate and Tristan set off toward the police cars. On either side of them, the moors stretched out with gorse and scrub, now bathed in long shadows in the fading light.

“Do you think it will smell bad, the body?” asked Tristan, looking at the dark shape of the tor up ahead. Kate looked over at him.

“I don’t know. You’ve never seen a dead body before?”

He shook his head.

“Do you want to stay in the car?”