Page 6 of The Dead Come to Stay
“Yeah? And an earring. I think?”
“A what?” Green asked—but Struthers nearly leaped back into the ditch.
“Leave it!” he barked. “Leave it,please. It’s evidence and you aren’t even wearing gloves.” He snatched the leather wallet from the officer and bagged it. Then he leaned into the mud once more. “Earring or pendant. Gold.”
“Maybe torn off in a struggle?” MacAdams asked.
“Don’t think so. Delicate little thing.” He pulled it free with tweezers and dropped it into another plastic envelope. “I’ll process everything and call you. You’ll be in your office?”
MacAdams sighed.Soit would seem.
***
Abington CID hadn’t changed very much in a year, though it was in want of a chief. The old boss, Cora Clapham, had abruptly left the precinct in light of the familial corruption that came to light in their last case. She was now in Southampton, last MacAdamsheard. The job opening had been advertised ratheraggressivelyin MacAdams’s direction, but he wasn’t fool enough to take it. Then again, he’d ended up as de facto interim chief without the attendant promotion... so perhaps he was a fool, at that.
“Gridley’s making coffee,” said Detective Constable Tommy Andrews when they made it back to the station. Kate Gridley was better at coffee than most. Almost a promotional capability, something to remember when it was time to consider a second sergeant.
“Good, could use some.” MacAdams tossed his coat over a chair.
“You, eh, had other plans, I thought?”
“It’s a village fete,” MacAdams said, as if this explained the freshly ironed light gray slacks and rather more festive than usual tie. “Bit like May Day.”
Green only shrugged, sat backward on a swivel chair. “Today isn’t May Day—andyoudidn’t answer my question, boss.”
“Yes,” MacAdams said, demurring to his attire. “I had other plans. And now, I have a murder investigation. Shall we?”
Kate Gridley had reappeared from the kitchenette; by far the most tech savvy of the bunch, she already had several search engines running and ready, and still managed to start coffee. MacAdams seized his chance for a moment of silence—and a coffee mug. Then he opened his messaging app. The last one had been fromJo, reminding him of the opening time. MacAdams scrolled to the chat window, thought better of it and returned the phone to his pocket. He had at least three reasons for this. One: a (completely unlikely) hope that he could make it to Jo—rather, the gardens—before festivities were over. Two: the dead body in Struthers’s forensic lab, and three—
“Boss!” Green leaned through the doorway. “ID from Struthers. Driver’s license and credit cards.”
“I guess that means it wasn’t a robbery,” MacAdams sighed. He pulled the glass pot before it was finished, leaving drips tohiss on the hot plate as he poured a slug of black. “All right, let’s meet our victim.”
Gridley responded by taking a rubber band from her wrist and pulling back shoulder-length hair—her way of settling in for the long haul.
“Murder is murdery,” Andrews said, sitting down beside her. “What are his details?”
MacAdams reached into the bag for the trifold wallet. Inside was a folded twenty-pound note, three credit cards and a driver’s license. Predictably, he didn’t recognize the name. His eyes jumped down to the license number and location: 06 03 1962 Belfast.
“Ireland,” MacAdams said. “Issued in 2019.”
“So not a current address?” Green asked.
“We’ll find out. We can run these credit cards, too. See what he’s been up to in the last twenty-four hours.”
He cleaned off the whiteboard and wrote out the deceased’s name and age at the top. Then, he left them to it and returned to his office to hunt up a current photograph.
The man proved surprisingly easy to find. Despite the address listed on the dated license, his name popped up repeatedly alongside a firm in Newcastle: Hammersmith, just like the London train line. The company website listed three contacts, an executive named Stanley Burnhope and two agents—one of whom matched the license photo. The man’s hair was not yet grizzled, with an incongruity that suggested hair dye. Strong jaw, gaunt face, wide-set eyes, slightly hooded, hawkish nose. Not unattractive, but not striking. The sort you could lose in a crowd.
“Heya, boss.” Green leaned against his door frame, muscular arms crossed, signature eyebrow-raise. “It’s almost noon. You coulddefinitelystill get to the garden opening.”
“Sheila,” MacAdams said, taking the still-warm printout by the corner. “You put off your honeymoon with Rachel for a money-laundering case.”
“And Covid. Remember?”
“All the same.”
“Not all the same,” she insisted, turning her severe chin toward Andrews and Gridley. “Bet you two would like a lunch brought back, right? You know Tula does meat pies.”
