Page 11 of The Girl in the Grave
Annie’s eyes rolled back. She opened her mouth to speak but was unable to form any intelligible words. All that came out was a mumbled mess of sound.
‘I’m really sorry about this.’ Estelle looked at the guy, who was doing a great job of holding her friend up. He was a lot older than the pair of them but good-looking in a Colin Firth kind of way. She wouldn’t say no, she thought, as she led them around the back of the hotel to the small set of steps down to the basement. It was a work of art getting Annie down there without letting go of her, and by the time they reached the bottom step both of them were out of breath.
‘I’m so sorry, this is my fault. I let her drink too much champagne. She’s going to kill me tomorrow.’
He smiled. ‘I kind of think this is all her fault, not yours. I’m guessing you didn’t force her to drink?’
She shook her head. ‘Of course not, she drank it herself. I just paid for it.’
‘Ah, the if-it’s-free-I’m-going-to-drink-it friend. We all have one of those. They just don’t know when to say stop, especially if they’re not paying for it. Do you often buy your friend’s champagne?’
Her cheeks began to burn. ‘Not really; she’s worked really hard this week and I wanted to say thank you.’
‘Well it doesn’t look as if she’ll be working really hard tomorrow!’
Estelle smiled as she opened the door, and they dragged Annie along the narrow corridor to her room. She rifled through her friend’s pockets until she found the key and unlocked the door. Between them they managed to get her onto the bed. Rolling Annie onto her side and propping pillows behind her back, Estelle disappeared then came back with a bucket which she placed by the side of the bed. Then they left her to it.
Once they were back outside she thanked her helper again for coming to their rescue without a second thought.
‘It was no problem. Are you going to bed as well now?’
Laughing, she shook her head. ‘No, I’m not tired.’
‘Oh, that’s good. Would you like to come and drink some champagne with me then?’
Hesitating, she thought about it. She didn’t really want to go back inside the club: she was going to be in for a bollocking when the bouncers told her dad what had happened. She looked at him again; she’d always had a bit of a thing for heroes. Pushing her arm through his, she whispered, ‘I know a nice place we can go for a glass of champagne that’s a bit more private.’
He bent down, his lips brushing the side of her cheek. ‘Lead the way, beautiful…’
Seventeen
Beth slept surprisingly well once she’d managed to actually switch her mind off and let it all go. When she opened her eyes it was hard to believe it was morning already. After a quick breakfast of toast and jam she set off on the drive to Barrow with a clear head.
Abe was already in the mortuary by the time she had washed and scrubbed-up. The coffin was on the table and Beth had to admit it was a strange sight to see. An exhumation wasn’t something she dealt with very often; in fact, this was only her second in the seven years since she’d begun her training to be a forensic pathologist. Abe had a cordless drill ready to unscrew the coffin lid, but the moment the drill made contact with the wood, the door burst open and in rushed Carl from CSI.
‘Sorry to interrupt, but Josh asked me to come and take photos. Just in case.’
‘Just in case, what?’
‘Well, I suppose in case there’s any connection to the body found underneath the coffin.’
It hadn’t even crossed Beth’s mind that the two might be connected. She looked at Abe as a wave of terrible foreboding washed over her. What if he unscrewed the lid of the coffin to find no body in there? What if there weretwobodies inside? Butterflies raced around in her stomach. It didn’t matter what was inside the coffin, it needed to be opened. If there were three, or even four bodies in there she would deal with them, one by one, methodically and with precision, because that was what she did.
Abe patted her arm. ‘Beth, is everything okay? You look kind of…’
She smiled at him. ‘I’m fine, thank you, Abe. I was just wondering what was going to happen if there was something in there that we weren’t anticipating.’
He smiled at her. ‘I hope not.’
‘Right, then. Shall we begin?’ She looked at Carl, who was fiddling with his camera. Waiting for his reply.
He looked up at her, flustered.
‘Sorry, Doc. What a morning. I hate having surprises sprung on me. I’m good to go when you are.’
For a moment she wondered how he coped with his job if he didn’t like surprises; more often than not crimes occurred on the spur of the moment. She nodded at Abe, who began to remove the screws, while she did her best not to hold her breath. When the last screw came free she helped him to lift the lid.
A sweet, sickly smell filled the room as she looked down at the body of Florence Wright; her face and hands were covered in mould, a natural occurrence in some bodies that had been buried. Carl gasped beside her, his camera poised.
