really.”
No then. “What else?”
“I got a list of names from the pub landlord. Locals who were in there last night. Thought we could chase them in the morning.”
“Any motors left in the pub car park, lad?” Nice one, Mac. ’Cause Haines sure hadn’t walked here. Might have had a chauffeur though.
“I’ll check.” Tad shamefaced at the omission but at least he hadn’t tried brazening it out.
“’Kay,” Bev said. “And?”
He waved the heavy-duty torch. “We had a scout round, trying to see where he gained access. Nothing obvious, sarge, but loads of places where it’s possible, gaps in hedges, bust
fences, that kind of thing. Darren’s still out there with uniform trying to narrow it down. Again, we’ll get a better idea in the morning, bit more light.”
She glanced at her watch. Almost one a m. They could start knocking a few doors later, too. Foxton was no heaving metropolis but it was possible someone had been curtain twitching.
“Sergeant Morriss.” A slightly breathless Overdale. She’d eschewed the customary Harris tweed and scuffed brogues for baggy jeans and well-worn trainers. And she’d need
them.
“Doc.” Tight-lipped nod.
“Late. No excuse. I fell back to sleep. Sorry.” The candour took the wind out of Bev’s sails but more than that the woman looked pretty rough. Her moon face had an unhealthy
sheen; the eyes were red-rimmed, looked sore.
“Bev?” Four heads turned when Chris Baxter called softly. “One of the guys found this.” He held a scrap of paper between gloved fingers. “Suicide note.”
“I very much doubt it.” Making up for lost time, Overdale’s professional gaze was already scanning what was left of Haines. “From what I can see the body would have been
dead long before a train hit it.”
17
It was more what the pathologist hadn’t seen. “There wasn’t enough blood, boss,” Bev told Knight and the rest of the squad. “Overdale says if
Haines had been alive when he was hit the tracks would’ve been awash, ground would’ve been soaked.” The pathologist had talked carotids and jugular spouting like the Trevi
fountain. But only if Haines’s heart had been pumping. Given the train’s impact, there’d been more than enough gore around anyway for Bev’s liking. As for the severed
head... it wasn’t a thought to hold. Bloody thing had already given her nightmares, and she’d only had four hours’ kip. Knight had put the early brief back an hour, it was just
gone nine now. Maybe she was wrong, but the squad seemed animated by the news of Haines’s demise. For sure, no one was shedding any tears.
The DCI still appeared to be taking it in. “So likeliest scenario is Haines was dead before the train hit him?”
Bev and Mac exchanged glances: you could say that. “Best guess is he was murdered someplace else... there’s no forensic so far to dispute that. The killer drives the body to Foxton
and...” She’d painted part of the picture, rest was best left to the imagination.
Knight nodded. “Does Overdale have any idea how he was killed?”
With the state the body was in? Get real. She settled for a diplomatic: “Nothing obvious, boss. Post mortem might throw up something.” Blood tests, too, assuming he had enough left
in his veins. “She checked the wrists for ligature marks. Nothing doing.” Difficult to check the neck. Bev swallowed, shuddered again. “If he was restrained, the killer took the
rope or whatever with him.” FSI had checked and checked again: nothing doing. New batch of uniforms and detectives had been out at Foxton since first light, checking for tyre tracks, talking
to villagers.
Knight finally stopped pacing. “There’s absolutely no doubt about this, is there, sergeant? He was murdered?” Bev raised an eyebrow. Was there a punch line?
“What, like you mean Haines might’ve got a mate to put him out of his misery?” It came from Mac, but Knight had asked for it. Bev couldn’t have put
No then. “What else?”
“I got a list of names from the pub landlord. Locals who were in there last night. Thought we could chase them in the morning.”
“Any motors left in the pub car park, lad?” Nice one, Mac. ’Cause Haines sure hadn’t walked here. Might have had a chauffeur though.
“I’ll check.” Tad shamefaced at the omission but at least he hadn’t tried brazening it out.
“’Kay,” Bev said. “And?”
He waved the heavy-duty torch. “We had a scout round, trying to see where he gained access. Nothing obvious, sarge, but loads of places where it’s possible, gaps in hedges, bust
fences, that kind of thing. Darren’s still out there with uniform trying to narrow it down. Again, we’ll get a better idea in the morning, bit more light.”
She glanced at her watch. Almost one a m. They could start knocking a few doors later, too. Foxton was no heaving metropolis but it was possible someone had been curtain twitching.
“Sergeant Morriss.” A slightly breathless Overdale. She’d eschewed the customary Harris tweed and scuffed brogues for baggy jeans and well-worn trainers. And she’d need
them.
“Doc.” Tight-lipped nod.
“Late. No excuse. I fell back to sleep. Sorry.” The candour took the wind out of Bev’s sails but more than that the woman looked pretty rough. Her moon face had an unhealthy
sheen; the eyes were red-rimmed, looked sore.
“Bev?” Four heads turned when Chris Baxter called softly. “One of the guys found this.” He held a scrap of paper between gloved fingers. “Suicide note.”
“I very much doubt it.” Making up for lost time, Overdale’s professional gaze was already scanning what was left of Haines. “From what I can see the body would have been
dead long before a train hit it.”
17
It was more what the pathologist hadn’t seen. “There wasn’t enough blood, boss,” Bev told Knight and the rest of the squad. “Overdale says if
Haines had been alive when he was hit the tracks would’ve been awash, ground would’ve been soaked.” The pathologist had talked carotids and jugular spouting like the Trevi
fountain. But only if Haines’s heart had been pumping. Given the train’s impact, there’d been more than enough gore around anyway for Bev’s liking. As for the severed
head... it wasn’t a thought to hold. Bloody thing had already given her nightmares, and she’d only had four hours’ kip. Knight had put the early brief back an hour, it was just
gone nine now. Maybe she was wrong, but the squad seemed animated by the news of Haines’s demise. For sure, no one was shedding any tears.
The DCI still appeared to be taking it in. “So likeliest scenario is Haines was dead before the train hit him?”
Bev and Mac exchanged glances: you could say that. “Best guess is he was murdered someplace else... there’s no forensic so far to dispute that. The killer drives the body to Foxton
and...” She’d painted part of the picture, rest was best left to the imagination.
Knight nodded. “Does Overdale have any idea how he was killed?”
With the state the body was in? Get real. She settled for a diplomatic: “Nothing obvious, boss. Post mortem might throw up something.” Blood tests, too, assuming he had enough left
in his veins. “She checked the wrists for ligature marks. Nothing doing.” Difficult to check the neck. Bev swallowed, shuddered again. “If he was restrained, the killer took the
rope or whatever with him.” FSI had checked and checked again: nothing doing. New batch of uniforms and detectives had been out at Foxton since first light, checking for tyre tracks, talking
to villagers.
Knight finally stopped pacing. “There’s absolutely no doubt about this, is there, sergeant? He was murdered?” Bev raised an eyebrow. Was there a punch line?
“What, like you mean Haines might’ve got a mate to put him out of his misery?” It came from Mac, but Knight had asked for it. Bev couldn’t have put
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