along with January, was the most popular month for death. Pneumonia took the old in winter; in summer it was heart attacks and infection. But it wasn’t only the old and sick that accounted for the rise. July was the month when the sunshine tricked the unwary into feeling invincible: they fell from ladders, crashed their motorbikes, tumbled drunk from balconies and drowned in rivers. Senseless, random deaths of the kind to which Jenny had never reconciled herself.
She was studying a photograph of a young woman’s body – an evening of heavy drinking had caused the rupture of an undetected stomach ulcer, from which she had bled to death in her sleep – when she heard Alison’s familiar footsteps pass her window and stop at the front door. Jenny listened to her movements. She heard Alison hang up her raincoat and step through to the kitchenette to make tea. She seemed to open and close the cupboard doors with a forced measuredness that told Jenny she was working hard to keep whatever she was suppressing firmly under control.
Her concentration disturbed by the tension, Jenny was eager to dispel it. She got up from her desk and went through to find Alison returning to her desk.
‘Good morning, Alison,’ Jenny said brightly.
‘Afternoon, I think, Mrs Cooper. Nearly one o’clock.’ Far from appearing depressed, Alison looked convincingly cheerful. Her face glowed with natural tan after a recent holiday in Cyprus, making her eyes appear startlingly white. Slim, tastefully dressed, she couldn’t have looked more vital or any less like the former detective she was.
‘Was it worth the trip?’ Jenny asked. ‘I didn’t get much joy out of Mrs Jordan. She was in no fit state for anything.’
‘Not much to see at the motorway. He was found about thirty yards from the bridge. He must have been swept along. Probably a lorry.’ She settled at her desk, surveying its tidy surfaces with a smile of satisfaction. ‘Did you notice I’d had a clear-out?’
‘Yes,’ Jenny said. ‘Any particular reason?’
‘You don’t realize how much rubbish you’ve built up until you come to get rid of it.’
Jenny waited for the subtext to emerge, but Alison changed the subject and slotted a USB stick into her computer. ‘I got some good photographs of Jordan’s car, though – got there just before the police took it away.’
She called the first image up on to the screen: an unremarkable shot of the abandoned Saab.
‘Should I be seeing something significant?’ Jenny asked.
‘Where he left it, for one thing. He hadn’t gone as far as the car park. There’s a snaking driveway off the lane. He’d pulled up on the verge.’
‘What’s in the field behind it? It looks like an orchard.’
‘It’s been planted with young trees – each one’s a natural burial plot.’
‘Is that where the child was found?’
‘That was several fields away. It’s a large site. I think he must have wandered. The passenger door was left open – maybe to let air in. He might have managed to undo his seatbelt and climb out.’
‘But he’s tiny—’
‘The child seat was found with the buckle undone – look.’ She clicked to an image showing the child seat in perfect detail, the restraints hanging over its sides.
‘Or Jordan took the child with him out into the field, then went off alone,’ Jenny speculated.
‘Possibly.’ Alison was dubious. ‘It’s odd, though. You’d think he would either have made sure the kid was safe or have taken him with him. Look, he left his keys in the ignition.’
Jenny scanned another picture of the front seats. On the passenger side were a sandwich wrapper, an empty carton of juice and two crumpled plastic water bottles. Suicidal, but not so thoughtless as to toss his rubbish out of the window.
‘I forgot to ask his wife where home is,’ Jenny said.
‘Bath,’ Alison replied. ‘I think Watling said she’s a postgrad at the university.’
She clicked to the final photograph: a wider
She was studying a photograph of a young woman’s body – an evening of heavy drinking had caused the rupture of an undetected stomach ulcer, from which she had bled to death in her sleep – when she heard Alison’s familiar footsteps pass her window and stop at the front door. Jenny listened to her movements. She heard Alison hang up her raincoat and step through to the kitchenette to make tea. She seemed to open and close the cupboard doors with a forced measuredness that told Jenny she was working hard to keep whatever she was suppressing firmly under control.
Her concentration disturbed by the tension, Jenny was eager to dispel it. She got up from her desk and went through to find Alison returning to her desk.
‘Good morning, Alison,’ Jenny said brightly.
‘Afternoon, I think, Mrs Cooper. Nearly one o’clock.’ Far from appearing depressed, Alison looked convincingly cheerful. Her face glowed with natural tan after a recent holiday in Cyprus, making her eyes appear startlingly white. Slim, tastefully dressed, she couldn’t have looked more vital or any less like the former detective she was.
‘Was it worth the trip?’ Jenny asked. ‘I didn’t get much joy out of Mrs Jordan. She was in no fit state for anything.’
‘Not much to see at the motorway. He was found about thirty yards from the bridge. He must have been swept along. Probably a lorry.’ She settled at her desk, surveying its tidy surfaces with a smile of satisfaction. ‘Did you notice I’d had a clear-out?’
‘Yes,’ Jenny said. ‘Any particular reason?’
‘You don’t realize how much rubbish you’ve built up until you come to get rid of it.’
Jenny waited for the subtext to emerge, but Alison changed the subject and slotted a USB stick into her computer. ‘I got some good photographs of Jordan’s car, though – got there just before the police took it away.’
She called the first image up on to the screen: an unremarkable shot of the abandoned Saab.
‘Should I be seeing something significant?’ Jenny asked.
‘Where he left it, for one thing. He hadn’t gone as far as the car park. There’s a snaking driveway off the lane. He’d pulled up on the verge.’
‘What’s in the field behind it? It looks like an orchard.’
‘It’s been planted with young trees – each one’s a natural burial plot.’
‘Is that where the child was found?’
‘That was several fields away. It’s a large site. I think he must have wandered. The passenger door was left open – maybe to let air in. He might have managed to undo his seatbelt and climb out.’
‘But he’s tiny—’
‘The child seat was found with the buckle undone – look.’ She clicked to an image showing the child seat in perfect detail, the restraints hanging over its sides.
‘Or Jordan took the child with him out into the field, then went off alone,’ Jenny speculated.
‘Possibly.’ Alison was dubious. ‘It’s odd, though. You’d think he would either have made sure the kid was safe or have taken him with him. Look, he left his keys in the ignition.’
Jenny scanned another picture of the front seats. On the passenger side were a sandwich wrapper, an empty carton of juice and two crumpled plastic water bottles. Suicidal, but not so thoughtless as to toss his rubbish out of the window.
‘I forgot to ask his wife where home is,’ Jenny said.
‘Bath,’ Alison replied. ‘I think Watling said she’s a postgrad at the university.’
She clicked to the final photograph: a wider
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