.’
Lapslie was intrigued. ‘What, and took the piece away?’
Both men nodded at once.
‘So what did she do?’
Her father continued: ‘She was very upset, but, as ever, she sorted it out. Problem-solver, like I said. She took some material from inside the dress and she and her aunt did a sort of invisible mend. You couldn’t even see where it had been damaged. It was remarkable, really.’
‘And when did this happen?’
‘About two weeks before the wedding.’
Remarkable
indeed, Lapslie thought; but if Mike Stowell hadn’t been around for the past two weeks, then he couldn’t have been responsible for that, or for Leslie Petersen’s murder. He asked whether Stowell was currently on a tour of duty. ‘Either in Afghanistan or elsewhere?’
Alan Cooke answered. ‘He’s been on leave.’
‘For how long?’
‘The past five months.’
Lapslie’s brow furrowed. ‘That’s an unusually long leave. What’s the reason for that?’
Alan Cooke mulled his mouth for a second, as if the implications of what he was about to say had left a bitter taste.
‘Because, according to Robert, he’s been suffering combat stress, PTSD. What they used to call battle fatigue.’
Lapslie nodded slowly. PTSD was often Armed Forces shorthand for various psychological disorders.
*
Emma Bradbury was standing in the small wood that surrounded the secret entrance to the fall-out bunker. She was watching carefully as the Special Operations team did a fingertip search of the ground. They had formed a line at the far side of the wood, and then moved forward slowly on their hands and knees; photographing, picking up and tagging anything that might be of interest. Most of it wasn’t, but they still had to do it.
Jim Thomson and his SOCO team were also there, taking samples of the different grasses, plants and soil in case they had to match them against any of the suspects’ clothing. If there were suspects.
Bradbury’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and checked the screen. Lapslie. Walking away from Jim Thomson and the Special Operations unit, she answered it. ‘Sir?’
The signal inside the wood wasn’t strong, and Lapslie’s voice was weak, but Bradbury could just about hear him.
‘How’s the search going?’
‘Slowly, but I don’t mind. They’re doing a good job, and rather them than me. They’re covering every inch of the ground. We do have a bit of a problem though . . .’
‘What’s that?’
‘Superintendent Rouse has been on the phone. Or rather, his PA has been on the phone. He says that I only have them until the end of the day, and then they have to report back to force HQ for redeployment.’
Lapslie sighed. ‘I suspected he’d do that, I just didn’t expect him to act quite so quickly. But thankfully we’ve had a possible breakthrough, so try to at least get the fingertip search finished, plus anything else you think we need, then get yourself over to the following address.’ Lapslie read out Mike Stowell’s address and explained about him being Leslie’s past boyfriend, jilted while on duty in Afghanistan. ‘I’ll meet up with you there.’
‘Sounds promising.’
‘Certainly does. We’ll haul him in for questioning, search his house for any weapon and run forensics on everything in his house. So take Thomson and his team with you. Later today or first thing tomorrow we also need to be back with Thomson at the church to search the wall around and above the main door where Leslie was shot.’
‘How high above the main door?’
‘To roof level.’
‘And what are we looking for?’
‘Bullet holes, bullet fragments. Although she was hit by one bullet, our killer might have made some ranging shots first. If he did, I want to find out where they ended up, and see if we can recover the ammunition. That will help with a match if we find the rifle.’
‘I’ll wrap up here as quick as I can and see you shortly, sir.’
Lapslie hung up, and Bradbury turned her
Lapslie was intrigued. ‘What, and took the piece away?’
Both men nodded at once.
‘So what did she do?’
Her father continued: ‘She was very upset, but, as ever, she sorted it out. Problem-solver, like I said. She took some material from inside the dress and she and her aunt did a sort of invisible mend. You couldn’t even see where it had been damaged. It was remarkable, really.’
‘And when did this happen?’
‘About two weeks before the wedding.’
Remarkable
indeed, Lapslie thought; but if Mike Stowell hadn’t been around for the past two weeks, then he couldn’t have been responsible for that, or for Leslie Petersen’s murder. He asked whether Stowell was currently on a tour of duty. ‘Either in Afghanistan or elsewhere?’
Alan Cooke answered. ‘He’s been on leave.’
‘For how long?’
‘The past five months.’
Lapslie’s brow furrowed. ‘That’s an unusually long leave. What’s the reason for that?’
Alan Cooke mulled his mouth for a second, as if the implications of what he was about to say had left a bitter taste.
‘Because, according to Robert, he’s been suffering combat stress, PTSD. What they used to call battle fatigue.’
Lapslie nodded slowly. PTSD was often Armed Forces shorthand for various psychological disorders.
*
Emma Bradbury was standing in the small wood that surrounded the secret entrance to the fall-out bunker. She was watching carefully as the Special Operations team did a fingertip search of the ground. They had formed a line at the far side of the wood, and then moved forward slowly on their hands and knees; photographing, picking up and tagging anything that might be of interest. Most of it wasn’t, but they still had to do it.
Jim Thomson and his SOCO team were also there, taking samples of the different grasses, plants and soil in case they had to match them against any of the suspects’ clothing. If there were suspects.
Bradbury’s phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out and checked the screen. Lapslie. Walking away from Jim Thomson and the Special Operations unit, she answered it. ‘Sir?’
The signal inside the wood wasn’t strong, and Lapslie’s voice was weak, but Bradbury could just about hear him.
‘How’s the search going?’
‘Slowly, but I don’t mind. They’re doing a good job, and rather them than me. They’re covering every inch of the ground. We do have a bit of a problem though . . .’
‘What’s that?’
‘Superintendent Rouse has been on the phone. Or rather, his PA has been on the phone. He says that I only have them until the end of the day, and then they have to report back to force HQ for redeployment.’
Lapslie sighed. ‘I suspected he’d do that, I just didn’t expect him to act quite so quickly. But thankfully we’ve had a possible breakthrough, so try to at least get the fingertip search finished, plus anything else you think we need, then get yourself over to the following address.’ Lapslie read out Mike Stowell’s address and explained about him being Leslie’s past boyfriend, jilted while on duty in Afghanistan. ‘I’ll meet up with you there.’
‘Sounds promising.’
‘Certainly does. We’ll haul him in for questioning, search his house for any weapon and run forensics on everything in his house. So take Thomson and his team with you. Later today or first thing tomorrow we also need to be back with Thomson at the church to search the wall around and above the main door where Leslie was shot.’
‘How high above the main door?’
‘To roof level.’
‘And what are we looking for?’
‘Bullet holes, bullet fragments. Although she was hit by one bullet, our killer might have made some ranging shots first. If he did, I want to find out where they ended up, and see if we can recover the ammunition. That will help with a match if we find the rifle.’
‘I’ll wrap up here as quick as I can and see you shortly, sir.’
Lapslie hung up, and Bradbury turned her
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