Page 114 of Worse Than Murder
It’s happening again.
I don’t think it is. I don’t know what’s going on with the break-ins, but the attack on Philip, the fact he could have been killed had I not removed the cartridges from the gun, tell me that whoever is behind this is dangerous, and they won’t stop until they get what they want.
After taking the dogs for a long walk with Carl, I’d worked up an appetite. I make myself scrambled eggs on toast. Sally has given me her access code to the CCTV cameras, so I look at the footage around the exterior of the restaurant. As I suspected, the intruder knew exactly what he was doing as he’d managed to find a blind spot at the rear so he wouldn’t be seen as he reached up with a stick or pole and adjusted the camera’s position away from the back door. Sneaky bastard. The sooner Philip upgrades the better.
I walk into the restaurant with my second black coffee of the morning to find Adele sitting at a table by the window. She’s chipping away at half a grapefruit and drinking orange juice. I think she looks the picture of health until I notice the remnants of a bacon sandwich on a plate beside her.
I pull out the chair opposite and sit down. Sally has already taken Carl to school and is then going to pick Philip up from the hospital. The cleaners and restaurant staff have yet to arrive, so it’s just us.
‘Tell me what happens to bodies that have been in the water for thirty years.’
‘I’m eating.’ She pulls a face.
‘Adele, I’ve known you to make dinner plans while draining a stomach of its contents. There’s no way you’re squeamish.’
‘You know the effects of water on a body,’ she says, putting her spoon down.
‘I know, but what will the pathologist be looking for in Celia and Jennifer?’
‘There’ll be no organs to take samples from, no blood, no bodily fluids at all. All that is left is bone. If Celia and Jennifer were shot or stabbed, they might be able to tell where the bullet entered and left the body, or the trajectory of a knife if it hit bone. If they were beaten or suffered a blow to the head, there might be broken bones or a fractured skull. Anything else like suffocation, drugging or even if they were raped, is not going to be found.’
‘Damn.’
‘I’ve done a google search and I know who the pathologist is for this area. I’ve worked with him in the past. I’ll pop along later to see him. But don’t get your hopes up.’
‘Thanks.’
A car pulls into a space outside the restaurant. We turn to look out of the window to see who the early morning visitor is.
‘Who’s that?’ Adele asks.
‘PC Alison Pemberton. Daughter of Jack. Sister of the missing twins.’
‘Bloody hell. I bet she’s going through the wringer right now.’
‘Wouldn’t you? I was going to pop round and talk to her later. I’ve got some very sensitive questions to ask.’
We make eye contact through the window. I signal to her and tell her I’ll be right out.
‘By the way,’ Adele begins. ‘If you’re going out and you pass a chemist, will you pop in and get some of those nasal strips that stop people snoring?’
‘Why? You don’t snore.’
‘Precisely.’
‘You’ve gone very bumptious since you got an all-over tan and found your waistline again.’
‘I’ve always had a waist.’
‘True. We all have a waist. It’s just some of us hide it beneath a huge layer of bacon sandwiches.’ I wink as I head for the door.
Adele picks up a crust of the sandwich she’s left and throws it at me. We share a giggle before I leave. It’s almost like old times. Almost.
* * *
‘Good morning,’ I trot down the wooden stairs of the restaurant. I’m trying to sound friendly and light-hearted. I want Alison to feel at ease and that she can trust me.
‘Hi. How are you? I heard about the break-in.’
