Page 36 of Worse Than Murder
I turn to look at him and see I’ve drifted far out into the lake.
‘Not yet,’ I call, breathlessly.
‘Maybe there’s nothing down there. Maybe it was just the registration plate and the tree smashing into the water brought it up.’
‘Maybe,’ I say, though I think otherwise.
One final try. I take a huge breath and dip below the water. I swim down, open my eyes, and that’s when I see it. A car. Judging by the amount of silt, mud and algae that’s clinging to it, it has been down here for some time. As much as I want to get closer, to at least discover what colour the car is, my lungs won’t allow it. I break the surface of the lake and gasp for air.
‘Find anything?’ Carl asks.
I nod. It’s a while before I speak as I struggle to get my breath back. ‘There’s a car down there.’
‘Excellent,’ he calls out, his excited voice echoing around him.
Carefully, I swim back to the shore, using the felled trees to pull myself in. I’m knackered.
‘Do you think this is a clue to a big murder mystery?’ Carl asks, looking at the registration plate.
‘I’d have thought you’d had enough of mysteries,’ I say, dragging myself to my feet and wringing out my hair.
‘Well, yes, they’re scary when they happen to you, but when you’re not directly involved, they’re exciting.’
‘Shall I tell you how exciting I think this will get?’
‘Go on.’ He looks up at me with wide eyes and a huge grin on his face, almost salivating.
‘I think joyriders nicked a car and needed somewhere to get rid of it, so drove it into the lake.’
‘Oh.’
‘Sorry, Carl, no buried treasure, no bodies, and no serial killers. Sometimes police work is incredibly dull.’
We walk into the darkness of the woods. I turn to look back over my shoulder to where I picked the registration plate up from. I must have disturbed something when I jumped down into the water as another item bobs to the surface and becomes entangled in the twigs. I pause, momentarily, and squint to try to make out the object, but I can’t. There’s clearly a lot more beneath the surface that needs to be brought up.
I’ve never given any thought to entering a police station before. I work in one, so it’s never registered that some people might be nervous about stepping inside one. I park around the corner from High Chapel Police Station in Adele’s Porsche 911 and walk to the front entrance with the registration plate under my arm. I stand on the threshold and look up at the whitewashed building. A wave of fear sweeps over me. A police station no longer represents my career, a place of crime-fighting and law and order. I see a place of destruction. If I’d taken my mother’s advice all those years ago and chosen a different career, so many people would still be alive today.
‘Matilda?’
I hear my name being called and turn to see PC Alison Pemberton heading towards me. She’s dressed in full uniform, which is smart and neat, but her hair is all over the place. She looks shattered.
‘Hello,’ I say and attempt a smile. Judging by the strange look on her face, my attempt has failed.
‘What are you doing here? Are you looking for me?’
‘I found something. I’m not sure if it’s relevant to anything, but I thought I’d drop it in.’ I hand her the registration plate.
Alison studies it. ‘Wow. That’s old. Come with me. I’ll take you through.’ She leads the way, pushing open the front door. ‘I’m guessing your station is a tad more modern than our former post office.’
‘Just a bit,’ I say, taking in the high ceilings and ornate cornicing. This has character. South Yorkshire Police HQ has cork-tiled ceilings and damp patches.
Alison leads me through a warren of narrow corridors. She opens a door to an interview room and shows me in. I feel like I’m a witness to a crime.
‘Can I get you a tea or anything?’
‘I’m fine. Thanks.’
I’ve made a mistake coming here. I want to leave.
