Scarred for Life Read Free

if the killer knew the routine, assuming the body would be landfill by now. If it wasn’t for the industrial dispute, it probably would have been.
    Jessica scanned the rest of the alleyway without edging any closer; the days of inspectors trampling on crime scenes were long gone. The wheelie bin was next to another, both pressed against a red-brick wall close to a fire exit. Above, a steep grass bank sloped down from the park towards a rough patch of concrete. Aside from a stray crisp packet blowing from side to side and the Scene of Crime gear, the alley was clear.
    Sometimes you wanted to see more but occasionally the setting was enough, knowing that a person had been tossed away like they were nothing. Jessica would wait for the photographs and report.
    She felt the wind bite, whistling between the verge and the clubhouse as she turned and headed back up the slope towards the other officers. Jessica approached the constable from before, who was standing by himself tapping something into his phone.
    ‘Any clue on the identity?’ she asked.
    He looked up, nodding. ‘There was a wallet in his pocket. They’ve bagged it but there was a student ID in there. Some kid named Damon Potter; nineteen years old, local by the looks of it. We did an informal ID from the photo on the card and someone’s on the way to see his parents so they can make it official. Paperwork’s already being sorted. Poor sods. I’m surprised they called you down.’
    At least the evening crew knew what they were doing, which was more than could be said for the new recruits on day shift. Jessica wouldn’t trust some of them to tie their own shoelaces.
    With the SOCO team doing their jobs, the initial admin in hand, and not much more likely to be confirmed until morning, the handful of officers had begun to drift away, cleaner Pavel in tow. They were either heading for the patrol cars to go back to the station, or they’d felt the siren’s call from the kebab shop around the corner. Jessica knew where her money lay.
    As she started digging for her car keys, Jessica noticed someone hurrying towards them: a tall, slender frame with large shoulders illuminated in the mishmash of light. The DC gave Jessica his best ‘no idea’ shrug as they waited. As he got closer, Jessica could see that the man was in his early twenties, athletic, with eyes that were darting past them towards the slope that led down to the boathouse. His tan was apparent even in the faded light, tufty sand-coloured hair topping off the beach-bum look.
    Ignoring Jessica, he went straight to the constable, standing a good four inches taller than him and introducing himself as Holden Wyatt, student president of the university rowing club. Even before she heard the accent – gently northern but with the harsher twang coached away – Jessica knew the type. He’d ignored her because he’d automatically assumed a man would be in charge.
    ‘I got a call from campus security,’ Holden said.
    ‘Do you know Damon Potter?’ Jessica asked.
    He spun to face her, realising his mistake and weighing Jessica up in an instant by running his eyes up and down her. He was seemingly used to being in charge of situations and followed with a short, assertive nod, before pushing himself up onto the tips of his toes, ensuring he towered over her. ‘Who are you?’
    Jessica took her identification from her pocket and held it in the light for him to see. ‘De-tect-ive In-spec-tor.’ The words rolled around Holden’s mouth, as if he didn’t quite believe them. ‘Why have I been called down?’ he added.
    Jessica didn’t actually know but she wasn’t going to show him that. ‘I tend to ask the questions. That’s where the whole “detective” bit comes from. Anyway: Damon Potter – who is he?’
    Holden’s nose twitched and he looked skywards, biting his bottom lip as if trying to remember. It was a show entirely for her benefit as there was recognition in his eyes.
    ‘I think he’s one of