Strange Affair Read Free Page A

nowt. At least not as you can see looking through the windows.”
    “I checked the number plate on the computer, Guv,” said Winsome, walking over from her car. “The car’s registered to a Jennifer Clewes. Lives in London. Kennington. Twenty-seven years old.”
    “We don’t know for certain it’s her yet,” Annie said, “so find out all you can.”
    “Right, Guv.” Winsome paused.
    “Yes?”
    “Wasn’t there another one?”
    “Another what?” asked Annie.
    “Another murder. Like this one. Young woman found dead near a motorway. The M1 not the A1, but even so…”
    “Yes,” said Annie. “I remember reading about it in the papers. I can’t remember the details. Look into it, will you?”
    “Yes, Guv.” Winsome walked back to her car.
    Annie looked at Hatchley again. “Has Detective Superintendent Gristhorpe been informed?”
    “Yes, Ma’am. Says to keep him up to date.”
    That made sense, Annie thought. No point having the Super come running down here if the woman had pulled over into the lay-by and died of a heart attack, asthma, brain aneurysm, or any of the other random failures of the flesh that cause sudden death in otherwise healthy young people. “Who was first officer on the scene?”
    “PC Farrier over there.”
    Hatchley pointed to a uniformed police constable leaning against a patrol car. Pete Farrier. Annie knew him; he worked out of Western Area Headquarters, the same as she did. Had done for years, according to all accounts, and was a reliable, sensible bobby. Annie walked over to him. “What happened, Pete?” she asked. “Who called it in?”
    “Couple over there, Ma’am.” Farrier pointed to a man and a woman some yards away. They were sitting on the grass by the side of the road, and the man had his arm around the woman, whose head was buried in his chest.
    Annie thanked Farrier and walked back to her car, took her latex gloves from the murder kit in the boot and slipped them on. Then she walked over to the Peugeot. She needed to have a closer look at the scene, gather some first impressions before Dr. Burns arrived and started his examination. Already a number of flies had settled on the woman’s pale face. Annie shooed them away. They buzzed angrily around her head, waiting for the chance to get back.
    The woman sat in the driver’s seat, slumped slightly forward and listing to the left; her right hand grasped the steering wheel, and her left held the gear stick. Her seat belt was fastened firmly in place, holding her up, and both the front windows were open. The key was still in the ignition, Annie noticed, and a travel mug sat in its holder.
    The victim wasn’t a big woman, but her breasts were quite large, and the seat belt ran between them, separating them and causing them to appear even more prominent. She looked to be mid-to late-twenties, which matched Jennifer Clewes’s age, and she was very attractive. Her skin was pale, and probably had been even before her death, her long hair was dark red – dyed, Annie guessed – and she was wearing a light blue cotton blouse and black denim jeans. There were no apparent marks on her body, as Hatchley had noted, and no sign of blood. Her eyes were open, a dull vacant green. Annie had seen that look before, felt that stillness.
    Hatchley was right, though; there was something very fishy about the whole set-up, fishy enough at least to warrant a thorough preliminary investigation before deciding upon the scale of the inquiry. As Annie examined the scene, she made mental notes of what she observed and thought for later use.
    When Annie had finished, she walked over to the couple who had found the body. They were very young, she noticed as she got closer. The man was ashen and the woman he was holding still had her face buried in his shoulder, though she didn’t appear to be heaving with sobs. The man looked up and Annie squatted beside them.
    “I’m Detective Inspector Cabbot from Western Area Headquarters,” she said.