Bite Deep by Rebekah Turner Read Free Book Online

on Blane Street. Don’t go to the Camden Grill, the cook spits in the potato salad.’
    With a wave, Morgan Wilcox walked off, dog tottering beside her. Lydia watched the woman go, sure she would never get used to having strangers stop and talk to her. She was more familiar with pollution, busy city streets, and most importantly, being ignored.
    She realised suddenly the unusual and confusing conversation with Morgan Wilcox had grounded her. Her heartbeat had slowed, her breath returned to normal. Satisfied the risk of attack was behind her, she entered the station. Inside, the reception desk was littered with charity tins and a community board was covered with missing person posters. A small woman greeted her with a cheerful wave.
    â€˜Get your sandwich?’ Constable Elaine Brickett gave Lydia a wide, gap-toothed smile. She had short spiky hair, bright pink lipstick and far more energy than Lydia thought was natural. She was still weary from the early start the day before, beginning with the discovery of the Jane Doe body.
    â€˜Got it.’ Lydia held up the squished bread and hoped Elaine hadn’t seen her freaking out before being accosted by Morgan. Not that Elaine didn’t already think something was wrong with her. After all, it had only been a week ago she’d had to fetch paper towels for Lydia after she’d had lost her breakfast in the hydrangea bushes behind the station. First-day jitters, she told herself, but still, not the greatest start. She didn’t want to go back to being on anxiety medication, but if she had another close call, she might have no choice.
    â€˜The sarg wants to see you.’ Elaine threw a thumb over her shoulder, towards the back of the station. ‘I still can’t believe he asked you to go to that crime scene yesterday. I mean, you’re still new and he drags you out to look at a body? Honestly.’
    Lydia wasn’t sure how to answer that, but was saved by the reception phone ringing. Elaine gave a dramatic groan and answered it, while Lydia pushed through the door that separated the reception area from the main station.
    The inside was small, with three desks—only two with computers. Simon Novak, the third constable of the station, sat behind his desk, arguing on his mobile phone. He was a big guy, with a broad face and a buzz cut. Lydia had quietly nicknamed him The Jaw, partly because of his wide double chin, and also because he always appeared to be arguing with someone on his mobile.
    He caught Lydia’s eyes and looked away, uninterested. Novak hadn’t been friendly from the outset and she suspected he was pissed now because Bowden had called her instead of him to assist him on the crime scene yesterday. More bad starts. She tossed her sandwich on her tiny desk and walked to Bowden’s office, rapping her knuckles on the shut door.
    â€˜Come in.’
    Inside the office, Bowden sat behind his desk, scratching his bald head as he hung up his phone.
    â€˜Constable Gault.’ His high-backed leather chair creaked as he leaned back, rubbing his chin. ‘Looks like today’s going to be a busy one. Anglo wants us to drop by the medical centre, then we’ve got to go out to the Tanner farm. Sounds like someone’s been mucking around with a wandering cow. Hacked it right up. Probably some UFO nutbags, or backpackers loaded up on meth or whatever it is kids take these days to screw themselves up.’
    â€˜That’s weird,’ Lydia said. ‘I was just talking to a woman outside and she mentioned the Tanner farm.’
    â€˜Oh?’ Bowden’s bushy eyebrows rose. ‘Who?’
    â€˜Morgan Wilcox.’
    Bowden made a face. ‘Do yourself a favour and ignore everything that comes out of her mouth. She’s just an old drunk who gets up into everyone’s business. Used to be part of some kooky cult, years back.’
    â€˜Okay,’ Lydia said. ‘But she did say she had a CB