Kill Call by Stephen Booth Read Free Book Online Page B

boys used to say.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    Fry knew that police officers weren’t officially trusted to verify death. Not unless death was obvious. Since procedures failed to define ‘obviously dead’, it generally meant decapitation or an advanced stage of decomposition before any officer could exercise judgement.
    ‘Cause of death?’ asked Hitchens.
    Fry shook her head. ‘There’s an obvious head injury. But we’ll have to wait for the preliminary PM report.’
    ‘It could have been a fall, though? Wet grass, plenty of stones lying around. Or a slippery cow pat – I’ve done it myself. What did he have on his feet? Appropriate footwear?’
    ‘No, sir,’ admitted Fry.
    ‘And the emergency call – that could have been some passerby not wanting to get involved. It happens all the time.’
    ‘In the town, maybe. But out here? It’s difficult to imagine a passer-by up at those old huts, anyway.’
    ‘The owner of the phone that the call was made on – he’s from out of the area, right?’
    ‘Yes. We’ll track him down, of course.’
    ‘So have we really got suspicious circumstances here, Diane?’
    She hesitated. The expense of calling in a Home Office pathologist was only justified when there was substantial evidence of suspicious circumstances, the proverbial foul play. The DI wouldn’t want to get caught out trying to justify the expense in the face of an ‘accidental death’ verdict by the High Peak coroner.
    ‘This body has no ID. That’s a good indication of suspicious circumstances in itself, isn’t it?’
    ‘Maybe.’
    Fry noted his reluctance. The decision was his at this stage, as the senior officer present. Personally, she had a strong feeling about the body in the field, but she was wary of talking about feelings. The notorious detective’s ‘hunch’ didn’t fit well with the pragmatic, evidence-based decision-making processes that came with the training. It sounded so old school.
    ‘All right,’ she said. ‘So he could have left his wallet and car keys at home, if he went out for a walk. He could have worn his nice new brogues instead of bothering to change into something more appropriate. I can see that’s possible. But why wouldn’t he have taken a mobile phone?’
    ‘He could have walked out of the house in the middle of a row with his wife. Slammed the front door without picking up his keys or phone, and decided not to go back for them.’
    Fry turned away. ‘Done that yourself, too, have you?’
    ‘What did you say, Diane?’
    ‘Nothing, sir. I was just saying that it was more likely horse droppings than a cow pat. We’ve got hoof marks all over the scene.’
    ‘There’s your first line on a potential witness, then.’
    ‘Yes, I’m on to it,’ said Fry. ‘But without more resources out here, it’s going to be totally impossible to interview all the hunt supporters. Anyway, I’m convinced they’re just going to close ranks.’
    Fry thought of the SIOs’ mantra: What do I know now? What do I need to know? How am I going to find out? On the other hand, her most important question might be ‘How much are they going to let me find out?’
    ‘Think of another approach,’ said Hitchens.
    She sighed. ‘We could round up the sabs. There aren’t anywhere near as many of them.’
    ‘There you go, then. Anyway, a confirmed ID is your first priority.’
    ‘Naturally.’
    The DI studied her for a moment, and waited until a SOCO passed out of earshot.
    ‘Are you all right, Diane?’ he said.
    ‘Yes, sir. Fine.’
    ‘Good.’
    It was well known that Hitchens had been asking everyone in CID if they were ‘all right’, ever since the arrival of the new detective superintendent. Probably it was a form of caring for staff morale.
    ‘An ID by tomorrow then,’ he said. ‘Top priority.’
    ‘It’s early days, sir.’
    ‘Of course. Early days.’
    Fry watched Hitchens walk back to his car, his job done for now. He could go back to his paperwork at the office until