Definitely Dead by Kate Bendelow (howl and other poems TXT) 📕

‘How do you mean?’ Ewan said.

Maya went on to describe how she thought the crossing out and the wording seemed unusual. She stated she thought it was as if someone was dictating the note to Celeste, rather than it being something she had written spontaneously. She also explained about the glasses and how she had swabbed them for saliva and secured the note for further forensic testing.

‘Listen,’ Ewan said. ‘In view of the fact your DI is happy Celeste Warren’s death was suicide, they’re never going to agree to have those saliva swabs analysed for DNA. It would be a waste of money in view of the fact there is effectively no crime. And by rights, there’s nothing to justify me examining the note in the lab. But, maybe to satisfy our own curiosity, send her suicide note to me and I’ll treat it to see if any fingerprints come up.’

‘Really? I’d appreciate that, Ewan, but I don’t want you to get in any trouble,’ said Maya.

‘No problem at all. Like I said, I agree with you that these deaths seem suspicious. We’re just double-checking we’ve not missed any obvious clues. We can’t be criticised for that. And it’s not going to be a time-consuming job, so where’s the harm. Anyway, if we do get an ident off the note, it may be from whoever was with her just before she died. They may well provide us with an insight into Celeste’s mood and whether they thought she seemed depressed or out of sorts.’

‘So, either way we can ascertain whether it was the genuine suicide it seems to be or whether we are looking at a potential suspicious death. I feel like Scooby Doo on a mission for the truth,’ Maya said with a wry grin.

Ewan was about to reply until they both spotted Wainwright making his way along the scene tape towards them. He had his long lens positioned on the camera in the hope he could get a picture of them both in the van. Journalists always loved posting pictures of them in scene suits so they could caption it with exciting headlines such as ‘forensic experts combing the scene for evidence’.

‘Hoods up and masks back on,’ Ewan said, ‘let’s get back in the scene quick, Dave “the bastard’s” coming!’

46

Maya arrived home early Sunday evening feeling restless. Despite the long and exhausting hours she had worked at the scene, she couldn’t switch off and relax. The sudden sense of normality was in complete contrast to the intensity and pressure of working on a murder scene. This was one of the things that nobody had told her since she had trained to be a SOCO – how to readjust to her normal life after being exposed to such violence.

The extreme levels of concentration required under highly charged circumstances and tight deadlines was exhausting. On the few occasions she had grown weary and listless during the protracted examination, she recalled the images she had seen of Ryan Johnson’s shattered skull. This had been all the motivation she had needed to work with renewed vigour.

Maya had phoned Dominique and a forty-five-minute conversation with her mum had raised her spirits. But once she put the phone down the feeling of restlessness, loneliness even, returned. Normally, she’d relish the prospect of taking the bike for a ride on such a glorious evening, but it was at Dominique’s as Maya had borrowed her car and not had the chance to return it. Maya paced the flat, listlessly running her finger across work surfaces, checking for dust that she knew wouldn’t be there. Sighing, she flopped on the sofa and flicked through the TV channels, but the words and images bounced off her ineffectively. Muting the TV, she reached for a pad and pen and carefully wrote out each name in her neat, looping handwriting.

Karl Gorman

Jim Baron

Celeste Warren

Geoffrey Doran

She recalled her conversation with Ewan and their plan to have Celeste’s suicide note subject to chemical treatment. She circled Celeste’s name. Next, she drew a question mark alongside the other three names. She tapped the pen against her teeth as she thought hard. Muttering, she added Ryan Johnson to the list. The pen hovered next to his name as she deliberated over adding a question mark. Sighing, she scribbled lines through the writing before tossing the pad across the sofa. This was futile. Ryan Johnson had been a small-time crook who had been either unlucky or stupid enough to get involved with the nominals from Operation Chrysalis.

It was his involvement with the likes of Nowak and Donnelly that the Murder Investigation Team believed had resulted in his untimely death. But what if that MO was wrong and Maya was right all along about her sudden death theory. Could it be possible that Ryan Johnson was another victim? Would the discovery of his murderer provide a link to the other deaths? Ryan Johnson had been much younger than the others and was certainly no career criminal. Surely there had to be another common denominator that connected them all. But what, and how could she even begin to find out without ruffling feathers.

She was reaching into the fridge for a bottle of wine when a thought occurred to her. Before she even had time to think things through, she was changed, locking up her apartment and heading towards The Eagle. As she made her way through the door of the pub, her stomach lifted at the sight of Spence. He was idling against the bar scrolling on his mobile phone.

‘Busy,’ she said, causing him to look up, startled.

He gave a huge, beaming grin at the sight of her. ‘Hello, you. I shouldn’t be using it while I’m at work really but I’m flat hunting. It’s really good to see you, how are things?’

‘I’m good, thanks. Been working and couldn’t face rattling around at home, so I decided to take you up on the offer of waiter service.’

‘Madam, please, take a seat,’ he said with a bow