She wiped her wet hands on the back of her khaki trousers and, as she stood up, her eye caught something glinting in the water further downstream. Even with sunglasses, it was difficult to see past the glare of the sun that turned the little burn into a river of molten silver.
Charlotte shielded her eyes with the back of her hand, then hopped onto the next rocky stepping stone and rolled up her sleeve. She reached down into the water and fished out a silver cartridge pen. She felt its weight and rolled it between her fingers for a moment, wondering what to do with it.
She slipped it into her pocket and stood up again, squinting down at the water to see if there was more to find.
There was.
Charlotte was so focused on the water that she smelled the body long before she saw it. The stench of rotting flesh wasn’t new to her; working as head gardener on an estate of that size entailed a degree of familiarity with the natural cycle of life and death, including regular discoveries of woodland animals or sheep from a neighbouring farm.
But nothing could have prepared her for what she found.
The mangled body of what had once been a young woman lay half-in, half-out of the burn, its head submerged beneath the rushing water and surrounded by long dark hair, tangled and matted with leaves. The limbs and torso lay like a ragdoll, torn apart by scavengers throughout the night.
*
Ryan stopped outside a freshly-painted door bearing a brass plaque that informed him he had reached the domain of the Chief Constable. He rapped a knuckle against it and didn’t wait for a response before walking straight in. The speech he’d rehearsed died immediately in his throat.
“Ryan?”
Sandra Morrison looked up in surprise, pausing in the act of pouring fresh coffee into the pretty china cups she’d bought to make her new office feel homely.
“Ma’am. I’m sorry, I didn’t think to make an appointment.”
“On the contrary, this is very fortuitous,” Morrison beamed at him and waved him inside. “I’m sure I don’t need to introduce you to our new superintendent?”
Ryan’s stomach plummeted as he flicked his eyes to the woman seated in one of the tub chairs arranged in front of Morrison’s desk.
“DCI Lucas.”
His voice was entirely devoid of emotion, his eyes completely shuttered.
Jennifer Lucas was in her late-forties with dark, carefully highlighted hair styled into a sleek bob around a striking face dominated by a pair of big, baby-blue eyes. It had been nearly ten years since he’d last seen her but he was forced to admit she hadn’t changed much.
It was not intended as a compliment.
“Hello, Ryan.” She stood up and extended a manicured hand. “I’m so pleased to see you again.”
He made no move to take it until he became aware of Morrison watching him with disapproval. Only then did he offer the briefest of handshakes before turning back to his Chief Constable.
“Ma’am, excuse me, but I understood that no final decision had been made regarding the superintendent position?”
Morrison gave him a look that told him the question was both unwarranted and rude.
“The committee discussed it informally over the weekend and DCI Lucas kindly agreed to meet me first thing this morning. After a detailed discussion, I’m very satisfied that she will make an admirable superintendent for the criminal investigation department. But I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of her credentials.”
“Ryan knows me well enough,” Lucas put in, with a small smile.
Her voice remained entirely professional but Ryan was aware of the double entendre and refused to be party to it.
“Ma’am, I feel I should make you aware that DCI Lucas and I once had a personal relationship—”
But Morrison waved it away with a hint of irritation.
“DCI Lucas has already discussed the circumstances with me and I understand that your relationship ended nearly ten years ago. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” he admitted. That much was true.
“Then, I’m surprised you feel it necessary to raise it in a professional context,” she snapped. “Your private life is no concern of mine and I’m sure DCI Lucas finds this all very embarrassing.”
“Please, don’t worry on my account,” she murmured, keeping her back to Morrison. “I’m sure Ryan will agree that nothing should be allowed to influence our relationship and the important work we have ahead of us.”
Morrison nodded her agreement and found herself disappointed by Ryan’s behaviour. As far as she could gather, the two had enjoyed a brief fling that had ended amicably enough, following which Ryan had transferred north. She saw no reason for there to be bad blood between them and, frankly, it was inconvenient. CID had been crying out for a new superintendent ever since the Gregson debacle and she couldn’t continue to oversee CID as well as fulfil her wider duties as Chief Constable. It was past time they had a new leader and Lucas seemed capable and firm, both of which were qualities required of anyone hoping to manage Ryan and his staff.
“DCI Lucas will be taking up her new position here from the end of next month,” Morrison made a point of saying. “Just after you return from your honeymoon.”
Something flickered in Lucas’s eyes.
“You’re getting married?”
Ryan inclined his head.
“Congratulations,” she murmured.
*
Five minutes later, Ryan stormed out of Morrison’s office and headed blindly down the corridor, nearly colliding with Phillips as he rounded a corner balancing a white polystyrene cup and a paper bag containing a freshly-baked corned beef pasty. “Oi! Where’s the fire?”
Ryan took a couple of deep breaths and eyeballed the coffee.
“I’ve just come from Morrison’s office. She’s appointed a new DCS.”
“Oh, aye? That was quick,” Phillips replied. “I s’pose it’s a good thing, since you didn’t fancy the job yourself.”
Ryan stuck his hands in the pockets of his trousers.
“I’m not so sure.”
“What’s wrong with the new bloke? You don’t march down here with a face like thunder unless there’s something bothering you, lad. Might as well spit it out.”
“It’s a woman called Jennifer Lucas,” Ryan said. “I knew her from my days at the Met.”
Phillips gave him a bland stare.
“You knew her? Or you knew her?”
Ryan turned to him with serious grey eyes.
“We had a very brief thing nine years ago.”
Phillips handed over the coffee cup, having decided the man’s need was greater than his own. Ryan took a grateful swig and glanced down the corridor, waiting for a group of staff to pass before speaking again.
“Lucas is the reason I left London.”
Phillips wanted to make a joke of it, to laugh about ex-girlfriends or manfully reminisce about past conquests but one look at Ryan’s face silenced him.
“If it’s that bad, can’t you speak to Morrison about it?”
“I’ve tried,” Ryan took another sip of coffee and waited for the caffeine to hit his veins. “She thinks I’m behaving unprofessionally by even raising it. Morrison has no idea who she’s dealing with.”
Phillips tugged his lip between thumb and forefinger.
“What kind of thing are we talking about here? Is Lucas bent? On the take?”