*
Following the completion of the DNA swabbing, Faulkner instructed one of his junior staff to transport the samples back to their lab and to press on with testing against the samples recovered from Alice Chapman’s body. Afterward, he took a short break and wandered around the side of the house and up into the rock gardens, which were impressive. Sandstone boulders covered the sloping hillsides to the west and south of the main house, interspersed with heathers, alpine plants and a couple of quaint waterfalls. He made his way to a boulder overlooking one of the smaller cascades and sat down to soak up the atmosphere before he returned to the less appealing task of sweeping a crime scene.
Charlotte Shapiro found him sitting there and was reminded for a moment of Bilbo Baggins in the Shire. Faulkner’s scruffy-looking hair had been left to tangle in waves around his round, open face and he wore plain clothing that mirrored her own dark green canvas trousers and well-worn leather boots.
“Hello,” she called out and watched him nearly topple off his perch.
“Oh, hello. Are they asking for me at the house?”
Charlotte shook her head and made her way along the footpath to join him. It wasn’t yet noon but it was another sunny day and the temperature was already heating up.
“No, it seems we both had the same idea about where to come for a walk,” she said. “Mind if I join you?”
Faulkner couldn’t think of a thing to say, so watched mutely as she parked herself beside him. He looked across at the cascades and reminded himself that she was, at the very least, a material witness and it was important they should not discuss the case.
“So, how’s the search going?” she asked brightly.
“Um, I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss an active investigation with you,” he replied stiffly, and she was delighted to note that the tips of his ears were burning a fiery red.
When his neck began to turn the same colour, she was suitably chastened.
“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I suppose I just want to know that you’re doing all you can to find out what happened to Alice.”
Her voice dipped low, thrumming with emotion, and Faulkner felt all the worse for not being able to reassure her of their progress.
“Ryan will get to the bottom of this, you can rely on it,” he said, with conviction.
“Yes, he does inspire confidence,” she said and her brows furrowed into a frown as she followed the lazy path of a bumble bee from one heather bush to the next.
“How did you come to be a CSI? Or am I not allowed to ask?”
She fixed him with a winning smile and his ears burned again.
“I, well, I sort of fell into it, I suppose. I did a chemistry degree when I was younger and there was a workshop on careers in forensics. I thought it sounded interesting.” He paused, but when she didn’t show any signs of becoming bored, continued tentatively. “I was always a big fan of Sherlock Holmes and of Conan-Doyle, of course. Back in those days, it was really the inception of my line of work. They were starting to look at blood spatter and trace evidence more systematically to deduce what had really happened at a crime scene.”
“Aha, so you wanted to be a real-life Sherlock Holmes.”
He looked to see if she was making fun of him but all he could see was genuine warmth.
“Yes, I suppose that’s right,” he grinned. “I’m a big kid at heart.”
“Aren’t we all?”
Faulkner forgot the time for a moment and asked her the same question in return.
“Why did you become a gardener?”
Charlotte looked away, out across the beautiful rock terraces where she could name every single plant, explain its origins and how long it was likely to survive.
“When I was growing up, we didn’t have a big house,” she began quietly, wondering how much to say. “It was just a little terraced place with a yard at the back but my mam and dad used to take me and my brother on the bus up here to Cragside or some other place in the country whenever they could.”
She closed her eyes briefly, remembering.
“I’d never seen so much greenery,” she recalled. “And when I found out this entire valley used to be flat and empty, I could hardly believe it was possible to create so much texture and beauty from a blank canvas.”
“It sounds as if it’s a kind of art to you,” he said.
“I think it is,” she smiled, happy that he understood. “I started growing little tomato plants on the window sill at home, or herbs. It was the start of a love affair that has lasted a lifetime.”
Faulkner could appreciate the sentiment entirely and was content to sit for another minute watching the water until it was time to leave.
“It was…nice talking to you,” he offered.
Charlotte smiled and watched him make his way back through the rocks to deal with death.
*
Beneath the shade of an old tree, one person looked out across the valley. How many people had walked the earth around those rocky hills? How many had carried on, unaware and ignorant of the people they left in their wake? They watched as a kestrel circled high and then dived downward to capture an unsuspecting mouse.
Surely, it wouldn’t be long before the police came. The investigation had been running for days now and Ryan had a reputation for closing cases quickly. DNA swabs had been taken earlier and there was usually something for the police to find. If that was the case, Ryan would be back to make an arrest.
On the other hand, perhaps the police wouldn’t find anything. It was always a possibility, however remote.
Time to end this, they vowed.
CHAPTER 21
After a pit stop for lunch, Ryan and Phillips headed back to CID Headquarters. They had almost made it to their office when they were intercepted by the Chief Constable’s overbearing personal assistant.
“Morrison wants a word with you,” she barked out, without any niceties.
Ryan pasted a megawatt smile on his face.
“Good afternoon, Donna. How nice to see you again—I hope you’re having a pleasant week?”
She didn’t bat an eyelid.
“Morrison wants to see you in her office now,” she repeated, before turning her back on him and stalking down the corridor.
“That woman should have a sinister theme tune,” Ryan muttered. “Every time I run into her, she looks as if she’s about to hack me to pieces with the blunt end of a machete.”
From his position on the side lines, Phillips burst out laughing.
“It’s a pity Jack wasn’t here to see that,” he said. “Might have made him feel better about the fact you’re not universally admired by the opposite sex. Unlike me,” Phillips tagged on.
Ryan rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, all those hordes of women throwing themselves at your feet. It’s starting to become a health and safety issue.”
“Aye, it’s a problem but we each have our cross to bear.”