Free Cambridge Blue by Alison Bruce

There, he read the words ‘I’m like Emma’, or perhaps it was ‘I like Emma’. Either way it seemed odd, and it definitely looked more like ‘I’m’, not just ‘I’.
    The sirens were getting closer now, and he wondered which of his colleagues was on the way. DI Marks, he hoped.
    Two police cars came into sight, and he spotted a couple of people inside the first, and two further officers in the marked car which followed. Both sirens trailed off as the lead vehicle swung across the road and parked beside the dustcart. Goodhew waited until the engine died before looking that way again.
    DI Marks stepped on to the pavement and the dustmen moved aside to let him through. His companion was Kincaide, who paused to lock up and then followed.
    Goodhew greeted them sombrely.
    ‘Morning, Gary,’ Marks grunted.
    Too-cool-for-school Kincaide managed a nod.
    Marks said nothing further, but their silent communication must have included a line where Kincaide said, ‘I’ll talk to the boy,’ because he changed direction and headed over to young Matt.
    Goodhew turned back to face the body and DI Marks now came and stood at his shoulder, studying the corpse for a long, silent minute. ‘She didn’t die in her sleep, that’s for sure. Who made the hole in the bag?’
    ‘One of the dustmen.’ Goodhew pointed to the driver of the dustcart, back in his cab smoking a roll-up. ‘Him, I think. He said he just wanted to be sure she was dead, but I think it was maybe a case of morbid curiosity. Marks nodded. ‘What else?’
    ‘The kid over there found her. His name’s Matt Lilley, claims he’s thirteen, but I bet he’s only about ten.’ He watched as Kincaide relieved the dustwoman of her charge and took the boy to sit in the relative calm of the patrol car. ‘He’s quite shaken, but he seems like a good kid, and at least he worked out she was dead without ripping open the bag.’
    Goodhew hadn’t meant to sound sarcastic, though that was how it came out. He smiled.
    Marks didn’t. ‘What else?’ he repeated.
    Goodhew turned back to study the body. ‘Her hand has something written on it. From here it looks like “I’m like Emma”. I couldn’t check the other palm, though, without moving her. She’s dressed all in black, so that could mean something.’
    ‘Like witchcraft?’ Marks asked drily.
    ‘No,’ Goodhew snorted. ‘Like camouflage amongst all these black sacks.’
    Marks smiled a little. ‘Good point.’ He called across to one of the uniformed officers. ‘Right, we need the area sealed off immediately, and that includes all footpaths leading on to the common. This will be a nightmare, especially as rush-hour will be kicking off any time now.’ He turned back to Goodhew. ‘And you can have the pleasure of viewing the post-mortem.’
    Goodhew wasn’t sure whether looking pleased and saying ‘Thanks’ was entirely the appropriate response, so he followed Marks back to his car without any further comment.

ELEVEN

    Goodhew later drove DI Marks to Addenbrooke’s Hospital. He already had questions to ask his superior, but Marks was preoccupied with making notes on the murder scene. Goodhew had made his own before they left the station, and he knew that the post-mortem would shortly take them from a passing acquaintance with the woman to a most intimate relationship.
    He chose the most direct route, and was surprised when Marks glanced up and directed him down the next right-hand turn. ‘Then pull over in the lay-by this side of the lights.’
    The car stopped outside the Big Teas Café, and Marks had opened his door even before Goodhew had a chance to cut the engine. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘there’ll be at least half an hour before the pathologist is ready for us.’
    The café was deserted, but as soon as the door rattled, a skinny guy with grey hair and a grease-splattered apron emerged from the kitchen. Marks ordered a mug of tea and a bacon sandwich and sat at a table near the door. Goodhew