Free Cambridge Blue by Alison Bruce Page A

decided to order the same, and joined him.
    ‘Let’s see if you’re still good at keeping your dinner down.’
    ‘Breakfast actually, sir. Any idea who the corpse might be?’
    ‘Female, twenties, that’s all I know too. What about the lad who found her?’
    ‘Poor kid, he’s really shocked. Kincaide arranged for someone to pick up his mum so he’s got company while he makes his statement. He’s only ten, and he shouldn’t even be doing a paper round, but he lied to get himself the job. He was even worried his boss would get in trouble. But, despite his age, he gave very clear descriptions of the route he took, and the times it took too. Hopefully the details will still stack up when it’s all written down.
    ‘What did you notice about the crime scene?’
    Despite having seen the body itself close up, Goodhew began instead by describing its location in relation to the road. ‘Assuming it doesn’t turn out to be a bizarre suicide, then I’d also think this is a premeditated attack.’
    ‘Why?’ Marks asked sharply.
    ‘The attacker was in possession of both a carrier bag and something to tie it with.’
    Marks tutted and opened his mouth to speak, but Goodhew continued to explain. ‘I know, sir. On their own, those factors don’t mean much, but it occurred to me that there are plenty of more secluded locations where the body could have been left, yet there she was, right by the footpath where the first passer-by was likely to find her. But that was not likely to be dawn or soon after; even vehicle headlights would have had trouble picking her out.’
    Marks was frowning. ‘I still don’t . . .’ he began.
    Goodhew raised a hand and carried on talking. ‘She would have been particularly hard to spot before dawn, even though she was in the open, because she was mostly concealed and wearing black amongst all those black sacks.’
    ‘I spotted that fact myself, believe it or not.’
    Goodhew ignored the sarcasm. ‘Well, I checked around, and all the nearby houses had similar sacks waiting outside, so I asked the dustmen whether the spot where the body was found was a regular place for rubbish to accumulate. They said this was the first time it had ever happened, which makes me think someone shuffled them there ready for her.’
    Marks’ eyes were now closed and his head made a small rocking motion, back and forth, in a slow rhythm.
    Goodhew kept quiet, realizing that interrupting the inspector at such moments was never a good idea.
    Finally Marks raised his eyebrows, which had the simultaneous effect of heaving his eyelids open. He inhaled a long, slow breath through his narrow nostrils. ‘Assuming it is murder – and, for the record, I think it is – I will want you on the investigating team. I’d be pleased for you to take more of a role than in previous cases because I think you’re ready now but . . .’ he paused to pick his words. ‘I’d like you to work closely with someone more experienced, just so you’re not unnecessarily exposed if you find yourself in unfamiliar territory. I hope you get on OK with Michael Kincaide?’
    ‘Fine,’ Goodhew fibbed and promised himself it would be.
    ‘Well, I’d like to pair you with him, but I’ll have a word with him first as he’s probably feeling a little put out because you’re here right now and he’s not. But then I would rather he was sick of me than sick during the autopsy.’
    Marks checked his watch, stood up, drained his mug, and clunked it back down on the table. ‘He’ll be at the station still, with that boy Matt. By the way, did you find Ratty?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘Says he knows nothing.’
    ‘And you’ve got that in a statement?’
    ‘No, I was sidetracked with this business. Do you really think it’s still necessary?’
    ‘Absolutely. Is that a problem for you?’
    ‘No, it’s fine,’ Goodhew fibbed again.
    Within five minutes, they crossed from the edge of leafy pre-war suburbia to the sprawling sixties