Free The Shroud Maker by Kate Ellis

answer. All they knew about Kassia was that she was a busker who lived in a Neston squat and Wesley asked Trish Walton to find an address for her so that they could interview her fellow squatters and trace her family. He hardly liked to think of her unsuspecting parents receiving a visit from some hapless police officer who’d been told to break the bad news, stumbling for the right words and feeling like the Angel of Death. He’d done the job himself in his time but now he tried to delegate it to others. Sometimes this made him feel like a coward.

Wesley asked Rachel to call on Mrs Bercival to tell her the news. Then he followed Gerry back to his office where he asked the question that had been on his mind since Kassia’s body had been discovered.

‘Do you think Kassia’s death is connected to Jenny Bercival’s disappearance?’ he asked as Gerry sat down. ‘I can’t get over how alike the two women are. And the tattoos…’

Gerry looked at him. ‘You think we might have a serial killer who targets redheads? The press is going to love that. And it’ll do the hair dye industry no end of good.’ Gerry sounded tired, as though his day of worry about Rosie had taken its toll and he was longing to go home and get some sleep. It was, however, only four o’clock so they still had hours of work stretching in front of them, and the positive identification of the victim had just given the investigation a fresh boost.

‘What if Jenny was killed in the same way but her body was never recovered? After all, it was only chance that the dinghy was spotted before it capsized. You know all about tides, Gerry. What do you think? If that was the case would Jenny’s body have been washed up on a beach somewhere? Or is there a chance it could have been carried out to sea and lost?’

Gerry considered the question for a moment. ‘Bodies have been lost never to resurface so it’s quite possible. It would depend on the prevailing tides and currents at the time.’ He paused. ‘But there’s no need to mention that to Mrs Bercival, not till we know anything for certain.’ He picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. ‘This is the forensic report on that anonymous letter she received. Nothing found.’

Before Wesley could answer, there was a token knock and DC Paul Johnson poked his head round the office door.

‘Something you might be interested in, sir,’ he began, stepping into the room. Paul was tall and had the lanky frame of a keen athlete.

Wesley looked up at him. ‘What’s that?’

‘There’s been a call from a lobster fisherman. He was bringing his catch back into Tradmouth yesterday morning around ten thirty when he noticed a yacht moored up at the mouth of the river beyond the castle, not far from where the lifeboat found that dinghy. Someone on board was leaning over the side as if they were trying to fish something out of the water and he reckoned they ducked down when they saw his boat passing. He thought it was odd at the time and when he heard about the murder on the news he decided he’d better report it, just in case.’ In his hand Paul had a sheet of paper which he placed on Gerry’s desk.

Wesley turned it round. Below the fisherman’s details was a name. The
Queen Philippa
. ‘This the name of the yacht?’

‘That’s right. I’ve been in touch with the harbour master and she’s moored here in Tradmouth. Belongs to a Dennis Dobbs. London address.’

Gerry looked up. ‘Don’t tell me he’s sailed off to God knows where.’

Paul grinned. ‘No. The boat’s still moored up not far from the Higher Ferry. Want me to go down and have a word? I could take Trish.’

Wesley caught Gerry’s eye. Paul and Trish had once gone out together but had broken up some time ago. However, that didn’t stop Paul angling to work with her at every opportunity. If Paul hadn’t been such an uncomplicated, straightforward young man, it might have been interpreted as stalking. Not that Trish had ever made