Free Dead Level (The DI Nick Dixon Crime Series Book 5) by Damien Boyd

Watson. ‘The press have got hold of it and he needs something for the evening news.’

    Jane glanced across at Brent Knoll as they sped south on the M5. There were several tiny figures on the top of the hill and she wondered whether one of them was Dixon, taking a lunchtime stroll with Monty. More likely they were on the beach, stuffed full of turkey, no doubt. She took out her phone and sent him a text message.
    Got him. On way to Bridgwater J x
    Her phone buzzed before she could put it back in her handbag.
    Weel don
    Jane smiled. Dixon had made an early start on the beer.
    ‘Get everyone lined up for a meeting,’ said Janice, looking at her watch. ‘Room two, twenty minutes.’
    ‘OK.’
    Jane was tapping out a text message when she was distracted by the smell of concentrated screenwash and the clunk of Janice’s windscreen wiper.
    ‘That came in quick.’
    ‘It did,’ said Janice, switching on her headlights.
    Jane looked up at the sky ahead. It was a mass of thick grey cloud, swirling much as the water in the River Parrett had been doing yesterday and was no doubt still doing today. She clicked ‘Send’ on the text message and then checked the weather on her phone. A small black cloud with two raindrops underneath it denoting heavy rain was forecast for the rest of Christmas Day and Boxing Day. She scrolled down. The forecast was the same right through to New Year’s Eve.
    ‘It’s going to be pissing down for days.’
    ‘Well, we’re not going to be out in it, are we?’ replied Janice.
    Jane looked down at the King’s Sedgemoor Drain from the elevated motorway roundabout at junction 23. The usually still and clear water was chocolate brown in colour and flowing fast.
    ‘I’ve never seen that before.’
    Janice leaned over in her seat and peered out of the passenger window.
    ‘They must have the sluice gates open at Dunball.’
    It was just after 1 p.m. when they turned into Express Park.
    ‘There’ll be plenty of spaces on the ground floor,’ said Jane. ‘And we’ll be under cover.’
    ‘Good thinking.’
    Working on Christmas Day had its advantages. And no shortage of parking spaces in the staff car park was one of them. It was also just about the only positive thing she could think of when it came to the budget cuts.
    The station was eerily quiet, except for the CID area on the first floor. As she headed over to the coffee machine, Jane spotted Harry Unwin, Dave Harding and Mark Pearce, all engaged in an animated conversation with DCI Lewis. She also recognised the press officer, Vicky Thomas.
    ‘Well done, Janice,’ said DCI Lewis.
    ‘Thank you, Sir.’
    ‘We’ve got a press conference lined up for 6 p.m.’
    ‘Has someone told the husband?’ asked Janice.
    Jane was listening from the coffee machine.
    ‘Family liaison are with him now.’
    ‘Good. Well, let’s make a start.’
    Jane followed Janice across the landing to meeting room two and placed a coffee on the table in front of her.
    ‘Right, let’s start with the forensics. What evidence have we got placing him at the scene?’ asked Janice.
    ‘We’ve got a DNA profile off the cigarette butt on the landing,’ replied Harding. ‘It’s clear and it matches John Stanniland on the database.’
    ‘And there’s ash on her body and on the congealed blood . . .’ said DCI Lewis.
    ‘So, we can prove it came after the murder.’
    ‘We can,’ replied Lewis.
    ‘Anything else?’
    ‘No. The cigarettes in the lane are the same brand, but that’s it,’ replied Harding.
    ‘And nothing from the vomit?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘What about trace DNA?’
    ‘Plenty from her husband and from her, of course. Hair, skin, saliva. Nothing else though,’ replied Harding.
    ‘What about under her fingernails?’
    ‘To be confirmed.’
    ‘So, we can assume no one else was there then,’ said Janice.
    ‘Possibly,’ replied Lewis.
    ‘What about the footprints in the back garden?’
    ‘We’ve got imprints off them but they don’t match