Free Scream: A DCI Mark Lapslie Investigation by Nigel McCrery Page A

later, just before the Second World War, a church was built. It was named “Our Lady of Canvey” after a navigation beacon erected at Deadman’s Point around the turn of the century.’
    ‘I assumed it was a reference to the Virgin Mary. A kind of wish-fulfilment that she had some special interest in Canvey Island.’
    ‘No, it was this beacon. Apparently it looked like a woman, with a ball for a head, her hands on her hips and wearing a triangular skirt. The beacon’s gone now, sadly, but the church remains.’
    ‘And the English Martyrs?’
    ‘You’ve got me there. I think that was some kind of sop to the bishop. They’d snuck this local joke past him, naming the church after a shipping beacon, so they threw in the English martyrs to compensate.’
    ‘Clever.’
    ‘Right,’ he said, standing up, ‘enough of the history and geography lesson. Let’s go and get that incident room set up.’
    The room was large, whitewashed and lined with pinboards which were covered with posters highlighting Essex Constabulary’s position on sexism and racism in the workplace (they were against it, Emma was pleased to see) and with fliers advertising meetings of the Police Federation. A couple of trestle tables were scattered around, with plastic chairs pulled up to them. Another table, set against one wall, formed the base for a filter coffee machine which, judging by the nose-wrinkling smell, had been continuously keeping its coffee warm for several weeks. Two constables and a Community Support Officer were sitting together and talking. They looked up when Keith Murrell and Emma Bradbury entered. Murrell caught their eye, and they quickly drained the dregs of their coffees and left.
    ‘Will this suffice?’ he asked. Emma looked around. She’d seen worse. ‘It’ll do nicely,’ she said diplomatically. ‘The pinboards will come in useful. What are the chances of getting some whiteboards, a couple of computers and a couple of local maps?’
    He pursed his lips. ‘The maps we can get straight away from stores. The whiteboards I could order for you, but you’d have to wait a couple of weeks until they arrived. Or I could send a PC across to the mainland with a handful of cash and get him not to come back until he’s found a Staples, or something similar. The computers could be a problem. Any chance you could get some spares from a bigger police station – Braintree or Chelmsford or even Southend-on-Sea? If they’ve got the PCs then I can get a police van sent across to collect them.’
    ‘I’ll make some calls,’ Emma said. ‘Oh, phone lines. We’ll need to get some phone lines in here.’
    He grimaced. ‘I’ll have to talk to Christine on the switchboard. She can tell me how to go about doing that.’
    ‘Appreciated.’
    He glanced around the room. ‘Give it a day or so and you won’t recognise this place. You’ll have your own little kingdom.’
    ‘Just what every girl wants,’ Emma replied drily, ‘after a My Little Pony and a fairy dressing-up costume – the chance to be a princess.’
    Murrell smiled. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, indicating the anti-sexism poster on the wall, ‘you won’t have to fight for respect here. The men will be bowled over by your brusque charm and the women will envy your stylish plainclothes shoes.’
    He left her there to think about how she was going to arrange her incident room. Ten minutes later, her phone rang. She expected it to be Mark Lapslie, but it wasn’t his number flashing up on her screen. It wasn’t Dom McGinley either.
    ‘Emma Bradbury,’ she said.
    ‘DS Bradbury. This is Jane Catherall.’
    ‘Doctor Catherall. What can I do for you?’
    Typically, the pathologist didn’t answer the question directly. ‘Where are you? I remember you said you were heading over to Canvey Island when you left the restaurant.’
    ‘I’m there now, setting up my incident room.’
    ‘
Your
incident room. How very possessive.’
    ‘Don’t you start. What’s