Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [102]
Marks hung up just as Gary Goodhew came into view. He glared, but his subordinate was too busy staring past him towards the cordon surrounding the body for his reproachful gaze to have any effect.
Marks held on to most of the dirty look and managed to sound caustic. ‘Oh, it’s you, Gary. There’s definitely a problem when I find it easier to identify murder victims than to recognize a member of my own team.’ He immediately felt a stab of guilt, knowing that Goodhew wore responsibility like a second skin. He lived with it day in, day out, and Marks doubted that he could shake it off it he tried. If Goodhew wasn’t always around, it certainly wouldn’t be because he was shirking.
‘Who?’ Goodhew asked.
‘Victoria Nugent.’ Marks saw no surprise in Goodhew’s eyes, just a final, almost apologetic glance in the dead girl’s direction. ‘Preliminaries say between eleven thirty last night and two thirty this morning.’
Goodhew looked for a second as though he was working on some kind of mental arithmetic, but all he said was, ‘How?’
‘Beaten and strangled. Actually, it might be the other way around. The killer pummelled her face into the ground, there’s not much blood, but what there is concentrated in one spot, like she wasn’t capable of struggling by then.’
‘Bryn?’ Goodhew didn’t often dabble with one-word sentences, but he was struggling to collate his thoughts. He hadn’t expected another death, and he was kicking himself because the one thing his limited experience should have taught him, was to always expect the unexpected.
Marks looked quizzical.
Goodhew rephrased it into something more comprehensible. ‘Has anyone spoken to him?’
‘Spoken to who?’ Marks still looked puzzled.
‘Bryn O’Brien.’
‘Where the hell did you get that from?’
‘Must’ve mentioned it. He was the guy that dated Lorna Spence a while back.’
‘I know that, and he made a statement after her death, remember? I still don’t remember anything about a relationship between him and Victoria Nugent.’
Goodhew shrugged. ‘Might be worth cross-checking the semen . . . if there is any, I mean.’
‘You irritate me—’ Marks began, then broke off mid-sentence.
After a moment, Goodhew asked another question to fill the awkward silence. ‘Did the murderer leave any message?’
Marks held up a hand in protest. ‘You irritate me,’ he repeated, sounding more matter-of-fact, ‘because I need you to be available as part of the team. Instead you resort to your disappearing skills, you shoot off like a bullet once an investigation starts, ricocheting around the case until you hit a target. I only know—’ He stopped abruptly as PC Kelly Wilkes hurried over with a folded sheet of A4. ‘What’s this?’
‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but we’ve found the dead woman’s mobile phone. It was handed in to PC Jerram, who’s working on nights, and he’s been trying to get hold of you. It appears to be registered to the dead woman, and he had a play around with it, says she was texting another mobile early this morning. He’s checked that number and it is registered to a Mr O’Brien. I said I’d ask you to ring Sheen as soon as possible.’
Marks’ eyes narrowed as they studied first the note, then Goodhew’s impenetrable expression. Finally he sighed. ‘I was going to say next that I only know where you’ve been by the sound of the ricochet.’ He held up the sheet and flicked it with his finger. It gave a sharp crack. ‘That’s today’s ricochet, isn’t it?’
THIRTY-NINE
Ignoring his boss was not a deliberate ploy, and Goodhew was well aware that Marks had a point. But even so, just as Marks was making it, Goodhew stopped listening to him. Instead, his attention focused about two hundred yards further towards the city centre, as he watched a familiar figure turn and walk away from the