Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [23]
‘Matt. Matt Lilley. I do the papers on Maids Causeway.’
They walked quickly towards the end of Christ’s Piece, where the aptly named Short Street would take them through to Maids Causeway and the southern boundary of Midsummer Common. Goodhew’s stomach churned uneasily. ‘So tell me what happened.’
‘It’s bin day, isn’t it? And there’re sacks outside most of the houses. I’d done the houses near the traffic lights, and noticed there was rubbish over on the other side of the road, beyond the railings – you know, on the grass. I didn’t think anything at the time. It was only afterwards when I remembered they were there. So I did the houses on that side, too, then I went back to the lights to cross over and do the houses down Brunswick – you know, the ones that face the Common.’ Goodhew noticed Matt’s left hand resting on the saddle of his bike: how the fingers gripped the narrow front, and a smear of sweat from his palm had stained the brown leather a liquorice black. ‘I don’t usually cross just there, but one of the houses had an extra paper I’d missed, so I went back and crossed at the lights, ’cos that’s, you know, where I ended up. There weren’t any cars and I just rode across, and so I was looking straight on, right where the pile of rubbish was. That’s when I wondered which house it all came from. It was a big pile of sacks, and it wasn’t really light by then, but I saw her straight away.’
They both knew that the terrace now on their right was the last visual obstruction to their view of Midsummer Common. Goodhew turned to look at Matt and, for the first time, he saw tears well in the boy’s eyes, and horror sweep across his face as he fought against the indignity of crying.
Goodhew laid his hand gently on the lad’s shoulder. ‘How old are you, Matt?’
The boy’s voice trembled. ‘Thirteen, and I’ve never seen a dead person.’
The corner of the last house loomed, and then the first glimpse of the black metal railings surrounding Midsummer Common slid into view.
‘How did you know she was dead?’
‘I touched her hand. It felt cold – not like a person.’
‘Did you recognize her?’ Goodhew asked quietly.
Matt shook his head and whispered, ‘No, her head’s in a bag.’
TEN
As he turned the final corner, Goodhew had no need to ask Matt to point out the body. It was rubbish day, after all, and a bright-blue dustcart stood with its wheels up on the pavement, and an orange warning light blinking from the roof. Three dustmen, two men and a woman, stood in a huddle at the spot Matt had described. A fourth had returned to the cab of their lorry, and Goodhew could see his free arm waving as he shouted into his radio.
‘I’m from Cambridge CID. Don’t touch anything,’he shouted and hurried forward, but Matt slowed. ‘Can I go now?’ he asked. Fear filled his eyes and he looked more like a ten-year-old than a teenager.
‘Not yet.’ Goodhew pressed the flat of his hand between Matt’s shoulder blades and kept him walking. ‘You won’t need to see the body again, but I do need your help. Is that OK?’ He gave an encouraging smile and Matt nodded.
The fourth dustman dropped back down from the cab and joined the others. Goodhew stopped a few feet short of the group, and he beckoned the dustwoman over.
‘This is Matt. He found the body and he’s a bit upset. Can you stay here with him until another patrol arrives in a few minutes?’
‘Do the maternal bit, you mean?’ The woman scowled and straightened her reflective waistcoat.
Goodhew shrugged. ‘I just think women are more versatile.’
He guessed he’d just appeared very sexist, and dustmen were probably now known as waste-management operatives, especially since one of them was female.
He sighed and approached the corpse. Sirens wailed in the distance.
Strictly speaking, the dead body wasn’t quite on the ground. She lay heaped on top of a makeshift bed of at least a dozen black plastic rubbish sacks piled on the other side of the railings. Two more had been dumped on top of her, covering her torso in some attempt at concealment.
Some of the sacks were split, with their innards strewn on the