TWO
The sun had managed to claw its way up only ten minutes earlier, but Miller was already awake and lying in bed making a mental list of inappropriate songs for a funeral.
‘Another One Bites the Dust’ and ‘Going Underground’ were way too obvious, so he was trying to decide between ‘Baby Shark’ and ‘Agadoo’, when DCI Susan Akers called.
‘There’s no need for you to come in this morning,’ she said.
‘Well, I knew this day would come,’ Miller said, ‘but I thought you might break the news a little more gently. Is this about Tim Sullivan’s car?’
‘What?’
Miller hesitated, having realised he might have said too much. ‘What … ?’
‘I need you to go straight to Claremont Park.’
‘Oh, right. Well, that sounds lovely.’ Miller kicked off the duvet and swung his feet down on to the floor. ‘Can I get an ice cream?’
Akers ignored him, but Miller didn’t mind, because he was used to it. ‘They pulled a body out of the lake an hour ago.’
‘Got it, and because we’re a homicide unit I’m guessing it wasn’t a fish. Or a water vole.’
‘Just get down there now, Declan.’
‘I’m on my way, ma’am. I’ll get dressed first, obviously.’ He stood up and stretched. ‘Oh, and my ice-cream question still stands.’
‘I’ll want a full report when you get in.’
‘About the ice cream, or—’
Akers hung up.
The crime scene tape sealing off the Claremont Road entrance had been strung preposterously low, so rather than attempting to limbo his way in Miller guided his moped round to an entrance on the other side of the park, where the tape had been arranged somewhat more sensibly and he could just about duck beneath it while retaining at least a little dignity.
The small white tent was easy enough to spot.
This was the location where the body had been removed from the water but, if foul play had been involved, was not necessarily where that had taken place.
Nevertheless, Miller took the forensic clothing handed to him and clambered into it, just to be on the safe side.
Belt and braces or, in this case, white polypropylene suit, gloves and bootees.
He ambled, somewhat awkwardly across to where Priya Acharya, the on-call pathologist, was crouched over the body. ‘Morning, Priya.’
The pathologist glanced up. ‘Dec.’
‘Drowning?’
‘Well, I’m certainly busy, but I wouldn’t go quite that far.’
Miller smiled. Not only was Acharya one of the few colleagues not overly put out by his manner – which even those who liked him would probably describe as ‘Marmite’ – but she was someone who occasionally chucked in some less-than--professional chit-chat of her own.
‘I can’t be certain until I’ve completed the PM, obviously, but yes, I would guess he drowned.’
‘Water can do that,’ Miller said.
‘Then again, the back of his head’s quite interesting.’
‘I hope so,’ Miller said. ‘Because the front isn’t much to look at.’ He watched as Acharya turned the victim’s head to the side, revealing a clear and ragged indentation and a large clump of blood-matted hair. ‘Ah …’
‘It’s a substantial injury. So it’s possible that he wasn’t conscious when he went into the water.’
‘Where?’ Miller asked.
‘I just showed you.’ Acharya pointed. ‘The back of his head.’
‘Where did he go into the water?’
‘Not a clue,’ Acharya said. ‘I think your lot are trying to find out.’ She nodded across to where half a dozen or so uniformed officers were walking slowly round the lake, trying to locate the place where the victim had entered it.
Looking for signs of a struggle, disturbed foliage, whatever.
As Miller watched, he thought he saw one of the coppers pointing excitedly to the spot they were after, but quickly realised that the officer was merely drawing a colleague’s attention to an unusual-looking duck.
Miller turned at the rustle of a bodysuit behind him to see his partner, DS Sara Xiu, approaching. She was scribbling notes against a clipboard and gave the impression of having been at the scene for a good while longer than he had.
‘Beat me to it, then, Posh?’
She looked up, but there was no long-suffering sigh any more, or exasperated shake of the head.
‘Posh’ as in ‘posh gravy’, as in jus, which was exactly what Sara Xiu’s surname sounded like when it was pronounced correctly.
Miller had got a bit fed up explaining it, and the woman herself had long given up pointing out to him how stupid she thought it was.
She believed that all nicknames were stupid, and when Miller caught her nodding approvingly after he’d called Tim Sullivan a spunktrumpet she was quick to explain that ‘spunktrumpet’ was an insult and not strictly speaking a nickname, so she deemed it to be acceptable.
Miller thought nicknames were not only essential for morale but, if they were the right nicknames, could also be bloody funny.
On top of which, he wasn’t going to let Xiu forget that a nickname had been the key to unlocking a murder case they’d worked on together three months before.
‘Obviously I beat you to it,’ Xiu said. ‘Because I drove here on an 890cc six-speed-engine Yamaha Tracer 9 and I’m guessing you arrived on … whatever the hell you call that pitiful hair-dryer on wheels you pootle around on.’
Miller was not about to bandy words about engine size or cubic capacities with her. He knew better. ‘I just call it the Beast,’ he said.
‘Of course you do.’ Xiu looked back down at her clipboard. ‘Because you’re an idiot.’
Miller clapped his hands. ‘Right then, Detective Sergeant, enough of this tomfoolery and chit-chat, we have important detective work to do. So, come on, let’s …
detect stuff.’ He looked down at the pale face of the dead boy, who could not have been more than seventeen.
There was hair plastered to his cheek and mud streaked across his forehead.
Now, Miller regretted what he’d said about it a few minutes earlier, suddenly not feeling quite so perky any more. ‘I don’t suppose we’ve got an ID?’
Xiu shook her head. ‘Priya saw some tattoos on his neck and she may find more when she gets him back to the mortuary. They might help.’
‘No wallet?’
‘Chances are it’s still in the water.’
‘So … ?’
‘So, we’re waiting for frogmen.’
‘Waiting for what?’ Miller stared out across the lake. ‘It’s only three feet deep, for God’s sake. Why can’t we just get somebody in there?’
‘Health and safety.’
Miller sighed. ‘I’ll risk it. Find me a pair of waders.’
‘Not happening,’ Xiu said.
Acharya said she was about done and two CSIs came forward to help prepare the body for removal.
Miller heard his name being called and turned to see a uniformed officer he did not know beckoning him from the path.
Standing next to the PC and waving frantically was a man Miller most definitely did recognise. He told Xiu he’d be back in a minute.
‘Sorry to interrupt, sir,’ the PC said, when Miller reached the path. ‘This bloke says he knows you and that he’s got helpful information.’ The PC rolled his eyes. ‘Reckons this is his park, as well.’
‘OK, I can handle it from here.’ Miller watched the PC walk away and turned to the man who’d been his closest friend since they were at school together. ‘Your park?’
Imran Mirza stuck out his chest and proudly fingered the Lancashire Parks Department logo embroidered on his overalls. ‘Well, yeah … more or less.’
As chief groundskeeper, Imran was responsible for the upkeep of Claremont Park.
Perks of the job that he was happy to share with Miller included free use of the tennis courts (only taken up once), unlimited rides on the big mower (a regular treat), and a fiercely fought putting competition that took place every month and which Imran invariably won.
‘So, what’s this helpful information, then?’
‘Well, I won’t know that until you tell me what’s happened,’ Imran said.
‘You know I’m not allowed to divulge that information.’
‘Of course,’ Imran said. ‘I also know that you will.’
‘Oh, you do, do you?’
‘You’re a divulger.’
‘Body in the lake,’ Miller said. ‘Appears to be a suspicious death.’
Imran stared down towards the figures who had begun to carry the body bag towards the exit.
He stroked his beard and nodded, knowingly.
‘Yeah, I knew that something was going on because I woke up to loads of messages from council colleagues. Complaints from local residents about dogs baying in the night.’
Miller had been told about the dogs on his way into the park – two of them found sitting at the water’s edge like a pair of howling sentinels.
He didn’t know where the animals were now, but having been given a description, he was glad he hadn’t been the one called on to remove them from the scene.
No signs of struggle had been found where the dogs had stationed themselves, but the few hours of rain in the night would explain that.
Unless those officers scouring the perimeter of the lake discovered a more obvious location, it might end up being their best bet as far as a murder scene went.
‘See, you wouldn’t get rats doing that, would you?’
Miller looked at him. ‘Doing what?’
‘Keeping vigil for their master like those two dogs. Rodents just aren’t … faithful, are they?’
‘Fred and Ginger love me,’ Miller said. ‘They’re just not as … needy as dogs.’
Imran scoffed. ‘If you dropped dead in your living room they’d probably eat you.’
‘I’m trying to remember that we’re friends,’ Miller said. ‘But you’re making it very difficult.’
‘Sorry,’ Imran said.
‘Now, if you want to be useful, tell me you’ve got some CCTV cameras dotted around the park.’
Imran laughed. ‘You’re joking, right? I had to practically beg the bean counters at the Parks Department to stump up for a new shovel a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Right …’
‘Well, actually there is one camera. I bought it myself to try and stop the little bastards nicking stuff from my equipment shed.’ He nodded across to the other side of the water, the metal roof of the large shed in question just visible above a line of low trees.
‘Hasn’t made any difference, obviously, and now it’s even worse because I have to watch them doing it.
’ He poked a finger into Miller’s arm. ‘You should really do something about it.’
‘As soon as I’ve solved this murder, I’ll make the theft of your composting tools an absolute priority,’ Miller said. ‘So, can you make yourself useful and check the footage? Everything from sundown last night until about five a.m.’
‘Does this make me one of the team? Like … an honorary detective?’
‘I’ll see if I can find you a badge.’ Miller stepped away and then turned back. ‘Oh, I don’t suppose you’ve got a pair of -waders have you?’
‘I did have,’ Imran said. ‘They were nicked out of the shed a fortnight ago.’