hundred booklets it won’t look good for the fair Fiona if her paperwork says thirty thousand.’
‘I add some zeros? She’d notice. She’s trained in accounts.’
‘It’s a matter of when it’s done. You intercept the order after it’s left her and before it goes to the printer. You can find a way of doing that, can’t you?’
‘I guess I can… but it’s sneaky.’
‘Gem, I don’t get you. Don’t you think she’s being sneaky, doing you out of your job?’
Gemma looked as if the sun had come out. ‘Back of the net. Yes, I could use her computer and alter the figures at source and reprint the order. It would be simple to do.’
‘Remember, for this to work it has to be several zeros, not just one.’
‘A major boo-boo?’ Gemma’s eyes shone again.
‘Precisely. And the beauty is, she won’t know for certain that she didn’t make the mistake herself. We’ve all done that, pressed one key too hard and made a row of letters.’ Jo was surprising herself with her relish for this underhand plot.
‘Do you think I’ll get away with it?’ Gemma said. ‘I’ll be the obvious suspect.’
‘If she points the finger at you, she’s admitting she’s made an enemy of you by targeting your job. She won’t want to do that.’
‘What about Mr Cartwright? He’s going to think it was me.’
‘Let him. He won’t be able to prove a thing. And he can’t be certain it wasn’t Fiona who screwed up. The main thing is he won’t dare put any more of your work her way.’
‘I’m going to do it,’ Gemma raised a clenched fist. ‘I feel heaps better now.’
Jo, too, was much recovered.
‘I knew I could depend on you,’ Gemma said. ‘You know what?’
‘Tell me.’
‘When I top the bastard, you’re definitely on the team.’
FOUR
‘This is getting to me,’ Hen Mallin said to Stella Gregson, who was managing the mobile incident room on the front at Selsey. They were sitting on the steps in front of the open door so that Hen could smoke one of her evil- smelling cigarillos. ‘I never fancied a caravan holiday.’
Stella had worked with Hen ever since their days at Bognor police station and knew when the boss was in danger of erupting. Ten days into the investigation they still hadn’t identified the victim. ‘Things could be worse. Makes a nice change from the nick. Fresh sea air.’
‘You think so? I’m an Essex girl, raised on petrol fumes.’
‘A tough case brings out the best in you.’
‘It isn’t a case at all yet.’
‘I can’t think what else we can try, guv. The posters are everywhere. We had the front page in all the local papers. Television news.’
‘And what have we got for it? Sweet FA.’
‘There can’t be anyone left in Selsey who hasn’t heard.’
‘Have we scared them off, parking this Port-a-Loo at the scene, or what? Even the attention-seekers are shunning us. We might as well shut up shop and shift back to the nick. At least you get a burger and chips there.’
‘You get freshly caught fish here. I took home two beautiful fillets of plaice last night.’
‘Great-if you’ve got the energy to cook at the end of the day.’
‘My fellow does the cooking.’
‘Be like that.’ Hen lived alone in a Bognor terrace. Her police career had always come first, and, unlike Stella, she’d never thought of sharing her home with a cop. She’d been raised in a working class family in Dagenham, but the raising had stopped at five foot one, and when she’d confided to her sister and two older brothers that she wanted to join the police they’d teased her without mercy. For the next year she was PC Shortarse and had to put up with ee-ah siren sounds whenever she appeared. She’d refused to be downed and answered a recruitment ad as soon as she was old enough. For the interview she’d added extra inches with platform shoes and her hair on top in a bun. Even the interviewer had poked fun, telling her the ballet school was up the street, but she’d toughed it out and said she had her own version of the Nutcracker called the ballbuster. And here she was, twelve years on, running a murder squad.
Stella switched the talk back to the investigation. ‘I’ve been asking myself why it’s so quiet. It’s a small community, just a village really. Suppose word got round that talking to us is not encouraged?’
‘A conspiracy of silence? I don’t think so, Stell. You don’t see that in their faces. Nobody cares enough. If we could put a name to the victim, we’d get a response, believe me.’
‘There are still no reports of missing women.’
‘I’m wondering about house-to-house.’
Now it was Stella’s turn to get uptight. ‘Do you want my honest opinion, guv?’
‘Save your breath,’ Hen said. ‘I know where you’re coming from. It wouldn’t be cost-effective. If we knew what happened to the victim’s clothes, we might get somewhere.’
‘Taken by the sea?’
‘I doubt it. You’ve seen the tideline all the way along. Enough rubbish to fill a quarry. Things get washed up here, not swept out.’
‘And everything along the beach has been sifted by the search squad.’
‘I’m not complaining at the effort,’ Hen said. ‘I want to know why, that’s all. Either some local ne’er-do-well found her kit and nicked it and is scared to own up, or the killer saw the sense in disposing of it. I would, and so would you.’
Uncomfortably close to home. Stella hesitated before asking, ‘So are we talking about someone with police experience?’
‘Not these days. Any couch potato with a telly gets the basics about forensics most nights of the week.’
The dialogue was interrupted briefly by some screaming gulls fighting over a fish head. Burgers still got Hen’s vote.
Stella threw in another suggestion. ‘What about the woman who found her?’
‘Jo Stevens?’
‘What’s she like?’
‘Ordinary. Profoundly shaken up by the experience. Lives in Chi and has the occasional walk down here at weekends. I got the impression she was keeping something back. It could be down to nerves, but she was pretty tight-lipped when I asked.’
‘Could that be because she picked up the victim’s clothes?’
Hen turned to look at her. ‘That’s a thought.’
‘Is she short of a few bob?’
‘Shouldn’t be. She’s in work. Mind, we don’t even know if the clothes were worth taking. No, on second thoughts she’d have found nicking them difficult. She was still at the scene when the patrol car answered the shout. The things must have walked before she got here.’
‘What’s she holding back, then?’
‘Don’t know. It’s just the vibe I was getting from her.’
‘Would you like me to have a go at her?’
Hen shook her head. ‘I don’t want her retreating into her shell.’
Stella wasn’t known for bullying tactics, but she let the remark pass. ‘Could she be a suspect?’
Hen flicked ash on the pebbles. ‘What, drowned the woman and raised the alarm herself? It wouldn’t be unknown in the annals of crime. I dare say there’s a syndrome with a special name for it. In the absence of any other suspects, Stella, I’m keeping an open mind on Miss Jo Stevens.’
‘And the men she saw along the beach, the jogger and the dog-owner?’
