‘Still trying to trace them. Like I said, Selsey people aren’t the best at coming forward. This box on wheels looks too much like a prison vehicle. Speaking of which, I’m still interested in local villains.’
‘We checked the sex offenders’ register on the first day and drew a blank, as you know.’
‘This may not be about sex.’
‘Nothing showed up in the post mortem.’
‘My point exactly. It’s easy to get carried away with the idea that because she was undressed it was for one thing only.’
‘What else is there?’
‘Skinny dipping, for starters. This was a warm September night. At this end of summer, the sea temperature is as high as it gets.’
‘I haven’t heard of nude bathing down here.’
‘These things go on, Stell.’
‘In Selsey?’
‘All along the coast. There’s an entire beach in Brighton that is set aside for the birthday suit brigade. I once walked by out of curiosity. Didn’t exactly inflame me. And then there’s art.’
‘There’s what?’
‘Photography in the main, celebrating the naked form, usually female. Page three girls. Not just the Sun. Lads’ mags. Even posh Sunday colour magazines pay big bucks for that kind of stuff. Beaches are favoured locations. Not that your average girl-fancier wastes much time looking at the background.’
‘And they call it art!’
‘I hope I haven’t got a Philistine on my team. This is commercial art. Cash for the models, fees for the photographers, and sales for the newsagents.’
‘Do you think our victim was a model, then?’
‘Actually, no. At thirty plus, she was a bit old for that. Unless it was amateur photography. The local camera club.’
‘A Women’s Institute calendar. What was that film?’ Stella asked, playing to Hen’s improving mood.
‘It had a thousand imitations. The world’s moved on.’
‘But has this place?’
‘Going by Bognor, where I live, probably not. But I haven’t heard Selsey is planning anything quite so risque. Someone would have told us, wouldn’t they?’
‘Are they telling us anything?’
‘You can’t get up to frolics like that without half the village knowing about it.’
‘We don’t know half the village.’
‘Which is why house-to-house has its attractions,’ Hen said. ‘You walked into that.’
Behind them, a phone went. One of the computer operators inside the van would take it.
‘What we need is someone out here under an awning,’ Hen said. ‘Know what I mean? A canvas thing with coloured stripes. We’re on a beach, for God’s sake. Let’s meet the public as they walk by.’
She was called to the phone.
Stella waited, hoping whoever it was would put the awning out of the boss’s mind. Outside was no place to be when the wind got up.
‘Breakthrough,’ Hen said, stepping out again, elated. ‘A witness has surfaced. Says he was on the beach on the day she was found. He was exercising his dog. This is the guy with the poodle.’
Twenty past two and Jake was late. They were supposed to meet on the path opposite the lifeboat station, and it wasn’t the best of choices. The sharp east wind coming off the sea was getting through Jo’s padded jacket and chilling her. Unusually for her, she was shivering. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand here.
She should have asked for his mobile number. She assumed he carried a phone. He’d need one in his line of work, just to keep in touch with colleagues. She wasn’t sure what nature conservancy entailed, except that labelling shingle plants was part of it. A man out on the reserve would need to stay in contact.
The arrangement had been clear, she thought. Friday at two. If something had gone wrong he could have called the garden centre and left a message for her. She’d just checked and she had no voicemail. He wouldn’t have reached her at home because he didn’t know her number, or even where she lived. This early in a friendship you don’t exchange addresses.
Plenty of things might have delayed him, and she kept playing them through her mind. She didn’t wish to face the other possibility: that he’d stood her up. It was hard to know how any man’s mind worked, and Jake’s shyness was an extra barrier. So for the moment she preferred to think something had gone wrong at home, a burst pipe or a gas leak. He’d get the problem fixed as soon as possible and come hurrying to meet her.
If she was wrong and a domestic emergency wasn’t the reason, she supposed he could have made a mistake about the time. Or even the day. Forgetfulness would be preferable to rejection.
Clutching at her arms, trying to rub warmth into them, she looked again along the path in each direction. Few scenes are so bleak as the seaside on a grey autumn day. To the east, where the wind was coming from, she could see the black trailer the police had parked opposite the place where she’d found the body. It just depressed her more.
He’d said he lived in Selsey but she had no idea which part. No one else was in sight. The only life in view was the gulls gliding on the stiff wind, and they were pretty inactive, not needing to move their wings. This was looking like a lost cause.
I hate this place, she thought. Once it was all right, but now it’s linked with that poor woman’s death and the hard time I was given by those detectives. If I’m honest with myself I’m only here for the chance to spend time with Jake. I don’t really have to put myself through this.
She looked at her watch again. Maybe the poor guy was ill, too far gone to make contact. That would be dreadful, but was it realistic? People his age didn’t get ill very often, not ill enough to be stuck indoors. If she stayed here much longer she’d be the one who was ill. Soon she’d have to admit he wasn’t going to appear and hadn’t bothered to let her know.
Ten more minutes, then.
Those minutes passed and he didn’t come.
On Saturday in Starbucks Gemma was even more hyper than usual. ‘You’re a crafty minx, putting those wicked ideas in my head. I’ve done the dirty now. There’s no going back. The ordure hits the air conditioning next week, about Tuesday morning, I reckon.’
‘You went through with it?’
‘Calm down. You look like the bird that went for a worm and pecked through the electric cable. This was your suggestion, remember. Yesterday she left about three-thirty and so did he.’
‘Together?’
‘Take a wild guess. So it gave me the chance to get into her computer. To be honest, I was in two minds even then, but I didn’t know the half of it. You wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff he’s syphoned off to her in the last week. I went mental when I saw it all on screen. These aren’t jumble sale posters, Jo, they’re major projects, colour magazines, and Christmas catalogues for some of our top clients. Work I’ve always handled.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘Just like you said, I bumped up one of the orders from five thou to five hundred thou.’
‘Good. Which one?’
‘A council booklet about waste disposal.’
Jo raised a clenched fist. ‘I like it. She’ll be waste herself when this gets found out.’
Gemma rolled her eyes upwards. ‘I’m not so comfortable with it now.’
‘Why?’
‘Basically, I’m a coward. I’m hoping the printer queries it with Mr Cartwright.’
‘That’s no use,’ Jo said. ‘The business has to suffer, or she’ll walk all over you and so will he. You want half a million useless booklets stacked up for everyone to see.’
Gemma whistled. ‘Half a million? Is that how much it comes to?’
‘Five hundred thou, you said.’
