The woman turned her face away from the protection of the man’s shoulder and looked at Annie. She had been crying, that was clear enough, but now she just seemed shocked and hurt.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Annie asked the man.
“We already told the policeman in the uniform. He was the first to get here.”
“I know,” said Annie, “and I’m sorry to make you go through it again, but it’ll help if you tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell, really, is there, love?” he said to the woman, who shook her head.
“First off, why don’t you tell me your names?”
“This is Sam, Samantha,” he said, “and I’m Adrian, Adrian Sinclair.”
“Okay, Adrian. Where do you live?”
“Sunderland.” Annie thought she’d noticed a hint of Geordie bur in his voice, though it was faint. “We’re on holiday.” Adrian paused and stroked Samantha’s hair. “On our honeymoon, in fact.”
Well, they’d certainly remember it for as long as they lived, Annie thought, and not for the right reasons. “Where are you staying?”
Adrian pointed up the hillside. “We’re renting a cottage. Greystone. Just up there.”
Annie knew it. She made a note. “And what were you doing down here by the road?”
“Just walking,” Adrian said. “It was such a beautiful morning, and the birds woke us so early.”
They were dressed for walking, Annie noticed. Not professional ramblers with the plastic-covered Ordnance survey maps around their necks, ashplants, boots and expensive Gore-Tex gear, but simple, sturdy shoes, light clothing and a rucksack.
“What time did you arrive here?”
“It must have been a bit before seven,” Adrian said.
“What did you find?”
“The car stopped in the lay-by, just like it is now.”
“Did you touch it?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
Annie looked at Samantha. “Neither of you?”
“No,” Samantha said. “But you might have touched the roof, Adrian, when you bent to look inside.”
“It’s possible,” Adrian said. “I don’t remember. At first I thought maybe she was looking at a road map, or asleep, even. I went over to see if she needed any help. Then I saw her, with her eyes open like that and… We might never have gone over, unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Well, it was me, really,” Sam said. “I mean, like he said, Adrian just thought it was someone pulled over to rest or look at a road map.”
“But you didn’t. Why not?”
“I don’t know, really,” Sam said. “It’s just that it was so early in the morning, and she was a woman, alone. I thought we should make sure she was all right, that’s all. She might have been attacked or upset or something. Maybe it was none of our business, but you can’t just leave, can you, walk on by?” A little color came to her cheeks as she spoke. “Anyway, when we got closer we could see she wasn’t moving, just staring down like that, and it looked as if she’d hit the wall. I said we should go over and see what was wrong with her.”
“Did you know she was dead when you looked through the window?”
“Well,” said Adrian, “I’ve never seen a dead person before, but you can sort of tell, can’t you?”
Yes, Annie thought, having seen far too many, you can tell.
Samantha gave a little shudder and seemed to melt deeper into Adrian’s embrace. “And the flies,” she said.
“What flies?” Annie asked.
“On her face and her arms. Flies. She wasn’t moving. She wasn’t even trying to swat them away. I thought how much they must be tickling her.”
Annie swallowed. “Were the windows open?”
“Yes,” said Samantha. “Just like they are now. We really didn’t disturb anything. I mean, we’ve seen Morse and Frost on television.”
“I’m sure you have. I just have to make certain. I don’t suppose you saw anyone, heard any other cars or anything?”
“No.”
“What did you do when you found her?”
“Rang the police.” Adrian pulled a mobile from his pocket. He wouldn’t have had much luck with it around these parts a few months ago, Annie reflected, but coverage had been improved a lot recently.
“And there’s nothing else you can tell me?”
“No. Look, we’re just so… devastated. Can we go home now? I think Sam needs a lie-down, and I could do with a strong cup of tea.”
“How long are you staying at Greystone?” Annie asked.
“We’ve got another week.”
“Stick around,” said Annie. “We might want to talk to you again.”
Annie went back to rejoin Hatchley and saw Dr. Burns’s gray Audi arrive. She greeted him and they walked over to the Peugeot. This would be a difficult examination for Dr. Burns, Annie knew, because the body was sitting upright in an enclosed space, and he could hardly move it before Dr. Glendenning, the Home Office pathologist, arrived. She also knew that Dr. Burns was aware the scenes-of-crime officers would be eager to give the car a thorough going-over, so he was being extra careful not to touch any surfaces and damage any possible prints, even though he was wearing disposable gloves. It was the police surgeon’s job only to determine and pronounce that the girl was dead – the rest was up to the pathologist – but Annie knew that Dr. Burns would like to give her some idea of time and cause, if at all possible.
After feeling for a pulse and examining the woman’s eyes, then listening for a heartbeat through his stethoscope, Dr. Burns confirmed that she was, indeed, dead.
“The corneas haven’t clouded yet,” he said, “which means she’s probably been dead less than eight hours. I’m sure the flies have laid their eggs already, which you’d expect to happen quite soon in summer with the windows open, but there’s no sign of advanced insect activity, another indication we’re dealing with a relatively recent death.”
Dr. Burns slipped off a glove and slid his hand inside the woman’s blouse, under her arm. “Best I can do as far as temperature is concerned,” he said, noticing Annie’s curious glance. “It does help give an approximation. She’s still warm, which confirms that death occurred only a few hours ago.”
“It was a warm night,” said Annie. “How long?”
“Can’t say exactly, but I’d guess about five or six hours at the most.” He felt the woman’s jaw and neck. “Rigor’s present where you’d expect it to be, and as the heat probably speeded that up, we’re still working within much the same parameters.”
Annie looked at her watch. “Between two and four in the morning, then?”
“I wouldn’t swear to it, of course,” said Dr. Burns, with a smile, “but that sounds about right. And don’t tell Dr. Glendenning I’ve been making wild guesses. You know what he’s like about that sort of thing.”
“Any thoughts on cause of death?”
“That’s a bit more difficult,” said Dr. Burns, turning to the body again. “There are no visible signs of strangulation, either ligature or manual, and no petechial hemorrhaging, which you’d expect with strangulation. Also no signs of a stab wound, no blood that I can see, at any rate. It’ll have to wait until Dr. Glendenning gets her on the table.”
“Could it have been a heart attack, or something like that?”
“It could have been. Heart attacks aren’t so common in healthy young women, but if she had some sort of genetic disorder or preexisting condition… Let’s say it’s within the realm of the possible, but unlikely.”
Dr. Burns turned back to the body and probed gently here and there. He tried to unloosen the woman’s hand from the steering wheel but couldn’t. “That’s interesting,” he said. “Rigor hasn’t progressed as far as the hands yet, so it looks as if we’re dealing with cadaveric spasm.”
“What does it mean in this case?”
Dr. Burns stood up and faced Annie. “It means she was holding the wheel when she died. And the gear
