‘What case? It’s suicide.’
‘How do you know?’ Donovan snapped. ‘I worked with her. She didn’t kill herself.’
Amy’s thoughts returned to the suicides in Brighton and Blackpool. The newspapers on her desk reported how the men had visited isolated beauty spots and thrown themselves into the sea. Schoolkids had just broken up for the holidays and the summer stretched before them. Such reports were not welcomed by the tourist industry. Local councillors would want this shut down quickly. But there was no justification for Amy’s team to be attached to the case.
She forgave Donovan’s sharp reply. He was protective of his friends, particularly those he worked with. ‘Sorry,’ she said softly.
‘No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped.’ He smiled apologetically, running a hand through his tousled hair. He stared into space, gathering his thoughts before meeting her eye. ‘Close the door, will you?’
Amy’s features were taut with concern as she did as instructed. This was more than grief. There was something else. She watched Donovan bring up his recent calls on his phone. ‘This is to go no further than this office. Not until I know what to do with it.’
Amy nodded; her interest piqued.
After heaving a sigh, Donovan pressed play. A woman’s voice filled the void between them as he replayed a voicemail. ‘Hi,’ she said, pausing for breath. ‘It’s me . . . Carla, from Clacton?’
Amy listened intently. This was the voice of a ghost. Carla continued, her nervousness evident. ‘I don’t like to bother you but . . .’ Another pause. ‘I could do with your advice. Anyway . . .’ Strained laughter followed. ‘I’m on my way out right now so I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, maybe? I saw you on the telly tonight, you were great.’
Amy met Donovan’s gaze as the call came to an end.
‘Does that sound like a woman about to kill herself?’ he said, raising the phone in his hand.
‘What time did she call?’ Amy folded her arms, ready to work the logistics out.
‘Eleven o’clock last night. Right before she went to the pier. I saw it but I was too busy to pick up.’ He frowned. ‘This is my fault. I should have answered. I thought . . .’ Donovan broke her gaze. ‘It doesn’t matter what I thought. She needed my help and I let her down.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up,’ Amy replied. ‘You weren’t to know.’
‘I’m going to pitch for it.’ Donovan’s eyes burnt with intensity. ‘It’s a long shot, but if I can tie it in with the other seaside suicides then we might have a murder investigation on our hands.’
‘I’m behind you all the way,’ Amy replied, dubious that they would be given access to the case. But her allegiance to Donovan took precedence over any doubts. ‘We’re managing our workloads; we can spare the time.’
‘Good. Then rally the troops. We’re going to the seaside.’
CHAPTER TWO
Blowing the steam from his tea, Donovan gazed gloomily out of the condensation-streaked window. He was meant to be speaking to Superintendent Jones, but instead he was sitting in a nearby cafe. It was a typical English greasy spoon, and he took comfort in the sound of sizzling bacon accompanied by the crack and hiss of fried eggs. Much of his youth had been spent in such places, making builder’s-brew tea and coffee so strong you could stand your spoon in it. Nancy’s cafe was a hub for the community, and as a child, Donovan learnt how to communicate with people from all walks of life. But his parents’ business had long since been flattened, their time together a memory of simpler days.
He picked at a lump of dried ketchup on the red chequered tablecloth. Right now, his life felt far from simple. It was five years since he’d worked in Clacton, having returned to Southend. He had just settled into living in London, gained a new position as DCI of a specialist crime team and accidentally but wholeheartedly fallen for his DI. Now he was proposing to race back to Essex with his team in tow. He wrapped his fingers around his mug as he struggled to process the fact that Carla was dead. Was his loyalty towards his old friend clouding his judgement? He closed his eyes in search of clarity. Should he stay put and trust his old team to get to the bottom of her death? Her husband said she hadn’t been herself, that she had lied about having backup for some big case she was working on. Then there was the text she had sent her husband before she died. Sorry. Take care of my girls. I can’t do this any more.
He had questioned her colleagues about her workload, and they were not convinced of foul play. But her actions were entirely out of sync with the woman he used to know.
Now Carla’s husband and children were left to cope without her. It was so bloody senseless. He had grown as a sergeant in Clacton, moulded by the personalities around him. He, Carla and Bicks had been in the same new intake of detectives, and he had been the first to complete his sergeant’s exams. Now one of them was gone, plunged into the night waters that took her breath away. Carla was terrified of the sea. She had reached out to him for help. There was no way she would have taken her own life, he was sure of it. He swallowed the last of his tea, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. With Amy by his side, and a team hungry for results, they would hunt the killer down.
His thoughts turned over as he formulated a plan. Amy would support him. She was the beating heart of their team. They were available to work with other counties if they were willing to fund it. Given that this latest case involved the death of a police officer, he couldn’t see why not. The super was keen to get them out there, now they had proven themselves in their own
