Maya climbed numbly into the driving seat and started up the van as the detective settled himself into the passenger seat and shouted up on the police radio, ‘DS Dwyer to comms. Please can you show myself and SOCO at the scene at Field View? Can you ask PC Owen to open the gates for us and also update the log that the press are sniffing around on Mile Lane?’
The radio crackled an assent and Maya drove forward in anticipation of the large electric gates beginning to swing open. She was so mortified and humiliated; she could barely bring herself to speak.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked. She nodded numbly and concentrated on driving through the gates as he exhaled.
‘He’s a bastard that Wainwright, I’ve met him before. When I was in uniform. I was guarding the scene of a murder and he pulled up and started chatting to the neighbours. Because of his car and how he approached them, they assumed, like you, that he was a detective and started to tell him all about the family.’
‘That’s awful.’
He nodded. ‘There was no way they would have talked to the press otherwise. He printed every word including the neighbours’ names. It was as frustrating as hell because he’d not actually claimed he was a police officer, so I couldn’t nick him for that. He just likes playing on people making that assumption and he’s very good at it.’
‘Well, he had me fooled,’ Maya said miserably.
‘I know it’s easier said than done, but don’t beat yourself up about it. You weren’t to know. If I’d got here before you it wouldn’t have happened. I got delayed on the way out by an urgent phone call, otherwise I would have been here first and you wouldn’t have spoken to him.’
‘I’ve only got myself to blame for making stupid assumptions. It’s certainly not your fault, but I appreciate the sentiment.’ Maya smiled at him.
He smiled back and extended his hand. ‘Rude of me to not even properly introduce myself, I’m Jack Dwyer.’
They shook hands as Maya took in his appearance. He was early thirties, tall and lean, with a shaved head and a hint of stubble on his face. He had dark eyes and an easy smile. He was wearing charcoal-coloured suit trousers, a short-sleeved, crisp white shirt and bright-blue tie. He seemed pleasant enough and she appreciated his efforts to reassure her.
They had driven up the driveway and pulled up outside the front door of Field View. Jack let out a low whistle. ‘Blimey, it’s not often we get to come to nice properties like this. Most of our crime scenes are usually shitholes.’ Maya nodded in agreement and was about to switch the engine off when Jack held his hand up to stop her.
‘Before we go in, you better just let me know what you said to Wainwright. It might be worth me letting the boss know before we leave as a bit of damage limitation.’
Maya groaned. ‘He’s going to print what I’ve just told him, isn’t he?’ She dropped her head on her hands over the steering wheel and let out a little scream.
‘Maybe. What did you say?’
Jack listened in silence as Maya relayed the conversation and admitted she’d shared not only the news of Celeste Warren’s apparent suicide, but also their conversation about the coincidental sudden deaths of three known criminals.
‘Listen’ he said reassuringly, ‘this news about Warren is going to be huge. She’s been infamous for decades. As for the other deaths, that was just your supposition. I can’t see him printing anything so vague that has no basis for fact.’
He squeezed her arm reassuringly. ‘What’s done is done. Let’s check this scene out and I’ll have a word with the boss when I ring to debrief him, okay?’
Maya smiled gratefully at him. They made their way round to the back of the van where they busied themselves with selecting the right size scene suits and gathering up masks and gloves. When they were ready, they signed into PC Owen’s scene log and Maya took a couple of photographs to record the front of the palatial dwelling.
Jack Dwyer was right, Maya thought. She couldn’t take back the conversation she’d had with Wainwright any more than she could take back her sudden death theory in front of Kym. She found herself wondering how Wainwright had heard of Celeste’s death so soon. She recalled the conversation she’d had with Amanda about someone in Beech Field leaking information. The word corruption hung on her like a dead weight and she wondered whether she should say something to Jack.
Then she thought about how she had already messed up once again and decided to leave it. Now was not the time and certainly not the place to worry about it. Celeste Warren was lying dead on the asphalt at the back of this house and it was Maya’s job to record and examine the scene.
‘Do we need stepping plates?’ Jack hovered uncertainly at the front door.
‘There’s nothing to suggest anything suspicious, so no, not at this stage,’ Maya said. ‘Obviously if she’d been found riddled with bullets or with a knife sticking out of her chest, then we’d bring in the stepping plates. Our scene suits and overshoes are a good enough precaution in the meantime.’
Maya entered the front door and photographed her way down the decorative hallway and into the lounge. She was impressed with the size of the house, but not so much with the décor, which was needlessly avaricious. Once she had photographically recorded each side of the room, she began to have a closer look around, starting with the glass coffee table which presented an empty champagne bottle, a champagne glass, two pink Swarovski coasters and a piece of paper.
‘Suicide note,’ she called to Jack as she took a close-up photograph of it in situ on the coffee table. He quietly appeared at her side and peered over her shoulder as she read
