Once Upon a Crime (Roger LeCarre) by Fergus Craig

Author:Fergus Craig [Craig, Fergus]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780751583816
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2021-10-19T05:00:00+00:00

FIFTEEN

‘Long time no see,’ Detective Roger LeCarre said to Laura Touch, humorously.

Just thirty-six hours earlier, they’d spoken at the crime scene of Charlie Fade. Now it was someone else’s turn – Sebastian Twine, twenty-six, Capricorn.

‘Another day, another body,’ said Touch, like a tired sex worker.

‘What have you got?’ asked LeCarre.

‘You were here first,’ said Touch. ‘You tell me.’

An almighty mess. That’s what he had.

What looked like a solitary leaf blew along the high street until it got closer and LeCarre realised it wasn’t a leaf at all but his new partner, Detective Tim Rhodes.

‘You took your time, Rhodes,’ said LeCarre.

‘Sorry, Detective. My wife . . . we were . . . ’

‘Spit it out,’ spat LeCarre.

‘Antenatal classes. We’re expecting a baby,’ said Rhodes.

‘Anti what? You’re expecting a what?’

‘Antenatal, sir. A baby, sir. We’re expecting a baby. I’m her birthing partner,’ said Rhodes, beaming with excitement.

‘Birthing partner?! Are you listening to this, Touch?’

Touch rolled her lesbian eyes.

In LeCarre’s world, births were nothing to do with the father. When Carrie had gone into labour with their daughter, LeCarre had sat in the Wonford Inn, the closest pub to the hospital. ‘Text me when it gets here,’ he’d said. Births were for doctors and midwives and mothers – they weren’t for dads. Nine hours he’d waited. That day would always be remembered for two things – the arrival of his daughter and the most bags of pork scratchings he’d ever eaten in one sitting. When he eventually entered the hospital they’d had to give him hydration tablets because of all the salt in his system.

‘What have we got?’ asked Rhodes.

‘Fell from the John Lewis café or, more likely, he was pushed,’ said LeCarre.

‘What makes you say that?’ asked Rhodes.

‘The giant stab wound might have something to do with it,’ said LeCarre. ‘Similar to Fade’s. I received a call on my Huawei P30 Pro a couple of hours ago from someone claiming to have evidence on the murder of Charlie Fade. This is the man who I believe made the call.’

LeCarre went on to explain about the primrose, his plan of buying two hot cups of tea and his decision not to pop into Ryman’s, which was closed now so he’d have to leave it for another day.

‘Stab wound looks the same as Fade’s, semper fidelis carved into his chest. It’s the same killer. Come and take a look.’

LeCarre and Rhodes walked over to the body. Max Trescothick, the forensic, was outlining it in chalk. LeCarre hit him with some first-class police banter.

‘You ever think of drawing something else, Trescothick?’

‘Shouldn’t you be drawing your pension, you old bugger?’ Trescothick hit back, ruthlessly.

LeCarre searched for a retort. ‘I think it’ll be back to the drawing board if . . . ’

The witty back-and-forth was interrupted by Rhodes vomiting on the corpse.

‘Oh my God! That’s Seb Twine!’

LeCarre looked to his pathetic puking partner.

‘Sorry,’ said Rhodes. ‘It’s just, I was wondering why he wasn’t at the antenatal class tonight.’

‘Oh dear. When was the baby due?’ asked Trescothick, wiping Rhodes’s vomit from the corpse.

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