The Lost Boy by Rachel Amphlett

Author:Rachel Amphlett [Amphlett, Rachel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Jan climbed from the car, shoved the keys into the outer pocket of her bag and surveyed the properties lining the street.

A row of 1950s-built terraced houses lined the road where she had parked. Chimneys poked up through moss-covered tiles housing television aerials that all pointed south in the vain hope of a signal while satellite dishes fixed to pebble-dashed rendering pointed resolutely in the opposite direction.

She walked past, noting the mixture of privet hedges or low walls constructed from grey cinder blocks and topped with decorative slabs covered in yellowing algae.

A cluster of new houses were being built further along the road, the red brick and sleek roofing tiles a stark contrast to the housing association block of flats she approached.

In fact, the whole neighbourhood appeared to be a mishmash of properties and demographics.

Cursing as her ankle twisted, she looked down to see that the concrete pavers were cracked, with grass and weeds growing between the uneven and chipped surface.

‘Which one is it?’ she said to Turpin as they drew near.

‘Number three. When they turned up, they found the door unlocked. He was on the bathroom floor.’

‘Christ. Overdose?’

‘We’ll soon find out – they couldn’t get hold of a local GP at short notice, so they’ve had to request an ambulance.’

‘Who’s here with Alice?’

‘A probationer – Sam Owen.’

‘Hang on,’ said Turpin, and paused beside a brick wall that surrounded the driveway into the flats. He pulled out his mobile phone and frowned.

‘What’s up?’ Jan hitched her bag up her shoulder.

He shrugged. ‘Missed call. They didn’t bother leaving a message, and there’s no caller ID.’

‘They’ll phone you back if it’s urgent.’

‘Sarge!’

She turned at a shout from the communal doorway that led into the block of flats to see Alice Fields beckoning to them, her face grim.

‘This doesn’t look good,’ he said under his breath, before introducing them to the constable. ‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s Shaun Mansell, Sarge,’ said Alice, leading them along a green-tiled hallway and up a flight of stairs. ‘The door to his flat was open a crack when we got here. We found him on the bathroom floor.’

She paused at the entry to the flat and gestured inside. ‘It’s not pretty – looks like he’s been there a few days. We’ve noted life extinct and called for the crime scene investigators to get over here.’

As Jan crossed the threshold and into a narrow hallway, her senses were assaulted with the stench of stale body odour, rotten food and an underlying stink of decay that clung to the walls and ceiling.

To her left she spotted a kitchen, and curled her lip at the overflowing array of chipped crockery in the sink. Discarded takeaway cartons cluttered a narrow worktop, and a greasy sheen coated the cheap linoleum flooring.

‘Is that the CSIs?’ came a call from beyond an open doorway that led off from the right of the hallway.

Turpin stuck his head around the frame. ‘They’ll be here any minute, I expect. How’re you doing in here?’

‘I’ll be all right, Sarge,’ a male voice answered.

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