MURDER BY THE QUAY an addictive crime mystery full of twists by LEWIS ROY

Author:LEWIS, ROY
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Joffe Books crime thriller, mystery and suspense
Published: 2021-09-22T00:00:00+00:00

4

Culpeper scowled up at the hazy sun and hunched his shoulders against the cool breeze that swept up from the mouth of the Tyne. From where he stood on the steps leading down to the murky waters, he could see the outline of Tynemouth Abbey, its ruined shell fingering gauntly against the sky; beyond was the fading hull of the North Sea ferry, disappearing in the haze on its way to Bergen. It was a trip he’d always vowed to take, but had never actually made. For that matter, Newcastle itself was almost Norwegian at weekends in Marks and Spencer, he grumbled to himself, with all the shoppers coming over for cheap, quality goods.

But there’d be no chance that the guy they’d hauled out at the foot of the steps was an itinerant seaman or weekend shopper. A businessman, and local, more like, from the way he’d been dressed. As for his being here, near the mouth of the Tyne, Culpeper knew enough from his experience of suicides in the Tyne that the body had been in the water for a couple of days at least, and had probably been dumped into the river further upstream. The current had a way of tumbling a corpse down this way, or across to Jarrow Slake.

The body had been found early that morning, by some bright spark who had made two phone calls — one to the police and one to the newspapers. That was something Culpeper could have done without: media attention was the last thing he wanted at the beginning of an investigation. His relations with the local press were not the best. When Culpeper had been assigned to the case he had decided he’d take the chance for some fresh air and come out to view the scene of the crime.

The unit had practically finished by the time Culpeper had arrived, and the corpse had been taken back to Gosforth in a shell, to the forensic laboratory there. All Culpeper had seen was the man’s clothing and the fish-nibbled, swollen, unrecognizable face, before they’d carted the corpse off to Gosforth. Farnsby had gone along with it: let him inhale formaldehyde for a while. Culpeper would settle for ozone.

He began to climb back up the steps to the car. His driver was waiting, a fresh-faced constable who was still wet behind the ears. He seemed pleased to be involved, even if only peripherally, in a murder investigation. He’d learn better, in time, Culpeper considered grimly: there was no glamour in death. Culpeper nodded to him. ‘Back to HQ, and let’s get started on the paperwork, son.’

As he climbed into the car the radio crackled. The driver looked questioningly at Culpeper. ‘Go ahead, son.’ The message was brief. It was from Vic Farnsby. ‘We’ve got a make on the dead man, sir.’

‘Papers?’

‘It wasn’t a mugging, or a robbery with violence, sir. Wallet untouched. Credit cards still there. But that’s the good news.’

‘Tell me.’

‘It’ll hit the headlines, this killing. He’s well known in important circles.

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