The conference room was filled with uniformed officers and CID. It looked chaotic but Rego recognised that there was method in the madness. It seemed as if the briefing had just finished.
A broad man with a bald head appeared to be in charge, so Rego walked towards him.
“DS Stevens?” The man glanced up. “I’m DI Robert Rego.”
The man’s eyebrows lifted imperceptibly as his eyes scanned Rego’s face and ID badge, but he held out his hand. Rego wondered if he was Penzance’s first black officer.
“DS Tom Stevens. Good to meet you, sir. We’re pretty stretched today.”
He gave a succinct rundown of the incidents, introducing the rest of the team as he talked.
“This is DC Jen Bolitho,” he waved at a capable looking woman in her forties.
The woman shook hands, giving Rego that same quick appraisal, that same quick look of surprise at the colour of his skin.
“Sir,” her gaze flicked between the two men. “I’m off to Marazion – unexplained death in a B&B. The owner, Mrs Dennis, called the paramedics but the man was already dead. I’ll have a chat with her and look at the deceased’s room.”
“Okay, I’ll catch up with you later, Jen.” Then the DS pointed at a man in his late twenties who had a phone clamped to his ear. “That’s DC Jack Forshaw – he’s heading out to a serious RTC at Crowlas – four injured, one critical – that’s the motorcyclist. Also involving a Honda Civic and a 40-foot artic from Poland carrying bog rolls. He’s working with a DS from Camborne.” He glanced at Rego. “That’s ten miles up the road from here on the A30 – the workshop for our cars is there, and the custody suite.”
“You don’t have any here?” Rego asked, surprised.
“No, sir. There used to be a couple of cells back in the seventies, I think. But they’re storerooms now.”
Rego was beginning to understand some of the logistical differences between policing in a major city and in a rural area across a wide geography.
“We have thirty-five uniformed officers across five teams: six PCs and a sergeant each. But right now, three-quarters of our officers are dealing with the RTC – that’s why we’re so thin on the ground this morning. We’ve also had a report of a body washed up near Lamorna. The Coastguard is attempting to recover the victim and there’s a uniform there now.”
“I’ll take that one, Tom.”
“That would be great, thank you, sir.”
He introduced two more uniformed officers, then rubbed his eyes tiredly.
“DC John Frith has been taken ill – appendicitis – so I covered the night shift for him, but we’re a DC down anyway. We’ve also got Sergeant Bryn Terwillis off sick. He’s mentoring our student officers: we’ve got two of ‘em starting today. Not great timing,” he sighed, glancing towards the open door. “I reckon that’s one of them now.”
Tamsyn was hovering at the room’s entrance, looking ill at ease. Rego saw that she’d changed into her uniform.
God, was I ever that young?
He felt every one of his thirty-four years.
Stevens was already striding across the room, shaking her hand and giving her a quick, reassuring smile.
“Welcome to the mad house, Tamsyn,” he said. “We’ve had three incidents land in our laps this morning, so we’re run a bit ragged.” He paused. “There’s supposed to be another student officer starting today. Have you seen anyone else lurking around?”
“No, sir. Just me.”
“Hmm. Unfortunately, Sergeant Terwillis who would be looking after you and our other student officer is off sick today so…” he hesitated, looking about him as if wondering what he could do with her.
“Are you a local?” Rego directed his question to Tamsyn.
“Yes, sir.”
“So you know where Lamorna Cove is?”
“Yes, sir. It’s about five miles, probably a twenty minute drive.” She saw the expression on his face. “The lanes are really winding.”
“Right, let’s go.”
She stared at him for half a second, a deer in the headlights.
“Yes, sir!”
DS Stevens interrupted quietly. “Sir, PC Poldhu hasn’t even double-crewed yet.”
“I’m aware, but as you don’t have your trainer, she can be my guide for today.”
The DS hesitated.
“Yes, sir. If there’s anything else you need…”
“Case books, evidence tags and some forensic suits.”
DS Stevens nodded, clearly harried, running a hand over his bald head.
“We don’t have any admin staff today, but there’s Chloe – she’s a civilian investigator on loan from Camborne. She’ll know where everything is. You’ll find her in the CID office upstairs. She’s got brown hair and…”
“We’ve met,” Rego answered shortly, turning to leave.
Tamsyn followed behind in silence.
They found Chloe sitting in front of a computer screen, a cup of coffee next to her. She watched them impassively, her face blank as Rego listed what he needed.
He followed her to the store cupboard, unsurprised to find it was a complete mess – they usually were.
“PC Poldhu will also need to be issued with her PAVA spray.”
“What’s that?”
Rego looked up from the store cupboard and frowned. “Incapacitant spray.”
“We use Captor here,” Chloe said sulkily.
“Okay, then please issue her with one of those.”
Chloe disappeared into another part of the building without speaking.
Rego continued to rummage through the cupboard for forensic suits, gloves, exhibit bags and case books. He pulled out a pack of white suits but they weren’t a brand he was familiar with. He’d just have to hope that ‘large’ fit well enough. They were a pain at the best of times: female officers usually ended up with a suit that hung off them, and Rego’s was usually too small, got stuck up the crack of his arse and split the first time he bent over.
While Tamsyn was waiting for the canister of Captor spray, Rego called the Control Room for an update: the body had been recovered by the Coastguard and was being taken to the quay at Lamorna Cove where a paramedic, the undertaker and uniform were waiting.
Tamsyn hovered close by, compulsively checking her equipment.
“You’re fine,” said Rego without looking up. “Now, this is where we’re at with the investigation: an incident log has been created with a unique reference number. All actions completed against that incident are to be recorded on that running log. I’m having it emailed to me so I can read the sequence of events so far. There’s a uniformed officer in attendance and he is keeping a running scene log.” He looked up at her. “Do you know what that’s for?”
“Yes, sir. The scene log records times that people have either attended or left that scene.”
He nodded.
“Tell me about the area where the body has been found.”
It always helped to have as much intel as possible, but he’d asked so she had something else to think about other than first day jitters.
“It’s a small fishing cove, sir, with a harbour and quay. Good for swimming. A few lobster pots, but not as many as there used to be.”
He glanced up at her curiously.
“The cliffs aren’t very high there,” she continued, “but further round the coast path you could…”
She paused, as if unwilling to say that there were cliffs nearby that would be high enough to kill yourself if you jumped.
He Googled images of where the body had been found and saw what she meant: the cliffs above the harbour wouldn’t be anyone’s first choice for committing suicide, but either side of the cove, the cliffs rose sharply.
Chloe reappeared with the Captor spray, waiting while Tamsyn scrawled her signature to say that she’d received it.
“Thanks, Chloe,” Tamsyn said, giving the other woman an insincere smile. “Great seeing you again.”
Chloe didn’t reply.
Rego frowned, but ignored the exchange. For now. He turned to Tamsyn.
“Okay, let’s go.”
As they headed for his car, he noticed that she was still carrying the sports bag he’d seen her with earlier. He glanced at it enquiringly and a light flush coloured her cheeks.
“I wasn’t sure where the lockers are.”
He didn’t reply, hoping that she wasn’t one of those new officers who needed their hand held and had to be told every little thing to do. He simply unlocked the car so she could drop her bag in the boot and slide into the passenger seat.
He set his SatNav automatically even though the young PC appeared to know the route.
She sat in silence for the short journey, and Rego didn’t feel much like talking either. A body on the beach was the kind of thing a DC would usually deal with. He’d thought his role with Devon & Cornwall Police would be more strategic. It was simply bad luck that three incidents in the same morning had emptied the station of officers.
Tamsyn had been right about the narrow lanes down to Lamorna, and Rego swore under his breath as gorse scratched both of the car’s wing mirrors at the same time.
As they dropped down the steep hill to the village below, the clear blue waters of the small cove sparkled in the sunlight, but the picture-perfect scene was marred by blue-and-white police tape and the Hi-Vis jacket of a uniformed officer who walked towards them as they approached the cordon of two road cones.
Rego flashed his ID as he climbed out of the car. “DI Rego. And you are?”
“PC James Smith,” he said, glancing briefly at Tamsyn then back to Rego. “I go by Jamie.”
The men shook hands, then Rego introduced Tamsyn.
“First day?” Jamie asked.
“Yes, sir.”
He laughed and Rego smiled.
“You don’t need to call me ‘sir’; we’re the same rank – Jamie is fine.”
Jamie showed Tamsyn the scene log where he entered REGO, R, DI, time of attendance 8.07am; then entered Tamsyn’s details, as well.
“We want a tight cordon,” Rego said when Jamie had finished recording their arrival, “but move it back another fifty metres to where the road comes down to the harbour. We want to keep any press away and to reduce distress to onlookers.”
He glanced at Tamsyn as he said that.
“Yes, sir,” she nodded, and picked up one of the heavy cones to move it back as Jamie took the other.
Rego introduced himself to the paramedic who was there to pronounce life extinct, and the undertaker who would transport the body. Then Rego stood and looked around him, taking it all in. He couldn’t see any CCTV at the harbour but it was likely that some of these cottages were holiday homes or Airbnbs, and might have doorbell videos or other security, and he needed to know which of these homes were occupied or empty. He made a note to put those questions on the list for house-to-house enquiries which would come later.
The sound of an engine from the seaward side drew his attention, and Rego turned to watch the Coastguard’s rigid inflatable slowing down to bump gently against the buoys positioned along the sea wall.
Jamie went down to help them tie up.
“We’re gonna need a bigger boat,” said Rego, quoting his favourite film.
“It’s a B-class ILB – an inshore lifeboat, sir,” said Tamsyn, completely missing the Jaws reference. She spoke matter-of-factly. “Two-hundred horse power, 35 knots.”
It was a foreign language to Rego, but he wasn’t afraid to ask questions – something he encouraged in his teams.
“Only four crew?”
“Yes, sir. But it’s used for all inshore call-outs.”
“You know your boats.”
For the first time she smiled warmly and seemed to relax a couple of degrees.
“My Grandad taught me. I grew up around them and spent every summer crabbing. Fishing has been in my family for generations.”
Another foreign concept to Rego. He’d never met his grandparents and spent his summers underage drinking and thieving.