One thing was clear to Flyte from the moment she set eyes on Cassie. Her unnatural calm was like a sheet of glass – and about as robust.
They were in the forensic body store at the rear of the mortuary where the deceased, Cassie’s friend Kieran Byrne, was now stored in a separate fridge awaiting the coroner’s approval for a forensic PM. On a table between them lay Kieran’s clothes and wallet – which Cassie had carefully bagged up in case they held any evidence.
Once they’d completed the official ID procedure, Cassie told her what the pathologist had said about the injury to Kieran’s head.
‘OK. Well, obviously, we’ll be checking out CCTV around the canal,’ said Flyte. ‘And working out what Kieran was doing in the hours and minutes leading up to his death. That should help us establish whether or not foul play was involved.’
Cassie’s face was the colour of skimmed milk. She smiled an inward-looking smile. ‘Oh, foul play was involved all right.’ Sounding matter-of-fact.
‘Do you have any evidence for that? Anything that might help to prove that this wasn’t just another case of someone falling in the canal after a few too many pints?’
‘He’s been sober for weeks.’ Cassie tilted her chin upwards. ‘The tox report will confirm it. He was starting a business.’
Flyte refrained from pointing out that recovering drunks and druggies sometimes fell off the wagon. ‘All right . . . so what do you think happened?’
Cassie touched the evidence bag containing his clothes. Through the clear plastic Flyte could make out a screaming face and spiky letters spelling out ‘Def Leppard’ on the front of his T-shirt: presumably some sort of rock band.
‘I killed him’ – she sounded flat-calm.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘He was helping me investigate my mother’s death. I think he got close to finding something out.’ A humourless grin. ‘Like that was worth him dying for.’
‘OK . . . Who would have had an interest in silencing him?’
‘You know who.’ Cassie’s look was defiant. ‘The cops. Gerry Hobbs, specifically. The missing swab. It’s got to be tied up with that.’
Flaming fishcakes, not this again.
‘So you think that DS Hobbs knocked Kieran over the head and shoved him in the canal?’ Flyte kept her voice level.
‘Maybe not Hobbs. But what if he was on the take and got the lab to lose the swab result in order to cover up for somebody? Look, I don’t have anything you would call evidence but I’m ninety-nine per cent sure that my dad didn’t murder my mother – I think she was probably killed by her lover. Maybe the guy she was having an affair with was someone powerful, some big-time villain? When Kieran started asking around about the murder he might have got to hear about it. Kieran could have stumbled into his path, without even knowing who he was.’
Flyte felt her patience start to fray. ‘OK. If you could just give me the details of this mystery lover, I’ll get them in for an interview.’
Cassie sent her a look of cold hostility that was worse than any angry outburst.
‘Look, Cassie, you have to let me investigate this my way. Give me the names and numbers of anyone whom you know Kieran was in touch with. And details of the hostel where he was staying. OK?’ She tried to meet Cassie’s gaze but her mind was clearly off elsewhere. ‘You’ve had a serious shock. Let me arrange a lift home for you.’
The girl levelled her gaze on Flyte – the winter sun sidling through the mortuary windows turning her eyes an even deeper shade of blue.
‘There’s only one thing you can do for me. Find out who killed Kieran.’