Daisy didn’t want to come, and who could blame her. She’d had enough shocks already that morning and decided to hold down the fort. The Wicker Man had gone back to his shop to open up for the day, so it was Partial Sue, Fiona and Simon Le Bon who made the walk through Southbourne’s pretty avenues and past its handsome houses with their obligatory hand-painted plaques brandishing romantic house names such as the Old School House, Dairy Cottage and Fir Tree Hollow, plus a few that should have never been allowed such as Thisilldous and an old doctor’s surgery called Bedside Manor.
The poor taste in names did nothing to lighten the mood as they turned into Stourview Way, where Sarah had lived. The recent past-tense nature of her status sounded odd and uncomfortable in Fiona’s mind. At once they were confronted by a chaotic scene quite out of character for the usually serene roads of Southbourne.
The whole road had been blocked off with blue-and-white caution tape stretched across either end. A couple of police officers stood guard, stopping people from going any further. A small crowd had gathered, some of them holding their phones aloft, popping off shots. It was the same scenario at the other end of the road. One guy had a proper SLR camera. Fiona wondered if he was a press photographer. In between the cordons, it was just as Daisy had described — white-hooded figures with masks darting in and out of the house, carrying things in labelled plastic boxes to put in the back of police vehicles parked at odd angles.
“Do you think those two will tell us anything?” Partial Sue nodded towards the pair of officers standing by the tape.
“Not likely,” Fiona replied. “We need to tell them about that knife. It could be connected. But let’s be subtle. We need to establish how she died before we start going on about a bloodied knife. She could have been pushed down the stairs for all we know.”
“A horrible thought.” Partial Sue shuddered. “But yes, softly, softly.”
They sidled up to the police tape, then edged along it until they were level with the two officers.
Before Fiona had a chance to speak, Partial Sue blurted out, “How did she die?”
Fiona glared at her. So much for the subtle approach.
“And who are you?” asked one of the officers.
Fiona stepped in to answer. “We work on Southbourne Grove, in a charity shop, Dogs Need Nice Homes. Sarah Brown used to come in a lot. She was our friend.”
“Oh, well, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
A wave of sadness broadsided Fiona, the sudden loss of a customer and a good friend still raw. She’d miss her company, her stories and her green-fingered generosity. Before her back gave out, Sarah would grow the juiciest tomatoes by the bucketload, and make gallons of the tangiest jam and chutney, ensconced into jars of all shapes and sizes, all freely given to anyone who would want them.
Then Partial Sue ruined it again. “We found a knife with blood on it.”
Fiona was sure that her colleague’s enthusiasm, for not just spilling the beans but spraying them everywhere with abandon, was caused by overexcitement at standing before a real-life crime scene. She’d become a teenager at the front of a pop concert.
“Did you report it?” asked the other officer.
“I did,” said Fiona.
“That’s good. You did the right thing,” the officer replied.
“Is it connected with this?” Partial Sue asked, almost shaking.
One of the officers gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, we can’t reveal anything about this matter. We’ve only just got here ourselves. Put on crowd control.”
“We know as much as you do,” the other officer added.
They were interrupted by a flustered mum with a baby in a pushchair, the back laden with supermarket bags. “I need to get to my house, and he needs changing. If not, I’m going to have to change him here in front of you.”
“Okay, just calm down,” said one of the officers.
A delivery driver appeared on the other side of them, holding a small box. “Any chance I can get this to number fifty-six? I’m running late.”
“That’s not going to be possible,” said the police officer nearest to them.
“Well, can you take it for me?” He held out the package.
Fiona and Partial Sue removed themselves from the heated discussions erupting around them about nappies and next-day deliveries, edging away from the tape.
“He didn’t seem very interested in our bloody knife,” Fiona said.
“No, it’s not like on the telly, where they rush over to tell the senior officer, then the senior officer hurries over to question us, the members of the public who have vital information about the case.”
“Maybe that’s just it. Our information isn’t vital. Maybe Sarah died some other way, and our knife isn’t relevant.”
“But how do those officers know it’s not relevant? They didn’t seem to know anything.”
The pair went silent for a while, mesmerised by the sight in front of them. Instead of finding it thrilling, compelling and irresistible, and all those flashy adjectives you see plastered on adverts for blockbuster thrillers, the experience left Fiona cold and numb. Real crime was depressing and left a large empty hole. A friend had been murdered and she didn’t like it, not one bit.
A well-dressed female with slicked-back hair stepped out of the house. Tastefully outfitted in a tailored wool coat with a slim pair of slacks and sharp heels, the woman had style and a businesslike way about her. She was followed by a greying middle-aged man dressed in casual sportswear. Bordering on scruffy, he looked as if he’d just finished a shift at a hand car wash. He had the gaunt face of someone who worked out too much and ate too little saturated fat. Cake would solve that problem, like it solved most problems.
“Those two look like they’re in charge,” Partial Sue remarked.
“I’ll say. Probably a couple of DIs, or a DI and a DS. Pity we can’t talk to them.”
Police officers and hazmatted figures orbited the pair, taking it in turns to check in and run things past them. Busy and in demand, they multitasked, speaking on the phone while handing out instructions simultaneously.
Fiona and Partial Sue watched them for a good quarter of an hour, until they disappeared back into the house.
“I don’t think there’s much else to do here.” Partial Sue sniffed, her initial excitement subsiding into a more subdued mood.
“One thing I do know,” Fiona replied, “is that they’d better catch the swine who did this.”