Across the Pond
Author's Note
I do not own the main characters, I am just borrowing them. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental. I am not a medical professional of any kind, nor am I a lawyer or police officer, and as such I apologise for any factual mistakes I will no doubt make. I write for pleasure (mine and hopefully other people's), and would appreciate any reviews or comments. Thank you.
Sam C.
Chapter 1
Twigs cracked like a cap-gun under Lucy's pounding feet, the snapped remains resembling miniature, shattered bones which went unnoticed as the young woman ran with graceful rhythm. Dusk in the woods was a peaceful time to exercise, thought Lucy, though judging by the lack of other people jogging the trails, few agreed with her. Breathing barely quickened, the superbly fit former FBI and ATF agent covered ground at an admirable rate. Occasionally Lucy glanced around at the trees, which sported their autumn colours and cast shadows by the light of the rapidly setting sun. Though she ran with determination, her expression was one of pleasure.
This was a vacation, and the first she could remember enjoying for many years. Probably since childhood, she admitted privately, since Lucy Farinelli's adult life was not one she – or anyone else she knew – could recall with fondness. Leaping and stumbling from one bad shooting to the next, from toxic relationship to wrong decision to self-destruction, her path had been a catalogue of errors and poor judgement. Acknowledging this was the first step towards improvement, so she had been told by the professionals she consulted at staggering cost, and now she could move on. Being rich, she thought, why not move on whilst enjoying a holiday half-way around the world? Away from past memories, from the life she couldn't handle, with the exception of Lucy's closest friends and family.
"I understand why you'd want to go further afield than another state, Lucy," her aunt had begun, prompting her eyes to flicker skyward as the older woman continued, "but why England? There's nothing there that you can't have here, and the weather's miserable-"
"Aunt Kay," Lucy had started, quite patiently for her and not for the first time on this subject. "My mind's made up. I don't care about the weather, or the food, or the size of the damn place – I just want somewhere different, but where I don't have to speak another goddamned language. Are you and Benton with me or not?"
Kay Scarpetta paused before replying, looking up from her soapy hands that were scrubbing at a particularly stubborn streak of burnt-on Bolognese sauce across the bottom of a heavy saucepan. Blonde hair framed her strong features, more Scandinavian in appearance than would be suggested by her Italian family name. "Of course we'll come with you; I could do with a break too. I'm looking forward to it – we both are."
Recalling the conversation now, as she turned left onto a narrow footpath that would lead out of the woods and back to civilisation in the form of the old farmhouse she was renting, Lucy's daydreaming had unexpected consequences which brought her back to Earth with a thump. Literally.
"Oh God, I'm so sorry!" The rushed apology was accompanied by an outstretched hand which gripped Lucy's firmly and dragged her back upright. Though the fault was altogether hers, Lucy scowled automatically, as though that somehow made up for her embarrassment and lost dignity. Covered in mud and dead leaves, the young American felt decidedly silly, and made up for it in her usual manner.
"Yeah, right," she muttered, brushing herself off and pushing past the woman whom she had run into. Stalking past, Lucy glanced across, taking in a boyish, pixie-like face, the grin on which was wide and full of suppressed mirth. Her glance lingered longer than the fraction of a second she had intended, and for the second time in less than a minute she fell, tripping over an exposed root and stumbling into a patch of coarse bracken.
"Shit!"
Again, a hand reached out, this time accompanied by actual laughter. "Sorry," the blonde-haired pixie said again, helping Lucy up. "I've tripped over loads of times in the woods at this time in the evening, and I've been running here since I was twelve. Are you ok?"
Lucy's eyes met the younger woman's, holding her gaze. Her eyes were green like Lucy's, but paler, matching the colouring of her hair and skin, and the returning gaze was steady and bright.
"I'll live," replied the American, smiling back as she bent once again to swipe the worst of the debris from her jogging trousers. "Sorry I ran into you," she added, realising that the other woman had apologised without cause in a manner that was very English. "I'm not from around here, as you can probably tell, but there's still no ex-"
Breaking off mid-sentence, Lucy's fingers had encountered a warm stickiness on her clothes that was at odds with the rest of the dirt, and she raised her hand in front of her face. Though it was almost dark, there was just enough light to make out the smear of thick liquid that now trickled down her slender fingers.
"What's up?" the other woman asked, leaning closer to try and look, but Lucy turned swiftly, dropping to one knee and peering into the gloom. Her keen eyes found what her sharp mind already expected, and an outstretched palm provided confirmation. Next to where Lucy had tripped, lightly covered by waist-high bracken, lay a body. It was still warm.
Kay Scarpetta tipped diced onions into the hot pan, and they landed with a satisfying sizzle that made her grin. Cooking, as far as she was concerned, was a pleasure to be savoured as much as the meal which followed, if not more. Taking up a wooden spatula, she stirred quickly, calling out as she did so. When there was no reply, she left her creation to itself and wandered across the large, stone-floored kitchen, typical of an English farmhouse, with thick wooden beams spanning the ceiling and an ancient cooking stove that she was growing rather fond of despite its temperamental behaviour. Poking her head around the wide doorway that separated the kitchen from the living room, Scarpetta spoke again.
"What time do you two want to eat?"
The two men present looked up from their card game, one smiling, the other with a grumpy look that told her that Marino was losing yet again. Lean, handsome and casually dressed in a thick woollen jumper and jeans Marino's opponent, Kay's husband, flashed a grin. "I don't think we'll be playing for much longer," he told her, running a strong hand unconsciously through his greying hair. "Whenever it's ready will be fine."
Across the table, Marino's scowl deepened. "Just 'cause I'm losing don't mean I don't wanna play," the large man replied petulantly, one meaty hand slapping a card down in front of him. "Thirty-one." He reached out to advance a small peg a couple of holes down the board, then turned to his friend. "Smells good, Doc. I'm starving already."
"I've only just started," Scarpetta said archly, "but I'm pleased that you're both so hungry that you're rushing to help me."
"You want help, just holler," Marino winked, swigging deeply from a can of diet coke and smacking his lips loudly. Benton Wesley shot a disapproving look at his opponent and started to get to his feet, but was waved back.
"It's ok, I think I'll manage. About an hour, okay?" Scarpetta left the men to their game and, smelling burning, rushed hastily back to rescue the frying onions. The pattern was well-established, though the holiday was only a few days old, and for once it was…normal. Four people spending time together, doing ordinary things like cooking and walking and playing cards. For Scarpetta and her family, this was an occasion to enjoy to the full.
"What is it? What've you found?" The woman's question was direct, her tone insistent, and Lucy looked up at her new companion, rising to her feet and shepherding the younger woman away from the bloodied corpse, blocking her view. Automatically she had checked for a pulse, locating the body's neck by feel, for it was too dark to see through the dense undergrowth and insidious bracken. But instead of a neck, Lucy's searching fingers had encountered a gaping slash that ran from ear to ear. The blood was very much still wet, the flesh warm as in life, and it didn't need her Aunt Kay to tell her that this person was very much alive barely minutes ago, which suggested that unless the unfortunate individual had cut their own throat, there was someone else in the woods, and they weren't there for jogging.
About to speak when a crackle of leaves came from somewhere beyond the two women, further down the footpath, Lucy's reaction was immediate.
"Down!" she hissed, grabbing the blonde woman's arm and dragging her to the ground away from the body. Rustles and the crunching of dry twigs seemed to be approaching, with little regard for stealth, since Lucy had made less noise herself whilst running. She pressed down on one arm, her message to the woman clear - stay down - before springing up and charging in the direction of the noises, strong leg muscles pumping for maximum acceleration. The path was wider now, more light able to penetrate through the gap between the trees, and Lucy could make out a human-sized dark shape ahead. They collided roughly, cold metal crashing against her elbow, and she cried out as a sharp pain travelled up through her shoulder. Her quick, trained mind remained focused however, and instantly recognised the familiar shape and feel of a shotgun barrel. Grasping it with both hands and ignoring the searing stab from her elbow, Lucy wrenched the weapon from larger, stronger fingers, tossing it at hard as she could in a random direction.
Just seconds had passed, but time seemed to slow to a crawl as Lucy struggled with the man she had disarmed. Her fingers clutched at heavy fabric, legs kicking out where she perceived the other's stomach and groin to be, but she was attacking only shadows. Hands; real, hard hands, found Lucy's shoulders and slipped upwards, and suddenly she felt panic, remembering the slit throat she had found on the body lying nearby. Was this man the murderer? Did he have a blade, and was he about to use it? Struggling, she kicked out again, this time landing her foot on something solid, and the man grunted but still held on. Out of nowhere, another shadow flitted silently past Lucy's peripheral vision, and suddenly she was free, one of the arms pulled away violently with a muffled crack. Grunting again, more loudly this time, the large man turned and ran, the sound of his heavy footsteps receding into the surrounding woods.
"Are you ok?" The simple question was full of concern, and Lucy nodded mutely, feeling at her bruised neck. She felt the woman's arm on hers, and realised her response couldn't be seen.
"Yeah, I think. I'll call the police," Lucy stated, digging in a pocket for her iPhone, but the other woman stopped her.
"I'll do it. I know exactly where we are, and no offence, but with your accent it's just easier this way, trust me."
Nodding again, Lucy leaned against her rescuer, more for the comforting warmth than a need for support. An arm encircled her waist, drawing her closer.
It wasn't the least comfortable interview room that had been graced by Lucy's presence, given the few potted plants dotted around, the chairs that had a bit of padding on the seat, the natural light coming through the window that wasn't in Lucy's eyes and the clean paintwork. Clearly a room for interviewing witnesses, not suspects, deduced the former FBI agent correctly, as a cup of pale brown liquid was placed on the table in front of her.
"I'm not under arrest." It was a statement of fact, and the suited police officer sitting opposite her nodded in reply. "Then I am making a phone call, right now, from my cell phone, or I am walking away and making the call outside." Prevented several times from using her phone on the journey to the police station in which she now sat, Lucy's mood was that of irritation spilling into anger, and it showed.
Introducing himself as Detective Chief Inspector Rothery, the man looked more like an accountant, or perhaps a health inspector. Short and stocky, more rounded in places, his dark brown hair no longer completely covered the top of his head, and the effect was comical – or would have been, given different circumstances. When he spoke, his voice matched his appearance, a nasal whine with more than a whiff of officious arrogance that grated on Lucy's nerves from the first word uttered.
"I have no problem with that, Miss…Farinelli." Raised eyebrows accompanied his pronunciation of Lucy's surname, which he reduced to its component syllables as though speaking a completely alien language, rather than a simple-to-read Italian name that was no more difficult to say than 'tortellini'.
"Good." IPhone already in hand, she jabbed viciously at the screen, her growing attitude plain to see. After several seconds, Lucy's eyes narrowed, and she tapped in another number, followed by another after that. Finally, after a few minutes, she shoved the useless device back in her pocket and stared at the detective who regarded her silently.
"I told you I'm renting a farmhouse? There's obviously no damn signal there, and I need to contact my friends, one of whom will be my legal advisor, not that I need one since I've done fuck all wrong."
"Please mind your language, Miss Farinelli. We obviously need to ask you some questions, but I can arrange for someone to inform your, ah, friends, that you are here. Where is this farmhouse that you say you're renting?" The Chief Inspector's tone dripped with disbelief and sarcasm, and Lucy couldn't decide why. Perhaps a dislike of women, or Americans, or foreigners in general, or maybe the bastard was just that sort of person. She kept her voice under tight control as she answered.
"Near the woods where I found the body, about a mile to the North-East. It's called High Tor Farm."
Rothery tipped his head at his subordinate, who so far had not said a word. Red-haired – orange, to be more precise – with a plain face and lean physique, she had smiled for a fraction of a second when introduced as Detective Sergeant Smith, and since then had simply observed the conversation. Acknowledging her superior with a nod, she left the room. Lucy hid a smirk, sincerely hoping it was Marino who answered the police officer's knock.
