The large college in London had many people gathered around. There was all manner of journalists, photographers all gathered around to listen to the new venture being proposed by the councilmen and councilwomen in the room.
On the board was the meeting about the new High Speed rail service running through Leeds to London. A new way of getting commuters to where they needed to be. Not only in a timely manner but in style too. The new trains being built were bullets of power, each carriage spoke of excellence and prosperity.
Dorothea Frazil of the Oxford Mail held her hand up to ask a question.
"Yes Ms Frazil," Councilman Greenhorne allowed her to open the forum.
"What homes will be razed in laying the track to emerald city," she said looking at some of the worried residents in the room. They already knew but wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth. She watched the councilman pull out a board of the places the line will run through. One of which is Carrington Forest village. She continued, "so you're finally getting rid of the place then, how many people live there exactly?"
Councilwoman Linda Brahms stood up and alleviates any concerns the townsfolk may have. Eviction was never a nice thing, but it had been made clear to many in the local councils involved in the new express line, that they would be moving the people in those homes.
"Alex Farnbaum, the London Gazette," another journalist shouted out as he is heard, "where will they go, we're to understand that nobody wants them?" He shouted out raising more concerns about the welfare of the residents in the village.
"We'll see to it that they'll be given new homes." Councilwoman Brahms said as they began to roll out how long the new line will take to be put in place.
"Harriet Lemington, Jubilee Tribunal," The journalist at the disused inn looked around the room. "You still plan to go ahead with the project even though you've lost a member." She said getting ready to write down what Councilman Greenhorne had to say.
"Of course, we're deeply saddened by the loss of our esteemed colleague, but the show must – as it were." He said keeping his head held high and showing the other council members that they could still, continue with the project.
"That's a little callous don't think councilman?" Harriet said watching the smiles of the council be exchanged amongst the group.
Councilwoman Brahms stood up and offered her point of view, "there are hundreds of graves around of the dead leaving the alive to continue in their stead," she said not wanting to take any more questions.
Harriet could see immediately that there would be no time to build the new train line as well as proposing new homes that'd be built for the volatile residents in the village. Along with her and many others in the room. It didn't seem possible. Which begged the question where were they going to be rehoused and when?
As they watched the televised broadcast, the detective inspector could see that Trewlove had a theory running through her mind. Of course, he was counting on it. He could see her mind at work. He listened to what she had to say.
"Remind me again why I'm listening to you." He said turning the set off and letting Trewlove stand tall above him.
She composed herself. "What if the councilman had other ideas for the residents of the village, maybe that's what got him killed?" She said enjoying the fact that Crenshaw was listening to what she had to say. "He may've been trying to remove them, and someone shot him."
The detective inspector liked her theory, it was certainly something they needed to find out more about. "I thought you said he was a great man." He said reminding her of the feelings she had towards Councilman Haversham, "You've changed your tune."
Trewlove believed in her feelings. Her instincts were often right. But when it came to politics, she was way off the mark. She understood that the politician played two roles, one a celebrity showing the perfect smile and gaining support from their followers, the other a more dishonest, stepping over the lives of people, crushing their dreams and aspirations - role - to get what they wanted. It was hard for her to believe this man would stoop so low, but how else would he and his team build the new line from London to Leeds? She thought to herself.
"Anyway, come on, the young girl wants to speak to you." Crenshaw said leading the way to the interview room. They opened the door and WPC Summers was sitting next to Alex. She ran up to Trewlove and gave her a hug. She had been so nice to her and stood with her as long as she could until the detective inspector had arrived.
Crenshaw left her with Alex and headed out the building. She got a clear picture of what she needed from the family and headed back to where Alex met her.
…
Trewlove looked up at the sign on the abandoned public house. The place where she ran into Alex. The rotten wood flaked in the evening wind. She looked around the area and could see there wasn't a soul around. No one had come out this way since the council and the media were here a few days before. She knew this place was one of the many developments being looked at by Councilman Haversham and his motley crew.
Carefully looking at the door she needed to make a decision whether or not to enter. If she was ever going to make detective, then now would be the time to show some initiative she thought. She picked up a brick from the broken wall and looked at the dust square glass panes.
She could see someone had already broken the glass. She tried the handle and the door creaked open. Putting the brick down she walked inside using the brick to keep the door open. Hearing a door slam would be better than hearing a door open, she thought to herself, and she slowly walked down the wooden halls of the Three Ships Inn.
What am I doing back here? She thought to herself as she walked past the rooms. The Thames River police used to control this area of the country when they were formed in 1797. The councilman had a vested interest in 'Mudlarking', a concept derived for dredging land at low tide, in the search for riches and the like.
She crunched her way to the kitchen area stepping on broken glass and wood chippings. The rattling of the wood could be heard from the windows overlooking the neglected garden area in the back.
Looking at the empty bottles, it was clear this place had been rummaged to the hills. No gold or wine to be found. She walked over a wooden trapdoor. As it creaked, echoing around the room. The light on her flashlight began to fade as she tapped it to bring it to life once again.
"Opportunity lies beyond the door," she said taking a deep breath and opening the weathered door to a cellar. The dusty wooden staircase led down and she could see a glowing light, as though a candle flame flickered in the back of the room.
A blinding light shone on her face, "Jesus Christ Trewlove, what are you doing here?" Detective Sergeant Graves said trying to expose Trewlove with his flashlight. She moved out the beam of light and walked down the staircase.
"Where have you been?" She sounded annoyed that the sergeant had been unreachable and was supposed to be an integral part of the case. Wondering what he had been up to since they last spoke. "And what are you doing here?"
He asked her the same.
Trewlove had no choice but to come clean, explaining to him that how she'd seen the diagram of the three ships and what it was pointing to. Graves made a point of telling her the same. Although he was struggling to understand the last part of the map.
"What's with the pound sign?" He said to Trewlove. He didn't want to be someone to tell her that he was the detective, and she was a plonk, a wooden top. Not after what she did onboard the QE2 a few months back. Graves could see something in her that he'd not seen in a woman police constable before. A kinaesthetic way of policing, by touch and feelings. He was pleased to have her down here. "I'm assuming it's treasure," He added.
"It's more than treasure, the pound note appeared around 1694," Trewlove walked over to the large wine rack on the wall, "the first place to be found counterfeiting pound notes was here, after it was torn down it became the first River policing station. Aimed to arrest privateers and uncovering acts of piracy, bootlegging – that sort of thing." She excitedly said asking Graves to give her a hand with the wine rack. Pulling it off the wall it fell and broke on the floor, smashing bottles and wood.
"What are you looking for?" Graves asked trying to understand what the need was to pull the place apart.
"Five years ago, the place became an inn, they moved the Thames Valley River Police Station over to Wapping." She said as they once again pulled down another wine rack. The wooden wall came away and a plastic body bag fell along with it. "A young woman was last seen here; police tore the place apart looking for her…" She said letting Graves open the bag. The bruised arm of the young woman fell out the side.
"Jesus, so the pound symbolises a reward." He said looking at Trewlove. "So, who's this supposed to be?" Graves said being careful not to compromise the body.
"Councilwoman Linda Brahms' stepdaughter." Trewlove looked at the wall where the woman was buried.
"You mean to say, she's been here all along?" Graves looked at the place. He had read about the case, the police searched everywhere. He was certain the body had only been placed here in the last few months. "Let's see what the coroner makes of this."
The inn had once again become a nest of people. Media were wating outside as officers kept them at bay. DI Crenshaw walked towards Graves and Trewlove. "Funny place to go on a date, you two. Haven't you heard of the Ring and Shell over on Getsbury." He said smiling looking at the wooden beams rotting through. "It's a bit less run down." He picked up a broken empty bottle of wine, "probably not as vintage."
Doctor Rufus Attwa was standing by the body, examining what he could in its current position.
"What happened doctor?" Crenshaw asked, looking at the young woman. She appeared to have no marks, bruises or contusions on her body. Leaving the doctor to be unsure of a cause of death.
"I can't see anything to suggest a cause of death at this stage, detective inspector, I will know more after the postmortem." The doctor concluded asking if it was okay to remove the body.
"Can you give me a time of death, at least?" Crenshaw needed to know if this was the missing councilwoman's stepdaughter. He was aware that she was last seen about a year ago. The doctor couldn't be certain on the time of death either, but he was sure it was a lot less than a year ago.
"Thank you doctor," Graves let the doctor go about his business. He walked over the broken glass with Trewlove and Crenshaw, as they discussed the case. If this wasn't the young woman who'd been missing for all this time, then who was it? He thought.
The government kept a close eye on its employees, but one seemed to have slipped through the net. They put out her face out to all ports and airports in hope she'd be seen trying to cross the ocean and live off the continent.
Unfortunately, the Office in the Department of Defence would not be willing to share their endeavours.
"I was going to show you this," Trewlove held out her hand of a picture of the people who worked at the research facility in Carrington Forest. The place was still being used but its employees now lived inside the building, and it was moved further into the forested area.
The image showed a few of the men and women, she'd been able to find in the library. They all had white coats on and big smiles. The leader of the group was someone her friend and colleague was investigating the murder of. It wasn't clear what sort of research was being done at the facility, but Trewlove could see one of the women she found dead aboard the QE2.
…
Dr Rufus Attwa arrived back to the mortuary. He donned the green apron, washed his hands thoroughly and walked over to the steel drawers holding the bodies of the dead. Opening drawer five he pulled the drawer open and placed the body on the metal table.
He carefully began writing his notes on the paper and began to poke around the body. There was an acrid smell he couldn't quite make out coming from the young woman's mouth. He lifted the young woman's lips and could see she had had an allergic reaction to something.
RING RING RING - the doctor answered the phone. "Yes, nurse I'll be right there." He put the phone down and removed his apron and once again washed his hands. Walking out to the front desk, he was greeted by two members of the government. They showed him their credentials and asked to see the body.
"I need to call DI Crenshaw." He said leading the men toward the mortuary. Opening the doors, he walked in to see that the young woman's body had disappeared.
"Where is she doctor?" The officer asked. Leaving the doctor without a clue as to where the young woman had gone. "She hardly got up and walked away – did she?"
Running to his office he looked out the window as two men closed the doors to an ambulance. He ran back into the mortuary and the two officers had disappeared. "What the hell is going on?" He asked himself, slumping back into the chair, about to tell Crenshaw he had lost the body.
…
Pouring the second glass of wine, Trewlove thanked the young waiter as he poured DS Graves a glass. They clink in cheer, and each take a sip. "So that's it is it, case closed?" She said having been in the office an hour earlier. The team had been told that the Office of the Department of Defence would be taking over the investigation.
"That's it…it was getting too messy anyway." Graves said taking more of his wine, happy that the case had been taken off him and the governor.
"Don't you find it odd that the body has just disappeared?" Trewlove watched Graves drinking more wine as though it was water in a glass. She wanted him to listen to her. "If it is Catherine Brahms, wasn't she a chemist?"
"Where'd you hear that?" Graves stopped drinking and was surprised that she knew that fact. It wasn't common knowledge, known only by himself and Detective Inspector Crenshaw. He looked at the menu wanting to order. Looking at the various seafoods, vegetable and meat platters and his favourite – desserts at the Ring and Shell inn.
Trewlove looked annoyed that the case had been taken off them. She couldn't believe the man in front of her cared more about his stomach than the deaths of two people. Both known by the council. She looked at the menu too and ordered a salad.
"Tell me shirl why did you want to be a police officer?" He asked.
She told him that her father, like his father were members of the constabulary. Throughout the generations the family had boys, lots and lots of boys. Some grew up and enlisted in the forces, others made a name for themselves in other areas of service to the country. She believed that for each generation there was a person whose aspirations would be to become a figure of importance, a staple in their field.
Just because she was born a girl, didn't stop her genes from carrying that same autonomous ethic and forthright attitude. She wanted to prove that women can do a job like this just as much as a man can. Although the forces were mainly made up of men in the 70's, times had changed and making detective was what she had her mind set on. This is made harder by the fact that her chromosome made her more XY than XX but came with levels of estrogenic propulsion that men shouldn't produce as much. But keeping her body and mind clear she was able to remain poised in situations especially that of a macabre nature.
Working with Detective Constable Morse helped keep her on her toes. She could never be half the detective he was but accepted the challenge. She smiled reminiscing about the days she worked with Morse. Before the one man she met, someone she loved was murdered by a corrupt cop.
"What are you smiling about?" Graves asked as the waiter brought them dessert.
Trewlove hadn't ordered after her main, but Graves had ordered a Rhubarb crumble. He picked the sprig leaf off the top and put it on the table.
"Why do they feel the need to coat everything in something you find in the garden," Graves said cutting into his dessert.
"You better hope that's not a leaf from the Rhubarb plant," she said smiling. Knowing it's highly unlikely.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because they have high levels of oxalic acid and nephrotoxin."
"Toxin? Are you saying they're poisonous?" Graves stopped eating and pushed the dessert away. He can see Trewlove giggling, "that's funny? Them poisoning me is funny to you?!" He smiled back at her.
"It can cause death. I think it was found about in World War I, they were deemed to be a suitable food source. But you'd have to eat a fair-few kilograms of them to slip into a coma." She kept smiling. But her brain began to computer, the proverbial mouse in the wheel began to run extremely fast. "What if they planned to poison everyone in the village? What if they manufactured some sort of virus? Maybe Councilman Haversham was warning them about it."
Graves had no idea what she was talking about. And it didn't seem to make sense that the councilman would be killed by someone if he was trying to save the people of the village. He began to think that this may have been one of the other members.
"One of his team may have followed him and killed him because he was going to warn the residents of the danger, they might be in." Trewlove continued with her theory.
…
The case was becoming more high-profile by the second. Crenshaw and Graves arrived at the councilwoman's house. The manor was exquisite, and the gardens were a sea of pink and blue flowers in bloom. Officers were standing by outside the grounds to prevent any members of the paparazzi from getting inside. Trewlove was on guard outside the councilwoman's study.
Crenshaw had one of his Hilden branded cigarettes in his mouth.
Inside the grand study, Councilwoman Brahms was shaken by the news. Finding a spot of blood left on the mortuary drawer, Dr Attwa was able to match it to someone who they had on file. The councilwoman held out her ashtray and asked the detective inspector to extinguish his cigarette. Crenshaw slowly tapped it into the tray. She reminded the detectives she was trying to give up smoking. And hearing the news about Catherine Brahms was enough for her to start again.
"When was the last time you saw your daughter councilwoman?" Crenshaw could see that the look of dismay in the councilwoman's eyes. She was staring at a black and white image of her on her late husband's desk.
"Stepdaughter, she was a different kind, frivolity over study. Often ran away with some man or woman I later found out." She said trying to hold back the tears, "but she had an innocence about her. Brilliant chemist and botanist too by all accounts." The tears began to show.
Crenshaw looked through Catherine Brahms' study material. He looked disturbed by what she had been researching across the globe. Reading telegrams and listening to current affairs on the radio.
"Who found her?" Councilwoman Brahms asked.
"Detective Sergeant Graves here," Crenshaw held out his hand and placed the paper on the desk. Graves looked at him.
"Actually sir, it was WPC Shirley Trewlove, that found her." DS Graves smiled at how he enjoyed watching Trewlove's mind work. He cared for her deeply and understood the difficulty in being in a station mostly containing men. Salty types for lack of a better word.
"Trewlove? Wasn't she the one who rescued all those people aboard the QE2?" Brahms said remembering reading about the young officer in the papers.
The detectives nod their heads and tell the councilwoman that she is attached to CID. There had been times during the case where her initiative had pushed them forwards.
"So, shouldn't she be here talking to me?"
Protocol dictates that a female constable should always be present or certainly nearby when interviewing female witnesses or suspects. Crenshaw told Councilwoman Brahms that Trewlove was outside and will be taking her statement when they've done talking to her.
He reminded the room that she was an inexperienced officer when it came to detection, with no experience in interviews, mortuary findings. He was aware of her work at the Cowley Station in Oxford but didn't know much else beyond that. "She is mostly assigned to evidence gathering, report typing."
"There's more to us than typist's inspector," the councilwoman glared at him. Showing him what she had done to achieve the status made for her fame and fortune. "With the need to climb the ladder it became much harder when the status quo is never challenged."
"So, detectives who killed Catherine?" The councilwoman didn't have much more to say. She had told them what she can, now she needed to know who killed her stepdaughter. Showing pictures of her when she was younger. Her age was older than she looked. The body they found was of a 21-year-old woman, who appeared to be much younger in age.
"Do you know of anyone who wished her any ill will?"
Councilwoman Brahms couldn't think of anyone. She told them about her latest conquest, a journalist who she had become infatuated with.
"What was his name?" Crenshaw asked.
"His name?" The councilwoman looked at them confused.
…
The young journalist sat opposite DS Graves and WPC Trewlove in her apartment. During her trip to London, she had used the apartment so she could get to where she needed to be. Trewlove recognised her from the inn earlier in the week. Harriet Lemington listened as the officers began to ask her some questions.
Given the sensitivity required in this informal interview, Graves asked Trewlove to do the talking. He trusted her judgment. He could see she too wanted to know the story behind the young woman.
"I never stopped looking for her," Harriet said crying into her tissue. The water soaked through when she heard the terrible news delivered to her by Detective Sergeant Graves. "What happened to her?" She asked.
"We were hoping you could tell us a bit more about her?" Trewlove began writing down what Harriet had to say. They first met each other at Lady Matilda's in Oxford. Harriet went on to become a journalist and Catherine pursued a career in the sciences.
"When was the last time you saw each other?" Trewlove asked.
"About a year ago, she was worried about something she had discovered." Harriet opened a drawer pulling out a beige file. "I had to admit, I had never heard of anything like this before."
Handing the paper from the file, it showed a map of Carrington Forest and the surrounding area. Twenty-seven homes, one youth centre, a public house, abandoned school and a park had all got diagonal blue lines crossed over them. At the top of the paper was the ubiquitous logo created by Charles Baldwin a few years ago. The logo was used to signify a highly polluted area. Known on a scale of 1 – 4.
The area had been identified as a Level 4 Biohazard, meaning a danger to life.
Keeping as quiet as she could, Trewlove had done her own snooping. During the statement she was taking from Councilwoman Brahms, she opened one or two drawers. She found a piece of paper, that she believed to be the master copy of what Harriet showed them.
Graves lit a cigarette. "Are you telling me, you think the council are planning to kill everyone in Carrington Forest," he looked sceptical, "some kind of genocide?" He reiterated the absurdity of what was being told to him.
"Some kind of sterilisation," Harriet said, her fingers shaking at the mere thought of wiping out a populated area. Trewlove thought back to the history books, trying to understand if she could contemplate an attack on the populace could be conceivable. She remembered doing her history on Carrington Forest. The one place that didn't seem to have a transparent story to it, was the research facility.
