front of her. Blood, there was so much blood. It filtered into her nose and she made the mistake of inhaling the bitter, coppery scent, which hit the back of her throat so hard she could taste it. A loud gagging noise came out of her mouth as it filled with a rush of hot water and she cupped a hand over it. She felt a hand on her arm, dragging her backwards. Almost falling down the two steps, somehow, she managed to keep her balance and was pulled away from the entrance to the crime scene. Back towards the cordon, where a grinning PCSO was holding the tape up for her. She was surprised at Ben being so rough, then realised she could still see him standing on the top step.
When she was beside the car they’d arrived in, Amy opened the driver’s door and for the second time this week gently pushed her inside.
‘First rules of murder: you must never, ever puke in the crime scene or surrounding areas. No matter how bad it is you hold it in.’
Morgan stared at her, horrified. ‘Sorry, I—’
‘You don’t need to apologise, we’ve all been there and done that. Some affect you worse than others. It happens, for me it’s kids. Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I hate the smell of blood. It didn’t smell that bad at the Potters’.’
‘The heating is on in that hallway, it’s stifling, and it also speeds up the smell of decay and bodily fluids.’
‘Ben’s going to think I’m so childish.’
Amy crouched down. ‘No, he’s not. He’ll be relieved you didn’t offload your breakfast all over his feet. Anyway, I don’t know what it is about you, but he seems to have a bit of a soft spot for you which is literally unheard of. He’s usually a grumpy, miserable bastard but I have the utmost respect for him as my boss, so if he likes you then I like you. You’re okay, Morgan. To be fair I think you’ve done amazing this week, considering you should only be out herding sheep back into fields, giving tourists directions and dealing with the odd road traffic accident. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Why don’t you wait here for a bit? At least until CSI have been; trust me, you don’t want to piss Wendy off. When you feel okay you can start to speak to the shopkeepers either side, see if they have any CCTV or saw anything. You know the drill.’
She nodded, grateful for the chance to compose herself and not totally blow it.
‘Thanks, Amy, I will.’
Amy began to walk back towards Ben, paused then turned back.
‘Hey, don’t tell anyone I was nice to you. It will ruin my image.’
She winked at her and Morgan smiled.
A couple of minutes and she’d be good to go. Inhaling the air inside the car, she noticed it smelt of stale curry. It was still lingering from someone’s takeaway the night before, but it was a whole lot fresher than inside that doorway.
Thirty-Eight
Morgan walked across to the post office, where she assumed it was the owners standing outside watching everything.
‘Hi, can I have a word?’
The guy nodded. His face was devoid of colour and he was nursing a mug of tea. He had a wedding ring on his ring finger. A woman standing behind him with a matching mug and ring smiled at her.
‘I’m Susan Riley. This is awful, what’s the world coming to? Although he was a bit of a pain in the arse, wasn’t he, Mick?’
Mick nodded once more.
‘Who?’
‘Jamie Stone, the guy that ran the paper. Wouldn’t wish that on him, though, wouldn’t wish it on anyone.’
‘Did you see anything? Do you have CCTV?’
They shook their heads in unison. ‘No, we keep saying we should get some.’
‘Did you know the Potters?’
‘Yes, we did. Lovely family, such a terrible shame. Olivia used to come in a couple of times a week. She usually had parcels to return.’
Morgan wondered if she was doing the right thing and decided that yes, she was. They needed answers and as much information as possible. If she was going against protocol then it was for a good reason.
‘Did you ever hear about Olivia having an affair?’
Mick, who still hadn’t spoken, shook his head again. Susan pointed to the shop. Turning, she walked inside and Morgan followed. The door closed behind her. It was dark inside and she had to blink a couple of times so her eyes adjusted to the gloom.