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Back The Lucky Eight Save as PDF
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Prologue
  4. Five Years Later
  5. One
  6. Two
  7. Three
  8. Four
  9. Five
  10. Six
  11. Seven
  12. Eight
  13. Nine
  14. Ten
  15. Eleven
  16. Twelve
  17. Thirteen
  18. Fourteen
  19. Fifteen
  20. Sixteen
  21. Seventeen
  22. Eighteen
  23. Nineteen
  24. Twenty
  25. Twenty-one
  26. Twenty-two
  27. Twenty-three
  28. Twenty-four
  29. Twenty-five
  30. Twenty-six
  31. Twenty-seven
  32. Twenty-eight
  33. Twenty-nine
  34. Thirty
  35. Thirty-one
  36. Thirty-two
  37. Thirty-three
  38. Thirty-four
  39. Thirty-five
  40. Thirty-six
  41. Thirty-seven
  42. Thirty-eight
  43. Thirty-nine
  44. Forty
  45. Forty-one
  46. Forty-two
  47. Forty-three
  48. Forty-four
  49. Forty-five
  50. Forty-six
  51. Forty-seven
  52. Forty-eight
  53. Forty-nine
  54. Fifty
  55. Fifty-one
  56. Fifty-two
  57. Fifty-three
  58. Fifty-four
  59. Fifty-five
  60. Epilogue
  61. Acknowledgements
  62. Canelo Crime
  63. About the Author
  64. Also by Sheila Bugler

‘It’s not a drowning. The body’s well above the tide line, no sign of water damage. There’s injury to the back of the head, but he’s lying on his back so I can’t see how bad that is. The on-call doctor has attended the scene and confirmed ROLE.’

Rachel knew that ROLE stood for Recognition of Life Extinct. In other words, the on-call doctor had confirmed what the uniformed sergeant would have already worked out. The person lying on the beach was dead.

‘Pathologist?’ Rachel asked.

‘With the body now.’

‘What made you call us?’ Rachel asked.

‘Because of who the victim is,’ Brian said. ‘Nick Gilbert, the celebrity chef. You’ve heard of him?’

‘Shit.’ Rachel’s mind was already running ahead as she thought through the implications of this piece of information. A dead body was one thing, a famous dead body quite another.

‘One of the other guests found him,’ Brian said. ‘She came out to catch the sunrise, apparently.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘I’ve arranged for all the guests to stay in their rooms until we’ve had a chance to talk to them. Meantime, the pathologist is ready to speak to you. Here he comes.’

Sure enough, Rachel could see Raj Mallick walking towards her across the shingle. Silhouetted in the bright sunlight, Raj’s tall, gangly frame reminded her of one of L. S. Lowry’s matchstick men. Rachel knew sod all about art, but Grace had dragged her around a Lowry exhibition at London’s Tate Modern a few years earlier and the artist’s work had stayed with her.

‘Rachel,’ Raj said, as he reached her. ‘Good to see you.’ He turned his full wattage smile on Ade. ‘Raj Mallick, forensic pathologist. You must be the new Ed.’

‘Ade Benjamin. Not the new Ed or anyone else. Just me.’

Raj’s smile widened, something Rachel wouldn’t have thought was possible.

‘Well, very pleased to meet you, Ade Benjamin. You ever seen a dead body before?’

‘I was based in Lewisham before I moved out here to the sticks,’ Ade said. ‘So, yeah. I’ve seen more than one dead body in my time. Why? You afraid my little womanly stomach won’t be able to cope?’

Raj laughed, clearly enchanted. Rachel couldn’t blame him. At five foot ten, with mahogany skin, eyes the size of plates and cheekbones you could ski down, Ade Benjamin was stunning. Rachel was used to being ignored. Her wife, Grace, drew people to her like a magnet. Unlike Rachel, who never seemed to make a lasting impression on anyone apart from the people she arrested and charged for the crimes they’d committed. Most of the time, the lack of interest was something she saw as a blessing. Except when it delayed getting work done.