Kaye nodded. ‘A partial profile. There wasn’t a lot left of him, to be honest, and the bloke on the digger did well to spot it. The soft tissue had gone, most of the bones too, just the knuckle ends of the long bones where they’d started to calcify, or ossify, or whatever it is.’ She was shaking her head now, the plume of smoke from the cigarette in her mouth weaving skyward. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but we checked it against the Hudson sample and there was no match. There was a bereaved mother, though, somewhere.’
‘What else was there?’
‘I’ve copied the photos for you,’ replied Kaye. ‘A red babygrow with a cartoon fox on the chest and a teddy bear. So fucking sad.’
‘No appeals for information, nothing?’ demanded Jane.
‘Nope.’ Kaye shrugged. ‘We had a team on it to begin with. Spoke to everyone living in the vicinity in that time frame. We checked all births registered back then and everyone’s accounted for. We checked with local midwives, hospitals, doctors. There’s no cause of death, don’t forget, so it’s never been treated as a murder investigation. All but closed now. I’m the only one still working on it.’
‘And what are you doing?’ asked Dixon.
‘Nothing, to be honest. The file sits in my filing cabinet; other things take priority. You know how it is.’
‘When’s the inquest?’
‘It was opened and adjourned for police enquiries and I haven’t been back to the coroner yet, so there’s nothing fixed.’
‘What about DNA testing?’
‘Like I said, it was a partial profile, so the best we could hope for was a parental or sibling match. Everybody living in the area at that time was tested and they all came back inconclusive. Nothing came up on the database either.’
‘How far is this from the site of the Palace Hotel?’
‘Not far at all. Ten minutes’ walk, maybe, along the coast path. The bit of scrubland is accessible off the coast path too.’
Dixon was flicking through the bundle. ‘Is this everything?’ he frowned. ‘Can’t be, surely.’
‘Not everything. Just what I thought was going to be of most use to you. I’ll get in deep shit for this, you know, and if I’d been caught smuggling that lot out . . .’ Her sentence was punctuated by the click of her lighter as she lit another cigarette. ‘Not that I give a toss, to be honest.’
‘When was the body found?’ Dixon thought he knew the answer to that question, but asked it anyway.
‘The builders found the body at the beginning of September, and we were doing the DNA testing October and November.’ Kaye smiled. ‘That’s what you want to know, isn’t it?’
‘It is.’
‘She’s gone,’ said Jane. ‘I told her if they give her a hard time she’s to apply for a transfer to Avon and Somerset. She won’t, though. She’s only a year off retirement.’
Dixon was back in the canteen, flicking through the bundle of documents.
‘Why are you skulking in here?’ asked Jane.
‘Keeping out of the way of the Devon lot for the time being. We’ll need to find a way of making it look like we found it under our own steam, rather than landing Kaye in the shit.’
‘It’s connected then?’
‘Thomas Fowler was killed not long after the initial press coverage, and the community DNA testing started. Even if it wasn’t in the press, it’d have been all over social media.’
‘And we don’t believe in coincidence.’ Jane was eyeing up Dixon’s cheese and onion baguette. ‘Don’t you want that?’
‘You finish it.’ Most of the grated cheese had spilled out into the cellophane wrapper, leaving only red onion in the baguette. Nice.
‘I’m eating for two, remember,’ Jane said, picking up the flakes of cheese one by one.
Dixon looked up. ‘The partial DNA profile from the dead baby and Patrick Hudson’s DNA don’t match. Shame, but then that would’ve been too easy.’
‘Kaye’s right about a bereaved mother. It has been known.’
‘No real press coverage was a mistake. And when a police officer’s first thought is covering his or her own arse, something’s gone badly wrong.’
‘You need to remind Charlesworth of that.’
‘I do. Regularly.’ Dixon slid the documents into a cardboard file and stood up.
‘Where are you going?’ asked Jane.
‘Torquay.’
‘Bloody hell, it doesn’t get much posher than this,’ said Louise. She was sitting in the passenger seat of Dixon’s Land Rover, her lunch finished, the crumbs swept on to the floor and the wrapper stuffed in the door pocket. ‘That one must be well over two million. Look at it.’
Dixon didn’t bother.
Ilsham Marine Drive. Trees on the right, down to the cliff edge, the sea beyond; houses on the left, unusually large ones with high gates at the bottom of private drives, the houses themselves visible further up the hill, affording them grandstand sea views from balconies and terraces.
‘It’s further round,’ Dixon said. ‘Before we get to Richmond Close, on the right.’
