Caught in the Web by Emmy Ellis (most read books in the world of all time TXT) 📗

possibly flapping their wings and calling out in protest. Door-to-door in the street nearby would hopefully unveil witnesses who might give a time if a commotion had been heard.

The feathered beasts now sailed up and down the stretch of water near their nests, letting out noises of complaint every so often. It’d be a while before they could return to the grassy area, and the way the swans were eyeing everyone up, the birds might get arsey in a few hours if everyone was still hanging about.

Burgess was conscious that the people who lived in the row of houses opposite the canal would likely be getting up to start their days soon. The quicker the body was out of sight the better. Come eight o’clock, coppers would be knocking on their doors and asking questions. Not the best start to anyone’s day, but it couldn’t be helped.

He glanced down to see what those residents would spot should they peer out of their windows at this moment. The man, who appeared to be a tramp, was on his back much like Anita had been, although he wasn’t naked. His clothes weren’t the best but they weren’t the worst either, dirty and worn but nothing that a good wash wouldn’t sort out. A dark stain, almost dried now, marred the groin area. Had he pissed himself prior to death? His mid-length greasy hair was spread out around his head, an incongruous fan of sorts that made him seem as though he floated in water. Eyes closed, like Anita, he could just have been asleep, although Marla had confirmed he wasn’t in any kind of sleep he’d be waking up from.

Burgess, Shaw, Emerson, and his partner, Flemmings, stood in a semi-circle at the victim’s feet, while Marla crouched at his side. Flemmings was a weird chap, all thinness and height, his nose beak-like, his greying hair flopping over his forehead, not tucked beneath the protective suit’s hood as it should be. He rarely said much, and Burgess got the impression he was plodding along until retirement, letting Emerson do all the chatting—all the legwork, too, most probably.

As the tent men worked quickly around them, Marla reached for her dreaded tongs, and Burgess winced. Shaw glanced at him, gave a tight smile, and Burgess bobbed his head in response that yes, he was okay for now. Then Shaw moved to stand behind him. Whatever it was in the victim’s mouth, so long as it was dead, Burgess was safe from falling back into the canal owing to panic. Shaw would catch him.

“I may as well get started, seeing as I’m only looking in the mouth until the tent is up. Ready?” Marla stared up at Burgess. Then, bless her heart, she glanced at Emerson, too. She was such a good sort, keeping up the charade, keeping Burgess’ secret.

Burgess coughed. “Come on, let’s see what weirdness we have today.”

“Bloody strange business, this.” Emerson shoved his gloved hands under his armpits and shuffled his feet. The booties rustled with the movement.

“Life in general is strange,” Marla said. “And death, if you want to be philosophical about it.”

“Not really.” Emerson sighed. “Wicked as it sounds, I’m just counting down the time until my shift ends. No offence, fella.” He cocked his head at the victim. “But I have a latte with my name on it, and my tongue isn’t afraid to taste it.”

Burgess held back a chuckle. “Right, let’s get this over with. The photographer’s already got pictures of him as he is now, I take it?”

Marla nodded. “Best to call him over again, though, so he can take them as I work.”

“Photographer,” Burgess called.

The same one from yesterday ran over, nodding at Burgess, and got into place, standing beside Marla. She tilted the victim’s head back then opened the mouth. No trouble doing it either, as rigor hadn’t fully set in yet.

Please, Lord, don’t let it be a sock.

Whatever it was shouldn’t have been in there, but it was furry. Again. Burgess held his breath. Marla used her tongs to carefully take hold of the insect then bring it out into the open. It seemed so stark held up like that in the light, so there and un-seeable. So insect-ish and creepy. Whoever this was, they had to have read about that case Bethany Smith was on.

“A moth?” Emerson said. “A bloody big one, too. Look at the length of its wings. You can’t see it now because they’re tucked down by its sides, but I bet they’ve got quite a span on them in flight.”

“Now this is where I could shit myself,” Marla said, shuddering. “I thought the ones that used to fly around my old nan’s shed were large, but bloody hell. Imagine one of these sods coming at you. Imagine the sound of the wings flapping. Oh God.”

Burgess didn’t bother telling her to shut up. She’d shut herself up, probably realising she’d gone too far by the way she glanced up at him. He winked to let her know he was okay, that what she’d said had been okay. It wasn’t a thing, so he could deal with it.

“Any ideas where you’re going from here?” Emerson asked, his question a clear sign he was definitely going home in a bit and not hanging around to help out.

Marla turned the moth this way and that, seemingly fascinated yet horrified by it at the same time.

Burgess sucked on his bottom lip. Thought for a moment, his eyes glazing. He blinked them back into focus along with his mind. “We’ll need to contact the zoo again and see if anyone there can identify which sort of moth that is. Might be significant.” He stared at the fat creature and suppressed a shudder of his own. It might not be a thing, and he might have convinced Marla he was okay, but fucking hell,