Page 75 of Unalive On Air

Who Let the Cadaver Dogs Out

We aired the first episode of Unalive on Air on the same day, Monday night, but since I’m no longer bound to Swindon Sounds’ stupid schedule, we chose eight p.m.

It didn’t take long for Pixie to muster the emotions she needed to press all the right buttons. The way she kept looking over at Stove when her ability to hit the keys faltered let me know she definitely wasn’t over his little tirade.

And that was that.

Unalive, episode one of season one, was officially out there.

And now it’s just a case of finding more evidence, building the next instalment, and waiting to see if any higher powers of authority get involved. Or rather, when they get involved.

At three o’clock on Tuesday, a police van appeared in The Paragon’s car park, shortly followed by an estate car with enormous blue lettering on the side that read POLICE DOG UNIT.

I’d shared the rough location of Jeanie’s body on the podcast, and Josh then shared the podcast with Detective Constable Jazmin Zhou of Helzephron Police Station.

I mean, I asked him to. It wasn’t as though he did it behind my back, but it was the only way I figured we’d move this case forward and get any new information.

Jazz steps out of the van with a few other suited and booted officers, but notably, no Dave Davies. Something tells me he’s not on annual leave.

After what feels like forever hanging around in the car park, and then again in the hotel foyer, Jazz et al., with Helga in tow, make their way out to the scrubland at the rear of the premises.

It takes Lottie, the English Springer Spaniel, less than ten minutes to locate Jeanie’s remains. She finds the exact location, goes as far into the brambles as her furry little body will allow, and sits quietly.

“Good girl,” a police officer says, magically producing a tennis ball from her pocket and offering it to Lottie.

Another half an hour later and there’s a guy strimming the bushes, someone else taping off the entire area, and police sentinels positioning themselves at each corner of the cordon.

“What’s going on?” Helga asks Jazz. “Where’s Sergeant Davies?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Jazz replies. She looks around to see if anyone’s within earshot. “We received a tip-off to check this location.”

“For a body?”

“I can’t really say.”

Helga’s gaze lands squarely on the new vehicle pulling down the hotel’s long service drive, then off-roading it to get as close to the burial site as possible. On the side, blue letters spell out FORENSIC INVESTIGATION. She raises a brow, challenging Jazz to contradict her.

But Jazz merely repeats herself. “When we have official news to share, you’ll be one of the first to know.” It’s clear that her time with Dave Davies hasn’t rubbed off on her.

Helga doesn’t give up. “Jean Johnson?”

Jazz opens her mouth to speak but closes it again. She looks around once more. “The person who left the tip-off did it publicly. Via podcast. We are looking at taking the episode off air while we investigate, but at the moment it’s still in the public domain if you wanted to have a listen. I haven’t told you this.”

“A podcast?” Helga asks. Jazz nods. “Whose?”

“Someone referring to themselves as Gary Runcorn.”

Helga is stunned into silence.

Jazz continues. “Who you’ll obviously know as—”

“The man who got squished by the chandelier here a week ago,” Helga finishes. “How is that . . .” She looks around wildly, but her eyes never focus. She frowns, chews her lip, runs her fingers under her chin. “How is that possible?”

“It’s my belief Gary recorded the episode before he died,” Jazz says, and Helga’s shoulders immediately drop, the relief evident on her face. “And that he scheduled the release for the following week. What remains to be seen is how many episodes he recorded. There’s a possibility he knew more than he should have and was . . .” Suddenly Jazz seems to realise she’s admitting too much and stops mid-sentence.

“Where’s Sergeant Davies?” Helga asks, quickly changing tack.

“He’s . . . taking a short break,” Jazz says.