Private Investigations by Quintin Jardine

of portable recorders were thrust out towards him.
    ‘Morning,’ he began. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Samuel Pye. I’m the lead CID officer for the City of Edinburgh, and senior investigating officer here. I’m sorry to tell you that two hours ago, the body of a little girl was discovered in a vehicle, a red BMW, that had been involved in a minor collision in this car park. The driver ran off after the incident, before the child’s body was discovered. Obviously, finding him is very important to us. We’re looking for a thin-faced white man in his twenties, last seen wearing a grey hoodie and jeans. Any help the public can give us will be appreciated.’
    He looked at the TV cameras. ‘I’m asking anyone who saw a person matching that description in this area at any time this morning to get in touch with us. Even if you can’t help us identify him, if we’re able to plot his movements that will be a help.’
    ‘Has the girl been identified?’ a female voice asked. Pye knew its owner, Lennox Webster, crime reporter of the Saltire .
    ‘No. That’s our top priority; somewhere there are parents who are facing some tragic news. We need to find them, and break it as gently as we can.’
    ‘So you don’t know her age.’
    ‘We’re guessing four or five; we’re asking schools and nurseries whether there have been any unexplained absences this morning. We’ve already established that no children of that age have been reported to the police as missing in the last few days.’
    ‘Do you know how she died?’ an STV reporter asked, breathlessly.
    ‘I’m sorry, we don’t. The pathologist’s initial examination found no signs of physical assault. That’s all I can tell you at this stage.’
    ‘But you are treating her death as murder, yes?’
    ‘We can’t, not yet. As of this moment we are investigating a suspicious death; that’s all I can say. That may change after the autopsy. In the meantime, I’m as impatient as you are to learn how this little girl died. Thank you.’
    Pye forestalled any further questions by turning and walking away, heading back towards Haddock, who stood waiting beside the tent.
    ‘We’ve located the owner,’ the DS announced. ‘Callum Sullivan. There was no reply at his address when uniform called earlier on, but half an hour ago he walked into the North Berwick police office to see whether we’d found his missing car. The duty sergeant asked him, very politely, to wait there for us.’
    ‘Excellent,’ the DCI said. ‘And Zena? Did that name get any reaction anywhere?’
    ‘Not yet, other than this: we know that neither Sullivan nor his housemate Harris has a child of that name. However, he does have a daughter from a previous marriage. She’s called Kayleigh and she’s five years old.’
    ‘Let’s go and talk to him.’
    Haddock nodded. ‘Oh yes, we should, for there’s more.’

Seven
    ‘How the hell do you get parked in this place?’ Sauce Haddock exclaimed. ‘It’s Monday, it’s winter and yet there isn’t a space to be seen.’
    ‘That’s the way it is here on most days,’ Pye replied. ‘I was stationed in East Lothian for a while, in uniform, so I was here quite often. Most towns this size wouldn’t have a manned police station any more, but all through the summer, and on most weekends, North Berwick is bulging with people. It’s a resort. There are a couple of caravan sites, there’s still property for holiday rent and on top of that there are loads of casual visitors, golfers and day trippers from Edinburgh. Because of that, parking’s always murder.’
    He smiled. ‘Fortunately,’ he continued, making a right turn into an opening that came into view as they approached a pub, ‘there are a couple of spaces for police cars behind the local nick, and there’s usually at least one free during the day.’
    In fact, both slots were vacant. Pye parked in the first and led the way to the back door of the station. As they approached, Haddock