dryness and warmth that Jasmine reckoned Glaswegians must learn as a rite of passage.
As Jasmine changed she heard the ongoing commentary from Martin and Andy in her earpiece. The subject was doing his best to hold court in the Apple store and was starting to annoy the management, who were used to all customer adulation being focused exclusively upon their products.
Jasmine was relieved, though not surprised. If it turned out D-Blazer had blanked the Apple store and headed down to the Gallery of Modern Art to look at the latest installations, it would have ramifications for her chances of carrying this off. He was one of those London-centric wankers who thought modern everyday reality stopped at the M25, and with it his cares and woes. Galt Linklater had been given this job because it was assumed that, outside the capital, D-Blazer would be off his guard. This hypothesis would be supported by his gravitating towards regional satellites of his normal frame of reference: the Apple store, certain clothing chains, Nando’s. A trip to GoMA, for instance, might haveindicated that he was engaged with his surroundings and more switched on than they were giving him credit for. It would also have made Jasmine pass out on the spot with sheer astonishment.
She exited the changing rooms with her old clothes in the new bags, estimating from the reports that she would have time to hit the John Lewis make-up counters and let the demo girls do their worst.
Collette gave her a brief assessment as she left, succinctly passing her judgment in merely two words: ‘Hello boys.’
Jasmine just about managed to keep a smile off her face. Part of her was delighted, while another part told her she was going to hell for this.
Hidden Content
Catherine saw Forensics finally pull up at the rear of the forecourt. She guessed they had been held up in the tailback, without the blue light to clear a path. She went outside to meet them, leaving Laura and Zoe to work on Rose Royce.
Beano was standing out on the pavement close to the exit. Catherine assumed he had walked Mrs Chalmers over there so that the ambulance would spare her – and him – a view inside the Bentley, but he was beckoning Catherine with a wave.
‘We might have caught a wee break,’ he said as she approached. ‘Mrs Chalmers was right about what she heard. Look.’
He squatted down at the end of the dwarf wall, where it resumed on the left-hand side of the exit towards the dual carriageway. It comprised red brickwork beneath a series of light grey slabs, the nearest of which was unique in having been painted white. Presumably this was to denote the inside border of the exit, or perhaps someone had intended to paint the lot and then decided he couldn’t be arsed.
‘The paint’s quite fresh, and it’s had a bash,’ Beano said, picking at it with his fingers to illustrate where it was already coming away. ‘So there will be a scrape and a transfer of paint on the left-hand flank of the shooter’s vehicle. Match the samples and we can place it here for sure.’
‘Well spotted,’ she told him. ‘And here’s just the people to tell.’
Beano glanced across to where the pathologist Cal O’Shea and his assistant Aileen Bruce were pulling on plastic overalls.
‘Yeah, I’ll direct them to the paint and you direct them to the birthday boy.’
Poor Beano. As murder scenes went, this was hardly the set of a Rob Zombie movie, but he was suffering all the same. To be fair,it wasn’t as though he had the screaming heebie-jeebies; he’d just be a lot happier once the body was covered by a sheet.
‘Officer Thompson, why don’t you take Mrs Chalmers down the road to a coffee shop and wait there until she can get someone to drive her home and sit with her?’
‘Oh, no,’ Mrs Chalmers insisted, as Catherine anticipated she would. The straight-arrow types never wanted to make a fuss, even when they were suffering from borderline post-traumatic stress disorder. ‘I can
As Jasmine changed she heard the ongoing commentary from Martin and Andy in her earpiece. The subject was doing his best to hold court in the Apple store and was starting to annoy the management, who were used to all customer adulation being focused exclusively upon their products.
Jasmine was relieved, though not surprised. If it turned out D-Blazer had blanked the Apple store and headed down to the Gallery of Modern Art to look at the latest installations, it would have ramifications for her chances of carrying this off. He was one of those London-centric wankers who thought modern everyday reality stopped at the M25, and with it his cares and woes. Galt Linklater had been given this job because it was assumed that, outside the capital, D-Blazer would be off his guard. This hypothesis would be supported by his gravitating towards regional satellites of his normal frame of reference: the Apple store, certain clothing chains, Nando’s. A trip to GoMA, for instance, might haveindicated that he was engaged with his surroundings and more switched on than they were giving him credit for. It would also have made Jasmine pass out on the spot with sheer astonishment.
She exited the changing rooms with her old clothes in the new bags, estimating from the reports that she would have time to hit the John Lewis make-up counters and let the demo girls do their worst.
Collette gave her a brief assessment as she left, succinctly passing her judgment in merely two words: ‘Hello boys.’
Jasmine just about managed to keep a smile off her face. Part of her was delighted, while another part told her she was going to hell for this.
Hidden Content
Catherine saw Forensics finally pull up at the rear of the forecourt. She guessed they had been held up in the tailback, without the blue light to clear a path. She went outside to meet them, leaving Laura and Zoe to work on Rose Royce.
Beano was standing out on the pavement close to the exit. Catherine assumed he had walked Mrs Chalmers over there so that the ambulance would spare her – and him – a view inside the Bentley, but he was beckoning Catherine with a wave.
‘We might have caught a wee break,’ he said as she approached. ‘Mrs Chalmers was right about what she heard. Look.’
He squatted down at the end of the dwarf wall, where it resumed on the left-hand side of the exit towards the dual carriageway. It comprised red brickwork beneath a series of light grey slabs, the nearest of which was unique in having been painted white. Presumably this was to denote the inside border of the exit, or perhaps someone had intended to paint the lot and then decided he couldn’t be arsed.
‘The paint’s quite fresh, and it’s had a bash,’ Beano said, picking at it with his fingers to illustrate where it was already coming away. ‘So there will be a scrape and a transfer of paint on the left-hand flank of the shooter’s vehicle. Match the samples and we can place it here for sure.’
‘Well spotted,’ she told him. ‘And here’s just the people to tell.’
Beano glanced across to where the pathologist Cal O’Shea and his assistant Aileen Bruce were pulling on plastic overalls.
‘Yeah, I’ll direct them to the paint and you direct them to the birthday boy.’
Poor Beano. As murder scenes went, this was hardly the set of a Rob Zombie movie, but he was suffering all the same. To be fair,it wasn’t as though he had the screaming heebie-jeebies; he’d just be a lot happier once the body was covered by a sheet.
‘Officer Thompson, why don’t you take Mrs Chalmers down the road to a coffee shop and wait there until she can get someone to drive her home and sit with her?’
‘Oh, no,’ Mrs Chalmers insisted, as Catherine anticipated she would. The straight-arrow types never wanted to make a fuss, even when they were suffering from borderline post-traumatic stress disorder. ‘I can
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