inflicted upon the man’s head had not been the result of an accident, and they radioed in an immediate request to their control for police attendance.
The first officers on scene were there in a matter of minutes; Pitt Street police station was only three hundred yards away.
The uniform Sergeant stooped over the prostrate body trying to make out the facial features. There was little doubt the man had taken a severe hammering, his head and face was one mass of blood and his forehead had been caved in; he was barely recognisable.
“Looks like somebody’s tap-danced on his head,” he said, glancing at his colleague, whilst slipping on a pair of latex gloves.
He began to search through the dead man’s pockets. He had already determined that if they could get some form of ID it would be a start. He found the man’s wallet in an inside jacket pocket and began rummaging through the cards. In the back section he found a laminated National Association of Retired Police Officers membership card. It grabbed his attention. He stared at the name and then at the photograph. He shot a glance back at his team-mate, his face taking on a sudden look of disbelief.
“Bloody hell I know this guy,” the sergeant exclaimed. “He was in CID at Shettlestone nick.”
By eight-fifteen pm, the full length of Sauchiehall Lane had been cordoned off; a major enquiry was underway.
- ooOoo -
CHAPTER FOUR
DAY SIX: 29 th August.
Barnwell:
Grace took a final look over her notes and then scanned the faces of her colleagues seated around the room. MIT detectives were waiting for her input. She had been given centre stage this morning; Detective Superintendent Robshaw had been called into headquarters to liase with the press office; he had a meeting booked with the local press and regional TV news teams to give an overview of the murder investigation and make an appeal for witnesses.
Grace’s stomach turned. Pangs of nervousness drifted from her gut up into her throat. This was her first up-in-front briefing and she was outside her comfort zone. Her brown eyes jumped between Mike Sampson and Tony Bullars. They were giving her their thumbs up, a ‘you-can-do-it-girl’ signal. It made her realise how much support her two team mates had given her during her spell of acting Sergeant. She returned them a grateful smile.
The three of them had not stopped over the past two days in their attempts to identify the murder weapon. She’d carved up the jobs between them. They had searched the Internet, made dozens of phone calls, and finally they had teamed up to trawl the many and varied Asian artefact and martial arts shops in both South and West Yorkshire. Their efforts had paid off. Late the previous morning they had found their answer in Bradford, in a small warehouse that sold Asian ceremonial weapons; more for show than for use. Along with a brief history of its use she had watched in amazement as one of the young male storekeepers had given them a demonstration in its application. However, there it had ended. Grace had requested a list of people who had purchased such a weapon, but the owner had explained that they only dealt in cash and kept no till receipts. Even with Mike’s veiled threats of letting the tax man know of their accounting methods, it still hadn’t take them any further forward, other than to provide the stores distribution outlet over in Pakistan. Grace and her team settled on a free gratis replica of the murder knife and left.
One light moment in their exhaustive pursuit had been when they ran into DCs Andy France and Paula Clarke from the other MIT team who were also in Bradford making enquiries into the Asian rug into which the girl’s body had been bundled. Their bumping into one another resulted in a pub lunch in Holmfirth before driving back to the office. It had given them all a well-needed break from the stresses of the investigation. The conversation over lunch got around to Hunter and the
The first officers on scene were there in a matter of minutes; Pitt Street police station was only three hundred yards away.
The uniform Sergeant stooped over the prostrate body trying to make out the facial features. There was little doubt the man had taken a severe hammering, his head and face was one mass of blood and his forehead had been caved in; he was barely recognisable.
“Looks like somebody’s tap-danced on his head,” he said, glancing at his colleague, whilst slipping on a pair of latex gloves.
He began to search through the dead man’s pockets. He had already determined that if they could get some form of ID it would be a start. He found the man’s wallet in an inside jacket pocket and began rummaging through the cards. In the back section he found a laminated National Association of Retired Police Officers membership card. It grabbed his attention. He stared at the name and then at the photograph. He shot a glance back at his team-mate, his face taking on a sudden look of disbelief.
“Bloody hell I know this guy,” the sergeant exclaimed. “He was in CID at Shettlestone nick.”
By eight-fifteen pm, the full length of Sauchiehall Lane had been cordoned off; a major enquiry was underway.
- ooOoo -
CHAPTER FOUR
DAY SIX: 29 th August.
Barnwell:
Grace took a final look over her notes and then scanned the faces of her colleagues seated around the room. MIT detectives were waiting for her input. She had been given centre stage this morning; Detective Superintendent Robshaw had been called into headquarters to liase with the press office; he had a meeting booked with the local press and regional TV news teams to give an overview of the murder investigation and make an appeal for witnesses.
Grace’s stomach turned. Pangs of nervousness drifted from her gut up into her throat. This was her first up-in-front briefing and she was outside her comfort zone. Her brown eyes jumped between Mike Sampson and Tony Bullars. They were giving her their thumbs up, a ‘you-can-do-it-girl’ signal. It made her realise how much support her two team mates had given her during her spell of acting Sergeant. She returned them a grateful smile.
The three of them had not stopped over the past two days in their attempts to identify the murder weapon. She’d carved up the jobs between them. They had searched the Internet, made dozens of phone calls, and finally they had teamed up to trawl the many and varied Asian artefact and martial arts shops in both South and West Yorkshire. Their efforts had paid off. Late the previous morning they had found their answer in Bradford, in a small warehouse that sold Asian ceremonial weapons; more for show than for use. Along with a brief history of its use she had watched in amazement as one of the young male storekeepers had given them a demonstration in its application. However, there it had ended. Grace had requested a list of people who had purchased such a weapon, but the owner had explained that they only dealt in cash and kept no till receipts. Even with Mike’s veiled threats of letting the tax man know of their accounting methods, it still hadn’t take them any further forward, other than to provide the stores distribution outlet over in Pakistan. Grace and her team settled on a free gratis replica of the murder knife and left.
One light moment in their exhaustive pursuit had been when they ran into DCs Andy France and Paula Clarke from the other MIT team who were also in Bradford making enquiries into the Asian rug into which the girl’s body had been bundled. Their bumping into one another resulted in a pub lunch in Holmfirth before driving back to the office. It had given them all a well-needed break from the stresses of the investigation. The conversation over lunch got around to Hunter and the
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