said: delegation. It was cooler in the woods, the sunlight dappling the ground at their feet, filtered through the canopy of sharp green needles.
It should have been dead quiet beneath the spiky branches, but it wasn’t. They could hear abarrage of swearing intermingled with helpful suggestions coming from up ahead. And not long after that, the smell started. It was a rancid, stomach-clenching stench. Gagging slightly, Logan tried breathing through his mouth. The taste was slightly better than the smell, but not by much.
They broke through into a small clearing, where an old pine tree had fallen like a massive wooden domino, taking a handful of smaller trees with it. Now it lay on its side, pointing back towards the track, its roots standing upright like a filthy sunburst, blocking the main attraction from view. The IB team were here, trying to manhandle a scene-of-crime tent over the bottom part of the tree, three of them heaving away at the uncooperative blue material, while another two struggled to get the remainder over the tree’s roots. Standing on the other side of the clearing was a middleaged woman dressed for the outdoors, an excitable Jack Russell terrier on a lead bouncing up and down at her feet. A young uniformed constable snapped to attention as DI Steel approached.
‘It’s OK,’ said Steel, digging out another cigarette, ‘you don’t have to curtsey.’
Grinning, the constable told them how Mrs Hendry had guided him to the spot and he’d called for the Identification Bureau as soon as he’d seen the case. A duty doctor and pathologist were on their way. As was the Procurator Fiscal.
‘Good boy,’ said Steel when he’d finished. ‘If I was DI Insch, you’d get a sweetie.’ Instead sheoffered him a fag, much to his horror. Surely it wasn’t right to smoke at a crime scene. What about contamination? ‘Aye, you’re probably right,’ said Steel, puffing away. They got Mrs Hendry to go through her version of events again. No she hadn’t touched anything; well you weren’t supposed to, were you? Not when you found a dead body in a suitcase.
Steel waited until Mrs Hendry and her little monster-dog were escorted from the premises before slouching into action.
‘Right.’ She grabbed a boiler suit from Rennie, leaning on Logan for support as she tucked her trousers into her socks and clambered into it. Once they were all suited up, only their faces showing, she stomped over to where the IB team had almost managed to get the tent erected. The air was thick with flies. ‘You lot going to be all bloody day?’ she demanded.
A thin man with a dirty-grey moustache scowled at her. ‘This isn’t easy, you know!’
‘Blah, blah, blah. You opened the suitcase yet?’ Not bloody likely was the loud reply. You never knew which pathologist you were going to get these days, and if it was that MacAlister woman you’d get your testicles in a jar for messing up her crime scene. So that suitcase was going to stay locked until she, or the duty doctor, got here. Steel stared at the red fabric case. ‘Just like Christmas Eve, isn’t it?’ she said to Logan. ‘The present’s right there under the tree, you know what’s in it,but you’re not allowed to open it till Santa’s been. Don’t suppose a small peek would hurt though, would it…’ She made for the tent’s open door, but Dirty Moustache stopped her on the threshold.
‘No,’ he told her. ‘Not till the pathologist gets here!’
‘Oh come on, it’s my crime scene! How the hell do you expect me to catch the bastard if you won’t let me have a poke about?’
‘You can poke about all you like when the pathologist says so. Until then this area will remain sealed. And anyway,’ he pointed at the cigarette bobbing away in the corner of the inspector’s mouth, ‘there’s no way you’re getting in there with that!’
‘Oh for God’s sake…’ And with that DI Steel scuffed off to smoke her fag and sulk in peace. Ten minutes, one
It should have been dead quiet beneath the spiky branches, but it wasn’t. They could hear abarrage of swearing intermingled with helpful suggestions coming from up ahead. And not long after that, the smell started. It was a rancid, stomach-clenching stench. Gagging slightly, Logan tried breathing through his mouth. The taste was slightly better than the smell, but not by much.
They broke through into a small clearing, where an old pine tree had fallen like a massive wooden domino, taking a handful of smaller trees with it. Now it lay on its side, pointing back towards the track, its roots standing upright like a filthy sunburst, blocking the main attraction from view. The IB team were here, trying to manhandle a scene-of-crime tent over the bottom part of the tree, three of them heaving away at the uncooperative blue material, while another two struggled to get the remainder over the tree’s roots. Standing on the other side of the clearing was a middleaged woman dressed for the outdoors, an excitable Jack Russell terrier on a lead bouncing up and down at her feet. A young uniformed constable snapped to attention as DI Steel approached.
‘It’s OK,’ said Steel, digging out another cigarette, ‘you don’t have to curtsey.’
Grinning, the constable told them how Mrs Hendry had guided him to the spot and he’d called for the Identification Bureau as soon as he’d seen the case. A duty doctor and pathologist were on their way. As was the Procurator Fiscal.
‘Good boy,’ said Steel when he’d finished. ‘If I was DI Insch, you’d get a sweetie.’ Instead sheoffered him a fag, much to his horror. Surely it wasn’t right to smoke at a crime scene. What about contamination? ‘Aye, you’re probably right,’ said Steel, puffing away. They got Mrs Hendry to go through her version of events again. No she hadn’t touched anything; well you weren’t supposed to, were you? Not when you found a dead body in a suitcase.
Steel waited until Mrs Hendry and her little monster-dog were escorted from the premises before slouching into action.
‘Right.’ She grabbed a boiler suit from Rennie, leaning on Logan for support as she tucked her trousers into her socks and clambered into it. Once they were all suited up, only their faces showing, she stomped over to where the IB team had almost managed to get the tent erected. The air was thick with flies. ‘You lot going to be all bloody day?’ she demanded.
A thin man with a dirty-grey moustache scowled at her. ‘This isn’t easy, you know!’
‘Blah, blah, blah. You opened the suitcase yet?’ Not bloody likely was the loud reply. You never knew which pathologist you were going to get these days, and if it was that MacAlister woman you’d get your testicles in a jar for messing up her crime scene. So that suitcase was going to stay locked until she, or the duty doctor, got here. Steel stared at the red fabric case. ‘Just like Christmas Eve, isn’t it?’ she said to Logan. ‘The present’s right there under the tree, you know what’s in it,but you’re not allowed to open it till Santa’s been. Don’t suppose a small peek would hurt though, would it…’ She made for the tent’s open door, but Dirty Moustache stopped her on the threshold.
‘No,’ he told her. ‘Not till the pathologist gets here!’
‘Oh come on, it’s my crime scene! How the hell do you expect me to catch the bastard if you won’t let me have a poke about?’
‘You can poke about all you like when the pathologist says so. Until then this area will remain sealed. And anyway,’ he pointed at the cigarette bobbing away in the corner of the inspector’s mouth, ‘there’s no way you’re getting in there with that!’
‘Oh for God’s sake…’ And with that DI Steel scuffed off to smoke her fag and sulk in peace. Ten minutes, one
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