indication of recent sexual activity. We’re fast-tracking material from her fingernails, but she has no obviously defensive bruising or wounds. We’re also waiting for toxicology. Stomach contents, supported by her bar bill, suggest she’d had a fair amount of white wine. Impossible to say if she’d added any vodka to the mix.’ Keith looked up from his notes. ‘So, last movements. Does anyone know where she was heading when she left the bar? Where did she go between leaving the bar and the discovery of her body on the demolition site just before six a.m.?’
Wendy raised a hand, and Keith gave way to the crime scene manager. ‘We can’t say for certain that’s where she was killed,’ she said. ‘Nor what time the body was left there. But the perpetrator obviously had time to arrange the body without being disturbed. Either the streets were quiet by then, or he’s a pretty cool customer.’
Keith nodded. ‘From the moment Rachel left the bar, I want to know where she went, when and with whom.’
‘We’re compiling lists of her friends and of everyone who was at the bar last night,’ Lance told him.
‘What about the bottle?’ Keith asked.
‘It was half empty, still capped. The remaining contents were vodka,’ said Wendy. ‘No prints, which suggests it was wiped clean. We’ve fast-tracked swabs for DNA. We also recovered some fibres from her clothing.’
‘Fire’n’Ice has been on special offer at Tesco since last Friday,’ said Duncan. ‘Their superstore has shifted over two hundred bottles of the stuff this week alone.’
‘We’ll have to check out every purchase,’ sighed Keith. ‘And then tie them up to any available in-store CCTV. Start with the previous twenty-four hours.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Duncan said happily.
Grace had noticed on her first day how her colleagues had smiled at one another, and she had now discovered the reason why: while Duncan undoubtedly enjoyed focusing on this kind of data-gathering for its own sake, it also meant he had to work closely with the team’s civilian case manager, Joan, for whom he apparently yearned silently and painfully. Catching Lance’s eye, Gracetook his covert wink to mean they were all rooting for this office romance.
‘There’s also a mini-market on campus that stocks the brand,’ Duncan added, oblivious. ‘They’re sending us their data.’
‘Rachel could have bought the vodka herself,’ Grace pointed out.
‘Unlikely she’d take it with her to a bar,’ said Lance.
‘Find out if anyone saw her carrying something that could’ve been a bottle,’ ordered Keith. ‘And, if we assume it was our matey, the killer, who brought it to the party, did anyone notice someone with a bottle?’
‘Was it organised or a chance encounter?’ Grace asked. ‘And if it was planned, then was Rachel the intended victim?’
Keith nodded. ‘Where and when did they meet? Was matey in the bar? Hanging about outside? If so, did anyone notice him there? How did he know where she’d be?’
‘He wiped the bottle, took time to stage the body,’ observed Lance. ‘That suggests confidence. Has he done this before?’
‘He may have just got lucky,’ warned Duncan. Grace knew he was right: they’d all been told often enough how easily an investigating officer, seduced by a narrative that slotted evidence together too neatly, could make fatal mistakes.
‘We can’t rule it out,’ said Keith. ‘So check the National Injuries Database, and with Interpol.’
Lance, pleased, made a note.
‘There’s still her underwear,’ said Wendy. ‘We haven’t found her knickers yet.’
‘He’s kept them as a trophy!’ said Lance, and was treated to a withering glance from his boss.
‘Finally, I want to know how he left the scene, and where he went then,’ ended Keith.
Aware that Lance had been fizzing with impatience to share their discoveries, Grace glanced at him; he nodded back encouragingly.
‘Boss?’ she began.
‘Yes?’
‘One of
Wendy raised a hand, and Keith gave way to the crime scene manager. ‘We can’t say for certain that’s where she was killed,’ she said. ‘Nor what time the body was left there. But the perpetrator obviously had time to arrange the body without being disturbed. Either the streets were quiet by then, or he’s a pretty cool customer.’
Keith nodded. ‘From the moment Rachel left the bar, I want to know where she went, when and with whom.’
‘We’re compiling lists of her friends and of everyone who was at the bar last night,’ Lance told him.
‘What about the bottle?’ Keith asked.
‘It was half empty, still capped. The remaining contents were vodka,’ said Wendy. ‘No prints, which suggests it was wiped clean. We’ve fast-tracked swabs for DNA. We also recovered some fibres from her clothing.’
‘Fire’n’Ice has been on special offer at Tesco since last Friday,’ said Duncan. ‘Their superstore has shifted over two hundred bottles of the stuff this week alone.’
‘We’ll have to check out every purchase,’ sighed Keith. ‘And then tie them up to any available in-store CCTV. Start with the previous twenty-four hours.’
‘Yes, boss,’ Duncan said happily.
Grace had noticed on her first day how her colleagues had smiled at one another, and she had now discovered the reason why: while Duncan undoubtedly enjoyed focusing on this kind of data-gathering for its own sake, it also meant he had to work closely with the team’s civilian case manager, Joan, for whom he apparently yearned silently and painfully. Catching Lance’s eye, Gracetook his covert wink to mean they were all rooting for this office romance.
‘There’s also a mini-market on campus that stocks the brand,’ Duncan added, oblivious. ‘They’re sending us their data.’
‘Rachel could have bought the vodka herself,’ Grace pointed out.
‘Unlikely she’d take it with her to a bar,’ said Lance.
‘Find out if anyone saw her carrying something that could’ve been a bottle,’ ordered Keith. ‘And, if we assume it was our matey, the killer, who brought it to the party, did anyone notice someone with a bottle?’
‘Was it organised or a chance encounter?’ Grace asked. ‘And if it was planned, then was Rachel the intended victim?’
Keith nodded. ‘Where and when did they meet? Was matey in the bar? Hanging about outside? If so, did anyone notice him there? How did he know where she’d be?’
‘He wiped the bottle, took time to stage the body,’ observed Lance. ‘That suggests confidence. Has he done this before?’
‘He may have just got lucky,’ warned Duncan. Grace knew he was right: they’d all been told often enough how easily an investigating officer, seduced by a narrative that slotted evidence together too neatly, could make fatal mistakes.
‘We can’t rule it out,’ said Keith. ‘So check the National Injuries Database, and with Interpol.’
Lance, pleased, made a note.
‘There’s still her underwear,’ said Wendy. ‘We haven’t found her knickers yet.’
‘He’s kept them as a trophy!’ said Lance, and was treated to a withering glance from his boss.
‘Finally, I want to know how he left the scene, and where he went then,’ ended Keith.
Aware that Lance had been fizzing with impatience to share their discoveries, Grace glanced at him; he nodded back encouragingly.
‘Boss?’ she began.
‘Yes?’
‘One of
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