there still wasn’t a decent witness in sight. What was he to expect though? After all, most people in Bullsmead had criminal records themselves.
He briefly wondered what the DIs in the plusher areas of GMP were currently dealing with, in the likes of Altrincham, Hazel Grove and Ramsbottom. He guessed it wouldn’t be this shit. Nonetheless, this was the kind of work for which he’d joined up in the first place and he was more determined than ever to keep proving himself as a decent detective, and now a leader.
With Cunningham and the rest of the brass breathing down his neck, he knew he’d have to put the hours in on this one. It had already been a long day and he decided he would have a chat with newsagent Khalid Khan first thing in the morning. That was one of numerous outstanding actions they’d set up on HOLMES, the Home Office Large Major Enquiries System. The database offered greater inter-force co-operation, since the likes of the notorious Yorkshire Ripper, Peter Sutcliffe, and Soham child murderer Ian Huntley had slipped through the net.
The results of the fingerprint CSI had lifted from items scattered around the crime scene would be back late tomorrow at the earliest. The DNA from cigarette stubs and the discarded lager bottle, maybe the day after. But Striker was impatient and needed to know now so he could look for links, motives, and begin piecing the jigsaw together.
Home Office pathologist Sidney Mortham’s initial examination had established the boy, as strongly suspected, had only just died, at approximately 22:15 hours. The deceased had been struck by a “long thin-ish weapon” at least a dozen times, about the head, face and upper body. This had caused extensive swelling to the brain and more fractures and breaks than Mortham as yet could count. In addition, there had also been repeated strikes to the kneecaps, shattering both.
Someone was seriously miffed, thought Striker, as he dropped the coffee-drenched tissue into the bin beside his desk. Cunningham, or Mr Brennan, would arrange a vague press release in conjunction with the Press Office, a necessity to prevent the media from speculating and possibly hindering the investigation.
Tapping away on his keyboard, he pensively concluded a laborious initial write-up on the crime of murder, when he heard a tentative knock on his office door.
“Come in.”
Striker was pleased to see DC Lauren Collinge enter, clutching her turquoise A4 daybook.
Collinge had already proven herself as a thorough and competent investigator in her relatively short stint in the CID office with Striker. It was just over a year ago that she’d left the uniform behind after five years on the streets. Being the newest detective in the MIT office – Striker apart – he knew Collinge was probably as apprehensive as he was regarding this current case. After all, he’d only just filled his desk himself three days ago and didn’t quite feel at home yet. A few eyebrows were raised when Collinge had been the one to follow him into the office to replace a retiree, considering her inexperience.
Throughout his career he’d always had faith in his team to produce and hoped this would be the same with the team he’d inherited. He knew a few of them well and was confident in their abilities.
Collinge’s confidence had grown, under Striker’s guidance, during their time in CID. Once she’d played integral roles in sending down several violent offenders, she’d blossomed as a detective and been quickly accepted by her colleagues. This was an achievement in itself, considering some of the hard-nosed characters in the office. She’d never once whinged at getting the shitty end of the stick when initially performing the more menial tasks. This had freed others up to do ‘proper police work’ and had enhanced her standing considerably.
Collinge was a single twenty-five-year-old and had her own apartment in prosperous Wilmslow, Cheshire. From what Striker had gathered, she
He briefly wondered what the DIs in the plusher areas of GMP were currently dealing with, in the likes of Altrincham, Hazel Grove and Ramsbottom. He guessed it wouldn’t be this shit. Nonetheless, this was the kind of work for which he’d joined up in the first place and he was more determined than ever to keep proving himself as a decent detective, and now a leader.
With Cunningham and the rest of the brass breathing down his neck, he knew he’d have to put the hours in on this one. It had already been a long day and he decided he would have a chat with newsagent Khalid Khan first thing in the morning. That was one of numerous outstanding actions they’d set up on HOLMES, the Home Office Large Major Enquiries System. The database offered greater inter-force co-operation, since the likes of the notorious Yorkshire Ripper, Peter Sutcliffe, and Soham child murderer Ian Huntley had slipped through the net.
The results of the fingerprint CSI had lifted from items scattered around the crime scene would be back late tomorrow at the earliest. The DNA from cigarette stubs and the discarded lager bottle, maybe the day after. But Striker was impatient and needed to know now so he could look for links, motives, and begin piecing the jigsaw together.
Home Office pathologist Sidney Mortham’s initial examination had established the boy, as strongly suspected, had only just died, at approximately 22:15 hours. The deceased had been struck by a “long thin-ish weapon” at least a dozen times, about the head, face and upper body. This had caused extensive swelling to the brain and more fractures and breaks than Mortham as yet could count. In addition, there had also been repeated strikes to the kneecaps, shattering both.
Someone was seriously miffed, thought Striker, as he dropped the coffee-drenched tissue into the bin beside his desk. Cunningham, or Mr Brennan, would arrange a vague press release in conjunction with the Press Office, a necessity to prevent the media from speculating and possibly hindering the investigation.
Tapping away on his keyboard, he pensively concluded a laborious initial write-up on the crime of murder, when he heard a tentative knock on his office door.
“Come in.”
Striker was pleased to see DC Lauren Collinge enter, clutching her turquoise A4 daybook.
Collinge had already proven herself as a thorough and competent investigator in her relatively short stint in the CID office with Striker. It was just over a year ago that she’d left the uniform behind after five years on the streets. Being the newest detective in the MIT office – Striker apart – he knew Collinge was probably as apprehensive as he was regarding this current case. After all, he’d only just filled his desk himself three days ago and didn’t quite feel at home yet. A few eyebrows were raised when Collinge had been the one to follow him into the office to replace a retiree, considering her inexperience.
Throughout his career he’d always had faith in his team to produce and hoped this would be the same with the team he’d inherited. He knew a few of them well and was confident in their abilities.
Collinge’s confidence had grown, under Striker’s guidance, during their time in CID. Once she’d played integral roles in sending down several violent offenders, she’d blossomed as a detective and been quickly accepted by her colleagues. This was an achievement in itself, considering some of the hard-nosed characters in the office. She’d never once whinged at getting the shitty end of the stick when initially performing the more menial tasks. This had freed others up to do ‘proper police work’ and had enhanced her standing considerably.
Collinge was a single twenty-five-year-old and had her own apartment in prosperous Wilmslow, Cheshire. From what Striker had gathered, she
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