picked up a large manila folder. ‘Constable Fraser, if you would be good enough to appendthese PM images to the second of our boards there in number order. Could you . . . sorry, what’s your name?’ He was looking at the DC, who was standing shyly to one side.
‘Dunn, sir, Mary Dunn.’
Daley handed her the pictures of the victim that had been taken by SOCO on the beach. She affixed them to the first clear-board, and then stood waiting for further instructions.
‘OK, DC Dunn.’ He threw a white marker pen at the young detective, which she caught deftly. ‘Please write up all relevant information that we know for sure, such as time, date, method of discovery and so on. Which of you is the computer buff?’
A slight, pale-faced DC, whose pock-marked face gave him the look of a teenager he couldn’t be, stuck his hand in the air. ‘Me, sir, Neil Cluckie.’
‘OK, Neil, you’re responsible for updating the database, at least until we can see where we’re going with this. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what’s required, but I know different investigators have different standards, so in this case I want everything put in there: who we interview, when and why, the statement itself, the opinions of the interviewing officers, feelings. I hope you all know how important feelings and instinct are in this job.’ Heads nodded vigorously. He walked over to the window, which looked from their elevated position straight down the sunny main street of the town. The road was busy with cars, the pavements an unexpected throng of people, which surprised him. ‘Is it always this busy here? Fuck me, there’s over two hundred shopping days till Christmas.’
‘It’s Thursday, sir,’ came the familiar voice of DC Fraser. ‘The local paper comes out about ten every Thursdaymorning. Everyone rushes out to buy it. It’s like a local community event.’
‘From my brief experience of your lovely town, I would have thought a newspaper was the last thing they needed. Everyone seems so well informed.’ Daley was only half joking. Tightknit they may be, but in small communities like this, information changed hands so much that some of it must eventually come the way of the police. He turned back to face his new team. ‘Right, let’s get this show on the road.’
It took him a couple of hours to get them on track. Cluckie remained in the office updating the database, while DCs Dunn and Keith, another large, agricultural type, were sent to every shop, pub, office and café, in fact anywhere that someone may have heard, seen or been told something of relevance. Daley called the Public Relations Unit and arranged for a press conference to be held in Kinloch the following day.
It turned out that the two uniformed cops had to spell another who was guarding the locus; and in the likely event of the investigation continuing over the weekend, all three would be required to bolster what seemed like a considerable show of strength in the face of the unruly revellers of the town. In short, he was woefully undermanned. He sent an email detailing this fact, along with a short summary of his run-in with MacLeod to Superintendent Donald. Pass the buck – he had enough to do without coping with bruised egos or preening selfishness. He was pretty sure that Donald would appreciate all this.
His next visit was to the harbour master. Now they knew that the body had spent at least twelve hours in the sea, he wanted some idea as to where their victim may have entered thewater. ‘The harbour master’s office is on the pier, right?’ This question was addressed to Fraser, whom he had chosen as his local guide and adviser.
‘Yes, sir. Do you want to check into the hotel en route? It’s on the way.’
‘Not just now, Archie. Get one of the uniforms to take my bags down, and tell them I’ll want some food later. I fancy a stroll down to the pier. It’s a nice day after all, and I want to try and get a feel of the place.’
They
‘Dunn, sir, Mary Dunn.’
Daley handed her the pictures of the victim that had been taken by SOCO on the beach. She affixed them to the first clear-board, and then stood waiting for further instructions.
‘OK, DC Dunn.’ He threw a white marker pen at the young detective, which she caught deftly. ‘Please write up all relevant information that we know for sure, such as time, date, method of discovery and so on. Which of you is the computer buff?’
A slight, pale-faced DC, whose pock-marked face gave him the look of a teenager he couldn’t be, stuck his hand in the air. ‘Me, sir, Neil Cluckie.’
‘OK, Neil, you’re responsible for updating the database, at least until we can see where we’re going with this. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what’s required, but I know different investigators have different standards, so in this case I want everything put in there: who we interview, when and why, the statement itself, the opinions of the interviewing officers, feelings. I hope you all know how important feelings and instinct are in this job.’ Heads nodded vigorously. He walked over to the window, which looked from their elevated position straight down the sunny main street of the town. The road was busy with cars, the pavements an unexpected throng of people, which surprised him. ‘Is it always this busy here? Fuck me, there’s over two hundred shopping days till Christmas.’
‘It’s Thursday, sir,’ came the familiar voice of DC Fraser. ‘The local paper comes out about ten every Thursdaymorning. Everyone rushes out to buy it. It’s like a local community event.’
‘From my brief experience of your lovely town, I would have thought a newspaper was the last thing they needed. Everyone seems so well informed.’ Daley was only half joking. Tightknit they may be, but in small communities like this, information changed hands so much that some of it must eventually come the way of the police. He turned back to face his new team. ‘Right, let’s get this show on the road.’
It took him a couple of hours to get them on track. Cluckie remained in the office updating the database, while DCs Dunn and Keith, another large, agricultural type, were sent to every shop, pub, office and café, in fact anywhere that someone may have heard, seen or been told something of relevance. Daley called the Public Relations Unit and arranged for a press conference to be held in Kinloch the following day.
It turned out that the two uniformed cops had to spell another who was guarding the locus; and in the likely event of the investigation continuing over the weekend, all three would be required to bolster what seemed like a considerable show of strength in the face of the unruly revellers of the town. In short, he was woefully undermanned. He sent an email detailing this fact, along with a short summary of his run-in with MacLeod to Superintendent Donald. Pass the buck – he had enough to do without coping with bruised egos or preening selfishness. He was pretty sure that Donald would appreciate all this.
His next visit was to the harbour master. Now they knew that the body had spent at least twelve hours in the sea, he wanted some idea as to where their victim may have entered thewater. ‘The harbour master’s office is on the pier, right?’ This question was addressed to Fraser, whom he had chosen as his local guide and adviser.
‘Yes, sir. Do you want to check into the hotel en route? It’s on the way.’
‘Not just now, Archie. Get one of the uniforms to take my bags down, and tell them I’ll want some food later. I fancy a stroll down to the pier. It’s a nice day after all, and I want to try and get a feel of the place.’
They
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