The major’s tone began to grate. What was it about a certain class of people that they excluded themselves from the norms of politesse that the rest of us obeyed? ‘You’ll understand a murder investigation is a very sensitive affair and I’m bound by strict regulations and procedures.’
‘Of course, but we are both seeking the same end, as I said.’
‘I don’t see how, Major. I’m hunting the killer, not your missing squaddie. And if I was, I wouldn’t be discussing that with anyone in any way unrelated to the case.’
The line fizzed.
‘Inspector, I don’t want to get off on the wrong hoof, so to speak. I’m sure we can both be of assistance to each other in this case.’
‘Of course. And I’d like to speak to you about Darren Millar, how does tomorrow sound?’
‘What about today? I’m in your area for the next little while, I could be with you inside an hour.’
‘I’m sorry but I’m not in the office at the moment.’
‘In that case, is there somebody else? McAlister perhaps?’
‘He’s conducting a press conference today, I’m afraid.’
‘Not about the Darren Millar case, the press call, is it? I should think I’d really need to be present for that.’
Valentine glanced at McCormack, her mouth tightened. The embarrassing gall of the man might not have been close to Prince Phillip asking an Aboriginal elder if his people still chucked spears at each other, but it attracted the same derision. ‘Look, as I’ve said, Major, this is a murder investigation. Darren Millar is an integral part of our inquiry but this is not a joint inquiry we’re holding with the Royal Highland Fusiliers.’
The major’s voice rose, seemed to indicate an escalation of more than volume. ‘Valentine, who is your superior officer?’
The DI spotted McCormack fanning her hand over her mouth. He kept the tone of his reply consistent but the limits of his endurance had been surpassed. ‘I don’t believe I have one, Major. If you want my next in command, that would be Chief Superintendent Marion Martin and you can reach her through the switchboard at King Street station.’
Valentine ended the call, switched off the phone speaker.
‘What a total dick!’ said McCormack.
‘I bet he gets on great with Dino. Do me a favour, just unplug that mobile altogether, and the radio, would you?’
‘Is that wise? You know she’ll go bananas if she can’t get hold of you.’
‘Well, I’ll know it’s serious if I see blue lights flashing in the rear-view, Sylvia.’
21
DI Bob Valentine was uncomfortable in the Glasgow lab. It didn’t matter how many times he visited the place, it always felt unfamiliar. The faces changed too regularly and the white, clinical feel seemed to repel any attempt to humanise the area. No one looked happy in their starched coats, shuffling around in silence like extensions of the furniture or the equipment. The lab was like a temporary affair, like the set of a movie or a greenhouse that was only useable in the summertime, no one wanted to lay claim to it or make their mark there. In the other areas of the station, the offices, even the morgue, there were hints of humanity: coffee cups, pot plants and pictures of children. There was none of that here.
‘So cold, isn’t it?’ said Valentine.
‘I guess so. Never really thought about it,’ said DS McCormack.
‘I get the feeling that if someone came in here with a pastie from Greggs the alarms would go off.’
‘It’s a clean room, it has to be spotless.’
‘I couldn’t work here.’
‘Because you’re not spotless.’
‘Well, there’s no flies on me, but I’m far from spotless, Sylvia.’
The officers were directed to a seating area – hard blue plastic chairs – Valentine chose to stand.
‘Mike’ll be with you in a minute, he’s just printing off some of the data.’ The unsmiling twenty-something in the long white coat backed out of the door.
‘Where do they get them?’ said Valentine. ‘They seem like an altogether different species.’
‘They’re boffins, sir. It’s all those years of study that could have been spent out honing social skills.’
‘You mean while we were on the death knocks by day and the bevvy by night this lot were staring into test tubes and frothing beakers.’
‘And you called it your misspent youth, when really, it was all your societal assimilation.’
Valentine digested the remark, alighted on a choice memory from Ayr’s Bridge’s Bar but kept it to himself. ‘Makes sense. Schooling of sorts. I don’t know that my days of yore would stand me in good stead for a job in here, though.’
‘Horses for courses. We’re all toiling for the same thing now.’
‘Well, let’s just hope their microscopes have picked up something we’ve missed.’
Valentine consented to remove a blue plastic chair from its resting spot and sat opposite the DS. The little room was a slightly less sterile extension of the lab with, almost a concession to decoration, a health and safety notice behind Perspex on the wall.
The officers were growing restless as the door’s hinges wheezed and Mike Sullivan entered.
‘Bob, Sylvia, good to see you both.’
Valentine leaned out of his seat but was motioned back down. ‘No, stay where you are, you can have a look at this.’ Sullivan placed a blue folder on the table.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve typed a report already, Mike.’
‘Eh, no … that’s my notes from the lab. You’ll get the full report in due course, most likely after I’ve digested lunch and wee Kenny through there’s got to the word processor.’
‘Before we get to this, Mike, I was hoping to get the latest on what your team have made of the crime scene.’
‘Oh, yes. The blood smears and prints, that should be with you later today too. I’ll get Kenny to fire that over with the new notes.’ Sullivan put his hands in his pockets and, just as quickly, removed them. ‘Look, we’ve not found much that’s going to be of use to you, Bob.’
‘Go on anyway,’ Valentine looked at McCormack, ‘anything you say is an addition to what we have.’
‘OK, then. I can confirm the blood in those smears is definitely all from the victim, the samples match.’
‘Well I didn’t expect the perp to leave any claret at the scene, there was no indication of a struggle, didn’t even knock the sugar bowl over.’
‘Apart from the smear lines on the wall it all looked very clinical,’ said Sullivan.
‘And any prints from the smear lines?’
‘We only recovered one full set of prints. Female. And, Bob, I’m sorry but she’s not on record.’
‘Bloody lovely, that. And there was me getting my hopes up.’
‘We got fairly good enlargements from the wall plaster, that should be of some use to you.’
‘If we find their owner, you mean.’ Valentine leaned forward to pick up the folder and scan the contents; his hopeful gaze raced. ‘A serrated-edge knife.’
‘Well that matches, there were scraping wounds,’ said DS McCormack.
‘I’d sooner it matched a set from the kitchen, the missing one from a complete set, and that it had fingerprints on it.’
Sullivan spoke: ‘We’ve not been that lucky, Bob.’
‘I see that,’ he held up a page, ‘no trace evidence recovered.’
‘Nothing to link to the killer. Certainly not at this stage.’
Valentine shoved in the stray page and threw down the folder. ‘Meaning?’
‘I mean, it’s possible we could recover blood or tissue beneath the handle but we haven’t got that far yet, it’s a lengthy process and there’s still a few options before we get there.’
‘I’d need a killer in custody to make that stick, preferably with a confession unless their DNA’s on there too.’
Sullivan retrieved the folder from the table, patted down the pages and tucked it under his arm. His tone was breathy, carried on the back of a sigh. ‘That would be a long shot, all the samples I’ve seen taken from knives in water have been the result of deep blows into soft tissue, hard and repeated impacts. If we find anything now it’s likely to be the victim’s residue, not the one you’re looking for.’