“So I heard. And the same car could be linked to another murder just off Sauchiehall Street. We’ve got CCTV evidence of a silver BMW driving away close to the scene around the time of the murder. We’re currently enhancing the images for a reg number and to see if we can identify the driver. My team are dealing with that. I suppose you’ve heard that the victim was also a retired cop?”
“Aye.”
“Well this latest killing is going to grab you as well. I’ve just been told he’s a retired DS who also used to work out of Shettlestone CID. He retired back in nineteen-ninety-four. Whoever killed him has left him in a right old mess. I’ve not been inside yet, Forensics are setting up the foot plates for us to walk around the scene, but they’ve said it’s a bad one.”
DI Alex McBride’s response momentarily rocked her back on her heels.
Three retired detectives murdered, and all from the same station.
CHAPTER NINE
DAY THIRTEEN: 5th September.
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Standing in the lounge of the pub holding onto a near empty beer glass Hunter’s thoughts drifted away, his inner vision somewhere else; his mind was revisiting the images he had seen on several occasions that morning.
The bound book of colour photographs had been waiting for him on his desk and he had viewed them the minute he had got in. He had been so impressed with the finished look of Frankie Oliver’s work. Especially at the life-like features she had managed to form on the reconstructed head of their victim.
He had marvelled at the artistry of the work so-much-so that he had immediately phoned her up, and as one artist to another he had applauded her skills.
The photo’s had been referred to at the morning’s briefing. The Chief Superintendent had told the team that these were going out on the local news broadcast later that evening.
That announcement had caught Hunter by surprise and he had shot out straight after briefing to get a set over to Zita at The Chronicle; the last thing he wanted was for her to see them on the TV when she hadn’t got her own copies as he had promised.
As he hung around the bar he wondered if his partner Grace would be on the local news broadcast. He recollected the conversation they had had three days previously. He recalled how nervous she had been as she had told him that the boss had requested that she should join him for her first experience of a press conference at the scene of a crime. And he hadn’t spoken with her since. He’d been so wrapped up in the incident with his father that he had forgotten to ask her how it had gone.
“Penny for them Hunter.”
He hadn’t spotted Grace coming towards him until she spoke.
“Crikey you made me jump! I was just thinking about you and your fifteen minutes of fame.” He pointed to a large wall mounted plasma TV playing without sound. He could see that the National news was on. “Are we going to see your bright cherubic features then this evening?”
She dug his arm.
“Hey less of the cherubic. That means fat doesn’t it?” She took a drink from her glass of white wine. “After spending all morning with Mr Robshaw the other day I didn’t even get a look-in with any of the TV crews. It was a waste of bloody time. And I’d got myself all done up for it as well.”
Hunter broke into a smile. He knew what his partner was like for her make-up and fashion, even on a normal working day. He guessed she would have spent hours the night before sorting out a suitable wardrobe for her debut TV appearance. Here she was telling him that she hadn’t even managed to get a look-in.
“That’s because to the press you’re a lowly detective, whilst he’s an interesting, high ranking, Detective Superintendent, who’s running a murder enquiry.”
“Are you saying I’m uninteresting?” She dug Hunter again. “It’s us who does the leg work and solves the crime.”
“Ha but that’s not what the public think.” He lifted the pint glass to his mouth and drained the last dregs of his beer. He thrust forward his empty glass. “Fancy another?”
He watched her swill the remnants of the Chardonnay around the bottom of her glass before swallowing the last mouthful. “Just get me a coke. I’ll have that then make tracks home, I daren’t be late this evening I made a promise to take the girls out for a bite to eat. Besides I need to catch up with Dave, things have not been easy over the past couple of weeks.”
“Know that feeling. The job just gets a hold of you doesn’t it? I sometimes wonder why Beth puts up with me.”
“Must be those rugged good looks!”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he said taking the empty wine glass from her. “One more won’t do you any harm.”
“Oh, go on then, you’ve twisted my arm. Then I definitely must go.”
Hunter yawed his way to the bar. The MIT team had virtually taken over one half of the lounge. They had broken away from work early to have a couple of swift drinks, and to watch their SIOs appeal on the local news broadcast, before they all headed for their homes.
Some of them were hanging on to another funny story from Mike Sampson, whilst others were chatting in general.
He knew it was these moments that bonded a team.
Hunter squeezed himself between a small group of regulars who had congregated at the bar and caught the eye of one of the bar staff. He ordered a pint of Timothy Taylor for himself and a glass of Chardonnay for Grace. As he thrust his hands into his pocket for loose change a loud cheer and several wolf-whistles went up behind him. He spun round to see a sea of detectives faces all transfixed on the television screen. Someone shouted to the bar-staff ‘to ‘turn it up’ and Hunter began to decipher the sound. The shot was panning in on their Senior Investigating Officer, Detective Superintendent Michael Robshaw, and the announcer said they were speaking from the lakeside at Barnwell Country Park. The newscaster was dubbing the storyline ‘The Lady in the Lake.’
The SIO was commenting on the status of the enquiry and as he began to make his plea for witnesses the scene panned out and was replaced by the stills of the reconstructed face of their victim. Blown up and backlit by the television the result looked spectacular.
Someone just has to recognise this lady he thought.
CHAPTER TEN
DAY FOURTEEN: 6th September.
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Hunter never heard Grace approaching, his thoughts were elsewhere and he jumped as she slapped a fresh sheet of paper on top of the small pile of vehicle enquiry forms he was checking. The paperwork had been left on his desk from the previous day’s tasks carried out by Mike Sampson and Tony Bullars and he was checking if all the outstanding enquiries had been completed before he handed them over to the DI.
“Come on get your lazy butt in gear, we’ve got a prime witness to interview.” She stabbed at the pink coloured form she had deposited across his papers.
As Hunter started to read she snatched it up. “Isobel from the HOLMES team has just handed this to me, she said it’s the breakthrough we’ve been after.”
He tried to grab back the paper she was waving but she spun quickly away snatching her jacket from the back of her seat with her free hand. She fixed him a look. “What are you waiting for Sarge?”
He picked up his own coat and wrestled the car keys out from a pocket before following on her heels out of the office.
* * * * *
“Are you going to tell me what we’ve got then?” Hunter asked as he swung the CID car out through the gates of the station’s rear yard and drove towards the traffic lights that gave them access to the main road. “All you’ve said so far is drive to the hospital.”