At least he’d stopped adding his job title; maybe he was loosening up a bit? ‘Warmest wishes’, though...
Charlie sooked a breath in through his teeth. ‘I hope that’s not some sort of bribe, Detective Sergeant. Or have you landed yourself a boyfriend?’
‘Oh, bugger off.’
The Duty Sergeant went back to his sudoku. ‘Charmed, I’m sure.’
Charlie leaned against the filing cabinet, arms folded, watching as Lucy swallowed a couple of paracetamol and unpacked her new phone. Not the cheapest model in the shop, but nothing too fancy either. It was SIM-free, so she fiddled the one out of her old mobile and slid that into the vacant slot. Clicked the back into place again.
She’d grabbed an abandoned office on the second floor, its usual occupant off on the sick and probably never coming back. They hadn’t made much of an effort to personalize the place, before they’d left — just a couple of wilting pot plants and a framed photo of the Queen shaking hands with some auld wifie in an ugly hat.
It was a bit of a fight, getting all the phone’s bits and bobs out of their plastic tombs, but eventually she had her new handset plugged in and charging.
‘There.’ Lucy powered up the office’s ancient creaky desktop and logged in. Left it chugging while she smiled at Charlie in what was hopefully a very annoying manner. ‘Figured it out yet?’
A shrug. ‘I’m in no rush.’
Lucy called up the missing-persons database and sent a search scurrying off through its rows and columns.
A knock on the door and the Dunk appeared, bringing a couple of coffees with him and what looked like a packet of fancy biscuits. ‘How’s the head?’ He gave her one of the mugs, then held the biscuits up like a captured flag. ‘Wagon Wheels! But don’t tell Backshift, OK? They’ll think it was Smith’s team of shiftless thieving bastards.’
‘Oh dear...’
Lucy glanced at Charlie, then back to the Dunk. ‘Constable Fraser, while I appreciate the joke, I’m sure you actually brought these in from home, or bought them on your way to work, as you would never steal biscuits from another shift. Especially not when there are members of Professional Standards’ — jerking her eyes in Charlie’s direction — ‘knocking about.’
‘Ah. Yes.’ The Dunk nodded. ‘In that case, I absolutely didn’t pinch them.’
Charlie shook his head. ‘It’s all right, I’ll overlook the petty Wagon-Wheel-flavoured larceny this time. I’m only supposed to be observing, so why don’t you both just pretend I’m not here? Won’t say another word.’
‘Good.’ Lucy poked at the keyboard again, but nothing was coming back.
‘Oh, before I forget, Stan’s looking for you, and...’ The Dunk reached into his pocket and came out with a jewel case. ‘... PC Manson dropped this off. Said he’s been rummaging through the files and found that. It’s a DVD of Benedict Strachan’s interviews and there might be some CCTV on there, too.’
She took the case, turning it over to frown at the hand-printed evidence label. ‘Where’s the rest of it? The transcripts, door-to-doors, impact assessments, shift rosters, reports, actions?’
A shrug. ‘Maybe the mice ate it?’ The Dunk sidled his way around the desk till he could see the screen. ‘What you doing?’
‘Trying to get the misper database to work.’ Poking at the keyboard again.
The Dunk cricked his head from side to side. ‘Budge over and let the search-meister have a crack.’ He settled into her vacated seat, hands poised like a two-fingered concert pianist. ‘What am I looking for?’
‘All missing-persons reports in the last five months where a relative or loved one didn’t report them missing.’
‘Hmmmm...’ His fingers stayed where they were. ‘Not as easy as you’d think. I mean, imagine you work in Burger King and your shift manager reports you missing: how are we to know if you’re boinking them in the walk-in fridge, on the boxes of wee individual tomato-sauce sachets?’
Charlie raised a hand. ‘Those wouldn’t be in the fridge. They’re pasteurized so you can store them at room temperature. The mayonnaise and mustard, too.’
Lucy stared at him.
‘What? Oh, right: not saying another word.’ Miming padlocking his lips.
‘Tell you what’ — the Dunk’s two fingers clattered across the keys — ‘how about we start by eliminating everyone who’s got the same last name as the person they’ve reported missing, or who’s listed as next of kin?’ He sat back and nodded at the screen. ‘Since April, that leaves us with ninety-two.’
‘What about boyfriends, girlfriends, that kind of thing?’
‘There’s a box you can put “relationship to the missing person” in, but half the buggers never bother.’ More clattering. ‘OK, that takes us down to forty-one.’
‘They’ve got to say where they live when they report it, right? Abby Geddes is the only victim who lived at home, so get rid of anyone living at the same address as their misper.’
‘Dinky-doo... There we go: we’re down to nine.’
‘Bring them up.’
‘Mr Printer, do your thing.’ The Dunk hit a button, then sat back and gulped down half his coffee as the machine in the corner clanked and whirred. ‘I take it you want a pool car, to go a-visiting?’
‘Ring round first: see if anyone’s turned up back home, but they haven’t bothered to tell us yet.’
‘Sarge.’ He took his coffee, the printouts, and the packet of Wagon Wheels with him.
Charlie gave Lucy a slow round of applause. ‘Have to admit I’m impressed. Let me guess: you said the shortest time the Bloodsmith’s gone without killing anyone is three months — Jane Cooper in January, Craig Thorburn in April — but he’s been getting quicker, hasn’t he? Six months between Abby Geddes and Bruce Malloch, five between him and Adam Holmes, four between him and Jane Cooper, three between her and Craig Thorburn, but four between Thorburn and Malcolm Louden.’ A nod. ‘Everyone assumed the Bloodsmith took a break, but you think he’s killed someone else, don’t you? Between Craig and Malcolm. And as he likes them lonely, you went looking for someone whose friends and family didn’t care enough to report them missing.’
Damn straight.
‘Assuming they’ve been reported missing at all.’ Lucy logged out and powered the computer down. ‘We’ve probably got about fifteen minutes, so if you want to go stretch your legs, now’s the time to do it.’
‘You know it’s a long shot, don’t you?’
‘Better than nothing.’ Making for the door. ‘Out front: fifteen minutes. And if you’re not there, we’re going without you.’ She slipped into the corridor, shutting the office door behind her, leaving him inside. Shame she couldn’t lock him in there, too.
Instead, Lucy hurried along the corridor and into the stairwell.
Footsteps echoed up from the floor below, getting further away with every step.
‘Dunk?’ She rushed down the first flight, wheeched around the corner onto the next.
The Dunk was on the landing below, printouts tucked under his arm, looking up as she clattered towards him. ‘Sarge?’
She didn’t stop. ‘Change of plan — we’ll call from the car.’
‘But I was going for a—’
‘Arse in gear, Constable!’
‘Urgh... Yes, Sarge.’
And with any luck, they’d be long gone before that right and proper Charlie from Professional Standards even noticed they were missing.
27
Lucy hunkered down in the passenger seat, watching as Divisional Headquarters shrank in the rear-view mirror.