Tudor turned his back on her and frowned out the kitchen window. Never a good sign when a senior officer wouldn’t look you in the eye. ‘What do we know about this Dr John Christianson?’
OK...
She’d just cracked the whole sodding case, so why was Tudor acting like someone had jammed a jagged stick up his backside?
‘He’s a psychology lecturer at Oldcastle Dundas University, runs three or four studies a term, using students and members of the public as subjects. They get paid a small fee; he uses their data to apply for research grants and publish papers. Took a leave of absence nine weeks ago to look after his dad while his mother’s having chemo.’
A nod.
‘Only, when I checked: his mum’s been dead six years, and his dad’s in a home down south. Bristol, to be exact. They say Christianson hasn’t visited since before the pandemic. So best guess is—’
‘He thought we were getting close, and he did a runner.’ Tudor unfolded his arms, leaning both fists on the worktop. Still staring out at the rain. ‘Bet he hasn’t been back here in nearly two months. He’s found himself another lair; could be anywhere by now.’
‘Only we know he’s still local. He’s been following me. Saw him this afternoon outside Craig Thorburn’s flat.’
Tudor groaned, back hunched as if she’d just dumped a huge load on those broad shoulders. ‘You saw him?’
‘Well, I didn’t know he was the Bloodsmith at that point, did I? Thought he was some thug Sarah Black hired. Didn’t find out who he really was till we went to the university.’ Lucy stiffened her back, chin up. ‘You want to tell me why you’re acting like I just poisoned your dog?’
‘I spoke to your therapist. Again.’ A proper growl worked its way into Tudor’s voice. ‘Dr Abernathy says you’ve never even—’
‘Abernathy? Who the hell is Dr Abernathy?’
‘YOUR THERAPIST!’ At that, Tudor did turn around, fists trembling. ‘Jesus, Lucy, how am I supposed to trust you, when you—’
‘Oh for... I was assigned to Dr McNaughton! And I know he sends in reports every week, because Professional Standards have been reading the damn things. You’ve been chasing up the wrong bloody psychologist!’
He froze. Cleared his throat. ‘McNaughton?’
‘Typical!’ Lucy stormed out of the room, down the hall, and out into the SEB marquee again.
The Dunk was loitering by the front flap, staring at her like a lost little boy. ‘Sarge? Are you...’
You know what? Screw him: Tudor didn’t deserve to get off that easily.
‘Sarge?’
Lucy turned around and marched back into the kitchen. Right up to DI Tudor. Poking him in the chest hard enough to make him flinch. ‘How dare you!’
‘I... They told me Dr Abernathy—’
‘How can you “trust me”?’ Jabbing her poking finger towards the garage this time. ‘I JUST FOUND YOU THE FUCKING BLOODSMITH!’
‘Lucy, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—’
‘If it wasn’t for me and the Dunk, they’d be using this case to bury you. And you know that’s the only reason they put you in sole charge. You’re here as a scapegoat for when this whole operation dissolves into a festering pile of shite!’
He put his hands up. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry, it’s—’
‘But we just saved your arse.’
Rain hissed against the kitchen window.
Through in the garage, one of the SEB launched into a muted a cappella version of an old Coldplay song.
The miserable sheep bleated in the field behind the house.
Tudor stared at his blue plastic booties, Tyvek suit rustling as he brought his shoulders up. ‘I’m sorry.’
Should bloody well think so too.
He huffed out a breath. ‘Look, it’s...’ He stared at the closed kitchen door, as the Dunk’s voice rattled down the corridor, unnaturally loud.
‘Assistant Chief Constable Cormac-Fordyce, how nice to see you again, sir.’
Their very own canary in the coal mine.
‘Sodding hell.’ Tudor curled forwards for a moment, hands twisting into blue-nitrile claws — then straightened up. Stared at the ceiling for a couple of breaths. ‘Why me?’ A heavy sigh and he was back again. ‘Look, the scene examiners are going to be a while before they come up with anything. Hours. Why don’t you check up on the lookout requests and call it a day?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘So now you’re trying to get rid of me.’
‘I’m trying to say, “Well done.” I’m trying to say, “Thank you,” and, “I’m sorry.”’ He sagged. ‘You did a damn good job today — you and DC Fraser. They’ll probably bump you up to DI for this, and you’ll deserve it.’ A sigh. ‘Now go have some time off. Rest. Back in tomorrow, seven sharp, and we’ll see if we can’t finally catch this bastard. OK?’
She gave him a one-shoulder shrug. ‘Yeah.’
‘Good. Now we need to—’
The kitchen door thumped open and there was the man himself, ACC Cormac-Fordyce. The full SOC get-up might have rendered him anonymous, but it couldn’t conceal the posh Invernesian accent. ‘DI Tudor.’ A pause. ‘Alasdair. I understand congratulations are in order: you’ve identified the Bloodsmith!’
‘Actually, it was DS McVeigh and DC Fraser.’ Pointing at Lucy.
‘Good man. A successful general always gives his troops the credit.’ The ACC turned and graced Lucy with a small nod. ‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t my almost fellow pupil. So, you managed to crack the case with the aid of this DC...?’
‘Fraser.’ She hooked a thumb towards the front of the house. ‘That was him outside.’
‘Of course it was. Excellent work, the pair of you.’
‘Right, well, if you’ll excuse me.’ Tudor headed for the garage. ‘I’d better go see how the team’s getting on.’
‘Yes, of course.’ The ACC stayed where he was. ‘I’ll join you in a minute. Just want to have a quick word with the Detective Sergeant here.’
Soon as Tudor was out of the room, Assistant Chief Constable Cormac-Fordyce leaned back against the worktop. ‘Alone at last.’
Why did that sound like a bad thing?
‘Sir?’
‘I have to say that I’m impressed, DS McVeigh, or can I call you Lucy?’ He didn’t wait for permission, but then some men never did. ‘Seventeen months this investigation’s been spinning its wheels, but here we are, standing in the Bloodsmith’s kitchen. All because you figured it out.’ He tilted his head to one side, looking her up and down. ‘I understand you’re on the graduate fast-track programme, Lucy. How would you like to accelerate that even more? I’m always looking for high-fliers — or more accurately, high-achievers — to join my team at Gartcosh.’ The ACC made a little see-saw motion with one gloved hand. ‘It’s clear that DI Tudor, though he means well, is perhaps... a little less suited to the rigours of command than someone with your talents. Perhaps you’d flourish in a more constructive environment? Out from his shadow.’
‘And into yours?’
‘Only in that you’d be under my wing, Lucy. It would mean promotion, of course. “Inspector McVeigh” has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?’
Had to admit that it did. And a good few years ahead of plan, too. Just a shame that she’d have to work for this slimy tit.
‘My team has a... let’s call it a “roving brief”. It allows us to get involved in all sorts of interesting things and I think someone of your unique abilities would fit in very well indeed.’ He turned to look out the window, at the soggy sheep, his voice light and nonchalant. ‘Tell me, yesterday, when you said you’d been out to St Nicholas College, why was that?’