Sacrifice

'Is he still going with his practical-joke theory?'

Kenn nodded. 'I think he's right, don't you? Why would the killer, assuming he's still around, take such a huge risk? Supposing you'd seen him last night.'

Then I'd be dead right now.

Andy's done his best to keep details under wraps,' continued Gifford, 'but this is a small place. Things get out. Any number of people might know that you found the body, about the missing heart, about her stomach contents. As jokes go it's not particularly tasteful but there are some very odd people around.'

And I'm not exactly Miss Popular.'

'Oh, I don't know.' He stood up. 'You need somewhere to sleep tonight,' he said. 'I'd offer my spare room, but I'm not sure how that would go down with Duncan.'

Suddenly I couldn't look at him.

'Is Inspector Dunn making much progress with the murder investigation?' I asked, partly because I was sure the island police would have been more forthcoming with one of their own than they had been with me, and partly because a change of subject seemed to be called for.

'They've pretty much ruled out the victim being a local woman,' he said. 'She matches no one on the missing-persons list. Andy has his team combing similar lists for the rest of the UK. When they find a possible match they'll use dental records to confirm identity.'

Dental records that were, at that moment, in my briefcase. I must have looked guilty as hell, but if he noticed he gave no sign.

'It's not exciting, it's not glamorous, but it's good solid police work and sooner or later it should get results.'

'You'd think so, but…' I stopped. Kenn had known Dunn since school, he'd known me for a matter of days. Where did I really think his loyalty was going to lie?

'But what?' he prompted.

'It just seems… sometimes I think…' I stopped. Kenn was looking at me, waiting for me to go on. I was in for it now. 'He just doesn't seem to be taking it terribly seriously. First the body was an archeological find, then the victim couldn't possibly be local, and then last night was a practical joke. It's like he's trying to play it down all the time, make out it's less serious than it is.'

Kenn was frowning at me, but whether he didn't believe me and was annoyed, or whether he did and was alarmed, I really couldn't tell.

'Dana Tulloch thinks so too,' I went on. 'She hasn't said anything, she's far too professional for that, but I can tell the way she's thinking sometimes.'

He sighed. 'Tora, there's something you need to know about Sergeant Tulloch.'

'What?'

'I'm probably breaking all sorts of professional confidences now but, well, Andy Dunn and I go back a long way'

'I know. You all do up here.'

He smiled. 'This is not Dana's first sergeant's job. She was a sergeant in Dundee. She also did a spell in Manchester. Neither job worked out and she agreed to two transfers. I get the impression this is her last chance in the force.'

I was amazed. 'But she's just so… competent.'

'Oh, she's bright enough. IQ off the stratosphere. One of the reasons she's lasted so long. But there are other problems.'

'Such as?' I didn't like this. The previous day I'd found myself warming to Dana, even starting to like her. It didn't feel right to be talking behind her back.

'I don't remember much of my psychology but I'd say she shows signs of obsessive compulsive disorder. I think there've been eating problems in the past, maybe there are still, she's very slim. And she has a compulsive interest in order and organization and external appearances. She's been known to throw a complete tantrum when someone moves a stapler on her desk.'

'So she's tidy.' I glanced round my office: utter tip, as usual. 'Christ, we could all do with having that problem.'

'Look at the way she dresses. Have you ever seen her less than immaculate? How does she afford that on a police sergeant's salary? And what about the car she drives? Not only is it a Mercedes but it looks like she just drove it out of the showroom. Every police officer I've ever met has a car like a municipal dump. You can't see the carpet for fag ends, the remains of takeaway dinners and Mars bar wrappers. That's if you get one of the more refined ones. Her car gets vacuumed every day.'

'What are you saying?'

He walked over to my window. 'She's believed to be seriously in debt,' he said to the seagulls outside. Then he turned round to me again. 'She can't stop spending money. Money she doesn't have. And she can't work as part of a team. She's secretive. Drives Dunn up the wall and makes her very unpopular with her colleagues. If people question her methods, she always assumes the problem lies with them; that there's some sort of conspiracy to get at her.'

I remembered her actions the previous evening, working with me rather than any of her colleagues, not letting them know where she was or what she was up to. It had seemed odd at the time; now it made more sense. And that was before her accusations against Gifford and Dunn, or her persuading me to carry out an illegal search of confidential records. Oh great, my new best friend was a fruit-cake!

'Dana Tulloch needs professional help, in my view,' said Gifford. 'You, on the other hand, need to come to terms with what's happened and move on.'

'You mentioned that before.'

And it bears repeating. This case may never be solved.'

I looked at him and shook my head.

'Ask any police officer,' he continued. 'The chances of solving a murder are always greatest in the first twenty-four hours. Just one day goes by and the trail starts to go cold. This trail is two years cold and our friend down in the morgue matches no one on the missing- persons list and no one who had a baby on the islands that year. She almost certainly wasn't local.'

He was right, of course. The grown-ups are always right in the end. He looked at his watch. 'It's nearly nine. You have a clinic this morning?'

I nodded. A busy one. Ten appointments, followed by two planned Caesars this afternoon and discharging Janet and Tamary Kennedy.

'I'd better go too. Mr Stephenson will be wondering where I am.'

He was in the doorway when I called him back. 'Kenn, what does KT mean?'

He turned. 'Excuse me?'

'KT. I found it on the system, recorded against births in summer 2005.'

Light seemed to dawn. 'Oh yes, I asked that too. It means Keloid Trauma.'

'What?'

'Oh, it's a term we coined up here. You won't have come across it before. Hold on, let me think for a minute…'

He leaned against the doorframe, staring up at the ceiling. I watched him. The word 'keloid' refers to an over-reaction of fibrous skin tissue that sometimes occurs after surgery or injury. It can lead to a thickened or pronounced scar.

'There was a study here a while ago,' Gifford said, after a second or two. 'One of our graduate students led it. I was away at the time and can't say I've actually read the paper, so I'm going to sound a bit vague. Oh, I've got it. There's a genetic condition up here that results in severe scarring after perineum tearing in childbirth. When the next child comes along it can cause problems. Hence, Keloid Trauma.'

'Sounds like something I should watch out for,' I said, relieved that KT, at least, was a mystery I could cross off the list.

'I'll try and dig the paperwork out for you.' He turned to the door, stopped and then looked back over his shoulder.

'Duncan doesn't like me because I stole his girlfriend.' He grinned at me: a thin, mirthless elongation of his lips. 'More than once.'

14

I THANKED MY LUCKY STARS FOR A BUSY CLINIC THAT MORNING and for the fact that this really isn't a job you can do with your mind elsewhere. For four hours I monitored foetal heartbeats, measured blood pressure, checked for excess sugar in urine and examined abdomens in various stages of distension. I discussed, with a straight face, whether damp panties were likely to be the result of waters breaking early or late-pregnancy incontinence and I resisted throwing up my hands in despair at the woman in the thirty-eighth week of her fourth pregnancy who wanted me to describe the exact sensations felt during a Braxton Hicks contraction. Well, you tell me, love.