Robert Parker - Snow Storm

Edwards just seemed to take himself a level too seriously though. The way he ran his fingers through that clearly high-lit hair of his. He really did give her the dry boke.

She wasn’t sure how Burke remained so calm about the preening egos on display. Maybe he didn’t have much fight in him. Maybe he was just more of a middle manager than anything. He did look pretty pasty, spent too much time indoors you might say. Still, she’d have thought he’d have a little get up and go about him; all those stimulants he seemed to be on.

At first glance she’d put his age around 27-28. She’d been a bit dismissive of him when he introduced himself; thinking he was an overfamiliar colleague having a go at giving her the chat as soon as she walked through the door. The job could be a bit like that and she was fairly used to it anyway, mainly finding it annoying. It hadn’t helped that he’d introduced himself simply as Burke. It was two days before she figured out he was actually the boss, and only then because Campbell had gleefully filled her in while trying to introduce her to the more social side of the station as he put it. “Funny kettle of fish” was all he’d really been able to confide, before adding that “there were some rumours floating about” and changing the subject back to an offer of an after-hours drink in The Cask and Barrel. Again, she’d declined.

He drummed his hands on the wheel as they made their way down a slip road on to a mind numbingly gridlocked M8.

“ Timing’s never been my strong point,” he told her, messing around with a radio that had now lost the station, struggling as it did with the difference between east and west coast. He gave up and chose the CD already in the machine instead, which sounded like Green Day on a rough day, before they’d sold out. “I don’t suppose you like stiff little fingers do you?”

“ Sir?” was all she said in response.

“ The band.” he replied, looking slightly alarmed.

“ Oh.” she said, knowing full well. “No.”

He switched it off, looking slightly dejected. Maybe it was a dose of Seasonal Affective Disorder that made him this way. She was sure he hadn’t had those bags under his eyes six months ago.

“ I suppose we should talk about the case then.”

“ Yes sir.”

“ Well?”

“ Sir?”

“ Every second word doesn’t have to be sir.” He said. “This isn’t Full Metal Jacket. What are your thoughts on the case so far? I’m genuinely interested. After all, detection is what I do, supposedly, when I’m not being condescended to of course. So feel free to enlighten me; do you for instance subscribe to the Campbell hypothesis, stating that all this is the result of a drug war raging between two rival scumbag factions? Oh screw it. I need to smoke this thing.” He began rummaging in the glove box while at the same time trying to keep the steering wheel steady. They didn’t teach that on the advanced driving course. He pulled out an e-cigarette and put it to his lips, inhaling and then breathing what looked like a huge sigh of relief, blowing water vapour against an already condensation covered window. “This isn’t an infringement of your human rights by the way. It’s perfectly legal.”

“ Batter on.” She heard herself say.

“ It’s just a tad embarrassing.” He confided. “Anyway, you were saying?”

“ I was?”

“ Well no, but you were about to be I’m sure. So what’s the story? Is Campbell right?”

“ Honestly?”

He shrugged in response.

“ I’d prefer you didn’t tell him this.”

“ Goes without saying.”

“ I do.”

Burke nodded his head slowly in what looked like contemplation, though for all she knew he could have been thinking nothing at all. Some people had mastered the art of merely looking thoughtful, much like her dad had mastered the art of looking as though he was listening when her mum rattled on about whatever DIY tasks she had in store for him on his holidays. “Assuming this is the case of course, it does imply that this might not exactly be the summit of the body pile.”

“ True.” She agreed.

“ In which case, I would imagine it’s only a matter of time before someone starts running a book on it.”

It was true. Campbell had already broached the subject this morning.

“ What number should I put you down for?”

“ I’d say another two anyway. Although, I’d prefer it didn’t happen.”

She nodded in agreement before remembering herself. These were, after all, human beings. It was far too easy to get caught up in looking at them as stats for clear up rates.

“ Purely from a selfish point of view.” Burke admitted. “These sudden puddins are getting in the way of my day to day duties as defined by she who must be obeyed, AKA Mrs Burke.” He smiled. “Which reminds me, I’ve got to pick up a Christmas tree from Gorgie City Farm before I go home or there’ll be hell to pay. Anywhere I can drop you on the way?”

“ Gorgie should be fine for me.”

“ Really? Where are you headed anyway?”

“ Marchmont. It’s a nice night for a walk.”

“ If you sure.” He said. “Still living that student life eh?”

“ I try.” She replied

It was dark by the time they pulled up on Gorgie Road and she hit the frosted pavement. It felt like the air was damper now, as though the cold would cling to you and sink into your bones.

She knew she was trapped in the student life, in a specific point in time, through her own choices.

Sudden puddin’ number three arrived or was discovered at least in a more timely fashion; conveniently around half nine as the office, if not Burke’s brain had already swung into action. At least this particular murderer had shown something like consideration. As it turned out it was the cleaner who had discovered the corpse of the former Oleg Karpov around an hour before CID got word of the situation. On arrival at work and being in possession of a spare key, she had found him in the hall or maybe more accurately all over the hall, such were the forces involved in the ballistics used by criminal elements these days. Presumably Mr Karpov’s assailant had disapproved of the more traditional paisley patterned décor and favoured a more Jackson Pollock inspired theme employing a natural palette.

He’d received the call in his office at least, far preferable to doing so while supposed to be in a state of slumber.

He’d despatched Campbell and Jones before leaving and they were already on scene, suited up along with the forensics team.

Burke donned a similar white overall and matching shoe covers and made his way across the Police line and up the driveway. His feet crunched on gravel, the reassuring sound of money.

Being on a corner afforded the house more room, its façade was imposing and slightly gothic in comparison to its neighbours which were more standard Georgian box style buildings.

He passed under a substantial entrance porch, nodding at the uniformed boy by the door. He recognised the face but couldn’t place it. Hazard of the job. In another context he might have mistaken the same face for one he’d put away.

The hallway was vast, dark and foreboding. Burke wondered if this display was for the effect of warning off burglars. He half expected to see a stuffed bear in full hind leg standing frontal assault. A testament to the ‘bravery of Major Chumley-Something-Or-Other who’d shot the bugger on the way back from doing something colonial.