S Bolton - Sacrifice

'But how did it get there?' Red herring or not, it still didn't add up.

'Good question. Assuming it really is the wedding ring of the woman who died – Kirsten, was that her name? Is it possible it wasn't? How clear was the inscription?'

'Not very.' I hadn't even been completely sure about the letters. Only the date was clear and, as I'd discovered, several weddings had taken place that day.

'Tor, you're not really going to check dental records, are you? At best it's a waste of time and at worst highly unprofessional, probably even illegal. Don't get involved any more.'

It's not often Duncan asks me to do something. When he does, I nearly always agree.

'No, of course not. You're right.' I meant it, too. It had all gone far enough.

'Good girl. I'll see you tomorrow. Love you.'

He hadn't said that in a long time. By the time I was ready to respond, he'd hung up.

I was on the edge of Lerwick now and drove quickly to the hospital. I glanced at the car clock. I was going to be ten minutes late. I parked the car and jumped out, wincing. It occurred to me that I might be coming down with some sort of summer flu bug: every limb was aching, I had what seemed like a raging hangover even though I'd drunk nothing the night before, and felt like I hadn't slept in a week. And now I was ten minutes late for a bollocking from Kenn Gifford.

He was waiting for me in my office, looking out of the window, already dressed in blue surgical scrubs, his long hair scraped back in a ponytail.

'How are you feeling?' he asked, turning round.

'Been better,' I replied.

I might feel like shit but Gifford wasn't looking his best either. His narrow eyes were little more than slits in his face and the shadows under them had deepened.

'Sorry I'm late,' I said. 'Duncan phoned on my way in. Slowed me up a bit.' I told Gifford about Duncan finding the ring. When I'd finished, he nodded.

'I'll call Joss Hawick. It's almost certainly not his wife's ring, but if he wants to pursue the matter he can call into the police station to identify it. If it is hers, it looks like we have a pilfering problem; a particularly distasteful one, at that, if someone is robbing the morgue. I'm sorry all this is happening, Tora, it can't be easy settling in with all these distractions. Can I get you a coffee?'

'Thanks,' I said, and he walked over to the coffee-maker in the corner and poured two cups.

'Do you have some sort of master key?' I asked.

He turned round, a steaming mug in each hand, and raised his eyebrows.

'I lock my office in the evening but you managed to find your way in and organize breakfast. Do you have croissants baking as well?'

'I'll happily nip out to the bakery. Mr Stephenson's been waiting three months for his bypass and I'm sure another half-hour won't hurt. But, no. Having a master key – and using it – would be pretty unprofessional, don't you think? Unless, of course, you're a cleaner. Like the one who was in here when I arrived and who let me stay and make coffee. Just thought you might need it.' He handed me a mug. The warmth in my hands was comforting, like a hug from an old friend. He was standing very close to me and I didn't move away.

'DI Dunn came by earlier,' he said. 'He wanted Stephen Renney to confirm the heart wasn't human.'

'And…' I prompted, although I was pretty certain I'd been right the night before.

Gifford led me to two easy chairs in the corner of the room. He motioned for me to sit and I did. So did he.

'From a pig,' he said. 'Andy's got people checking all the butchers on the islands. If anyone bought a heart in the last few days he'll soon know about it.'

'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.'