Val McDermid - The Distant Echo

He stood at the far end of the room, flanked by Burnside and Shaw, one hand in his trouser pocket obsessively turning over coins. He felt brittle with tiredness and strain, but knew that adrenaline would keep him fired for hours to come. It was always the way when he was following his gut. ‘You know why we’re here,’ he said once they’d settled down. ‘The body of a young woman was discovered in the early hours of this morning on Hallow Hill. Rosie Duff was killed by a single stab wound to her stomach. It’s too early for much detail, but it’s likely she was also raped. We don’t get many cases like this on our patch, but that’s no reason why we can’t clear it up. And quickly. There’s a family out there that deserves answers.

‘So far, we’ve not got much to go on. Rosie was found by four students on their way back to Fife Park from a party in Learmonth Gardens. Now, they may be innocent bystanders, but equally they might be a hell of a lot more than that. They’re the only people we know that were walking around in the middle of the night covered in blood. I want a team to check out the party. Who was there? What did they see? Have our lads really got alibis? Are there any chunks of time unaccounted for? What was their behaviour like? DC Shaw will lead this team, and I’d like some of the uniformed officers to work with him. Let’s put the fear of God into these partygoers.

‘Now, Rosie worked in the Lammas Bar, as I’m sure a few of you know?’ He looked around, seeing a handful of nods, including one from PC Jimmy Lawson, the officer who had been first on the scene. He knew Lawson; young and ambitious; he’d respond well to a bit of responsibility. ‘These four were drinking in there earlier in the evening. So I want DC Burnside to take another team and talk to everybody you can find who was in there last night. Was anybody taking particular notice of Rosie? What were our four lads doing? How were they acting? PC Lawson, you drink in there. I want you to liaise with DC Burnside, give him all the help you can to nail down the regulars.’ Maclennan paused, looking round the room.

‘We also need to do door-to-door in Trinity Place. Rosie didn’t walk to Hallow Hill. Whoever did this had some sort of transport. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find the local insomniac. Or at least somebody who got up for a pee. Any vehicles seen on the move down that way in the early hours of the morning, I want to know about it.’

Maclennan looked round the room. ‘Chances are Rosie knew the person who did this. Some stranger grabbing her off the street wouldn’t have bothered to move her dying body. So we need to go through her life too. Her family and friends aren’t going to enjoy that, so we need to be sensitive to their grief. But that doesn’t mean we settle for coming back with half a tale. There’s somebody out there who killed last night. And I want him brought to book before he gets the chance to do it again.’ There was a murmur of agreement through the room. ‘Any questions?’

To his surprise, Lawson raised a hand, looking faintly embarrassed. ‘Sir? I wondered if there was any significance in the choice of where the body was dumped?’

‘How do you mean?’ Maclennan asked.

‘With it being the Pictish cemetery. Maybe this was some sort of satanic rite? In which case, could it not have been a stranger who just picked on Rosie because she fitted in with what he needed for a human sacrifice?’

Maclennan’s skin crawled at the possibility. What was he thinking of, not to have considered this option? If it had occurred to Jimmy Lawson, it might well occur to the press. And the last thing he wanted was headlines proclaiming there was a ritual killer on the loose. ‘That’s an interesting thought. And one we should all bear in mind. But not one we should mention outside these four walls. For now, let’s concentrate on what we know for sure. The students, the Lammas Bar and the door-to-door. That doesn’t mean closing our eyes to other possibilities. Let’s get busy.’

The briefing over, Maclennan walked through the room, pausing for a word of encouragement here and there as officers bunched around desks, organizing their tasks. He couldn’t help hoping they could tie this to one of the students. That way, they might get a swift result, which was what counted with the public in cases like this. Even better, it wouldn’t leave the town with the taste of suspicion on its tongue. It was always easier when the bad guys came from the outside. Even if the outside, in this instance, was a mere thirty miles away.

Ziggy and Alex got back to their residence with an hour to spare before they had to leave for the bus station. They’d walked down to check and had been assured that the country services were running, although the timetable was more honoured in the breach than the observance. ‘You take your chances,’ the booking clerk had told them. ‘I can’t guarantee a time, but buses there will be.’

They found Weird and Mondo hunched over coffee in the kitchen, both looking disgruntled and unshaven. ‘I thought you were out for the count,’ Alex said, filling the kettle for a fresh brew.

‘Fat fucking chance,’ Weird grumbled.

‘We reckoned without the vultures,’ Mondo said. ‘Journalists. They keep knocking at the door and we keep telling them to piss off. Doesn’t work, though. Ten minutes go by and there they are again.’

‘It’s like a fucking “knock, knock” joke in here. I told the last one if he didn’t piss off, I’d knock his puss into the middle of next week.’

‘Mmm,’ said Alex. ‘And the winner of this year’s Mrs Joyful Prize for Tact and Diplomacy is …’

‘What? I should have let them in?’ Weird exploded. ‘These arseholes, you have to talk to them in language they understand. They don’t take no for an answer, you know.’

Ziggy rinsed a couple of mugs and spooned coffee into them. ‘We didn’t see anyone just now, did we, Alex?’

‘No. Weird must have persuaded them of the error of their ways. If they come back, though, you don’t think we should just give them a statement? It’s not like we’ve got anything to hide.’

‘It would get them off our backs,’ Mondo agreed, but in the way that Mondo always agreed. He specialized in a tone of voice that managed to suggest doubt, always leaving himself a way out if he found himself accidentally swimming against the tide. His need to be loved coloured everything he said, everything he did. That and his need to protect himself.

‘If you think I’m talking to the running dogs of capitalist imperialism, you’ve another think coming.’ Weird, on the other hand, never left room for qualms. ‘They’re scum. When did you ever read a match report that bore any resemblance to the game you’d just seen? Look at the way they ripped the piss out of Ally McLeod. Before we went to Argentina, the man was a god, the hero who was going to bring the World Cup home. And now? He’s not good enough to wipe your arse with. If they can’t get something as straightforward as football right, what chance have we got of getting away without being misquoted?’

‘I love it when Weird wakes up in a good mood,’ Ziggy said. ‘But he’s got a point, Alex. Better to keep our heads down. They’ll have moved on to the next big thing by tomorrow.’ He stirred his coffee and made for the door. ‘I’ve got to finish my packing. We better give ourselves a bit of leeway, leave a bit earlier than usual. It’s hard going underfoot and, thanks to Maclennan, none of us have got decent shoes. I can’t believe I’m walking around in wellies.’

‘Watch out, the style police’ll get you,’ Weird shouted after him. He yawned and stretched. ‘I can’t believe how tired I am. Has anybody got any dexys?’

‘If we did, they’d have been flushed down the toilet hours ago,’ Mondo said. ‘Are you forgetting the pigs have been crawling all over the place?’