“Susan took in the artfully tousled dark hair, the hint of stubble showing on the weak chin

Blood rushed to Maggie’s head. Finally, she’d made a breakthrough. Still, she’d need more than a simple admission. “You switched it off?” she probed. “Yes.” “But why?” “Instinct. It’s the only way, sometimes, to get these people to open up,” he offered a crooked grin. “And the rest is history.”

“But why didn’t George…”

Craigmyle grimaced. “Loyalty, I suppose.” Maggie’s voice rose. “Misguided loyalty, if you ask me.” Craigmyle gripped her wrist. “Pipe down. We don’t want to be seen together.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” his voice was soft. “Fair enough, Maggie, what you just said. Do you think I don’t feel guilty, George taking it on the chin for me?”

“Guilty enough to stand up in court and testify to switching off that tape?”

“First things first,” he parried. “There’s a way to go before we get to that.”

Can this man be trusted? Maggie debated whether to go straight to Queen Street with his confession. But she needed more.

And if he could be a conduit to Brannigan, uncover evidence on the drugs front…

“What did you tell me you wanted to achieve?” Craigmyle asked.

She drew a deep breath. “Justice for George.” “Well, if we’re going to succeed, you and me, we’ll have to stay on the same page. Agreed?”

Play along. With some reservation, Maggie nodded. “So you’ll keep me posted on any developments?” “Yes. You?”

“Sure thing.” He paused. “I’m making progress at the club.”

“You are?” Her heart skipped a beat.

“But it could take a while. Months. Years, even.” Her spirits sank again. “As long as that?” She collected her thoughts. “What about Brannigan?” Jimmy shook his head. “Hasn’t shown his face.” “Do you know where he is?”

He shrugged. “No idea.”

Activity

The incident room was alive with activity – people making and taking phone calls, a printer spewing out paper. On the far wall, whiteboards bore maps and diagrams and photographs.

“Right, folks,” Detective Inspector Allan Chisolm strode into the room. From under one arm, a bulging case file protruded. The DI drew out a chair at the head of the table. He threw the file down on the table with a thwack.

“Let’s get this show on the road.” He called everyone to order.

“Sir,” Douglas Dunn slid smartly into a seat. Susan Strachan took in the artfully tousled dark hair, the hint of stubble showing on the weak chin.

Smarmy so-and-so, she thought, from her stance by the window. It was another grey day, heavy clouds lowering over the skyline. Fair matched her mood.

Dunn was closely followed by Dave Wood, who licked the sugar off his fingers as he demolished the last of a breakfast doughnut.

Brian Burnett unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down.

Susan picked up the sheets of paper that had fallen onto the floor by the printer.

She stacked them in a neat pile and laid them on the big table, taking care to keep a comfortable distance between her own chair and that of Douglas Dunn.

“Where’s Duffy?” The question came out like a bullet. “Chasing up Forensics,” Brian replied.

Unproductive

“OK,” the inspector opened the folder in front of him. “First, let me give you the good news.” He paused.

“We have formal ID. The bad news is we have damn all else. Let’s start with an update from you, Burnett, on the victim’s associates.”

“Sir. Strachan and I went out to Hillhead. Three flatmates: two girls, one boy. One swotty type, one yah and a weirdo.”

“Tell me about the weirdo.”

“That’s one for Strachan, sir.”

“Dominic Elwen?” Susan pulled a face. “Unproductive, I’m afraid. We checked the guy out thoroughly, and…”

She shrugged. “Agreed he’s a complete geek and he does look a bit odd.

“Plus…” She looked pointedly at Douglas Dunn. “He doesn’t seem to have a clue how to behave around the opposite sex. But, in my view, he’s harmless.

“It’s just hard luck on both sides he got billeted with Lucy and Melissa.”

“Boyfriends?”

“None currently.” Susan’s mind turned to Lucy Simmons: a girl who had come to Aberdeen with high expectations, and whose life had ended. Ended on a cold, hard slab in a bleak, dark graveyard.

She focused her thoughts. “Lucy had broken up with a long-term boyfriend in Surrey. Seems not to have formed any other attachments.”

“No surprises there,” Dunn sneered. “Bet he gave her the heave.”

Susan pulled a face. “You’re a cynical b ***** d, Douglas,” she commented. “How did you come to that conclusion?”

“Obvious. Girl couldn’t get far enough away.” “She couldn’t get much further than Aberdeen, I’ll hand you that. You do realise it’s on an even more northerly latitude than Moscow?”

Prissy voice. “Little Miss Know-It-All, today, aren’t we?”

Susan chose to ignore this. “He seems to be out of the equation, anyhow – the ex-boyfriend, and there doesn’t appear to be anyone else.” “Classmates?” Chisolm enquired.

“No one in particular.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve established that Lucy did have a mobile. Latest model. Never went anywhere without it.”

Description

“So where is the thing?” The DI’s fingers drummed on the desk. “Somebody must have taken it.”

He turned to Brian. “I assume, Sergeant, you’ve been in touch with the girl’s service provider?” “Yes, sir. Her flatmate provided the number.” “And had uniform ask round the pubs?”

“As a matter of course.”

“Did door-to-door throw up anything, Elrick?” “Young lad, late teens, seen close to the cathedral gates. Not much in the way of description: dark coloured anorak, grey trousers, black shoes.”

“Christ,” Wood came to life, “can they no’ give us a break?”

“Yes, well,” Chisolm ran a weary hand through his hair. “What does the description tell us?”

“Grey trousers?” Dave Wood scratched his head. “Not a student?”

“Unlikely,” the DI concurred.

“Sounds like a uniform of some sort,” Susan offered.

“Check it out, Elrick. Anything from you on the park itself, Dunn?”

“Nothing from Seaton Park, I’m afraid, sir. The miscreants are understandably backward in coming forward.”

The inspector threw him a thin smile.

More on Monday.