Well,” the inspector threw a handful of files down on to the table, “get this lot together, then”

Michelle turned from Maggie’s side. “You’re early today, Mr Gilruth. But you might like to say hello to your wife.

“Mrs Gilruth is just over there,” she indicated a gowned figure. Then,” she flashed Gilruth a hundred watt smile, “if you’d like to go through, I’ll be with you shortly.”

Sod it. Covertly, Maggie observed James Gilruth and his wife conduct a brief exchange. She strained to catch their conversation, but all she could establish was that the body language was less than cordial.

Then, with a turn of the heel, Gilruth vanished through to some hidden back room. Relieved as she was not to have been spotted, Maggie was stricken to have her hopes of gleaning information dashed.

She perked up when she saw that Sharon Gilruth was being escorted to a chair two down from her. Maggie gave the woman the once-over.

Sharon was dark, her hair so black it had a bluish tinge to it. Black Tulip, the name sprang into Maggie’s mind from some long-discarded magazine. She ventured another look.

Sharon’s make-up was heavy, her lips scarlet. Below the gown, Maggie could make out good legs, killer heels. On the floor by Sharon’s side sat a handbag the size of a small car. Maggie sighed. Sharon Gilruth cut a striking figure, even with wet hair.

“How have you been since I saw you last?” Sharon’s stylist sported a tight ponytail and a name badge that spelled “Jackie”.

Response

Maggie tilted sideways, ears flapping. “Busy-busy,” Sharon’s voice was raised over the hum of the hairdryer. “We’ve such a hectic social life I can barely keep up.”

In the mirror, the corners of Maggie’s mouth turned down. Her social life was gone forever.

“How’s your son these days?” Jackie again. “I haven’t seen him in ages.” “Christopher? He’s fine.”

“Still at Gordon’s?”

Through a tangle of damp hair, Maggie strained to hear Sharon’s response.

“No.”

Dammit. If the boy had been at Robert Gordon’s, maybe Colin would have come across him.

“He at uni, then?”

“Not yet. He’s taking some time out. Sort of a gap year.”

“Oh. Right.” Seamlessly, Jackie moved on to the next topic on her tick-list. “You booked a holiday yet?”

Any conversation that followed was drowned by the hum of multiple hairdryers. Maggie sat sneaking surreptitious glances at Sharon Gilruth as Michelle worked methodically, smoothing sections in Maggie’s newly-shorn locks.

Damn and blast! She pursed her lips. She’d hoped to catch some other snippets of gossip, perhaps find the opportunity to engage the woman herself in conversation. She sighed. All that effort for nothing. Well, next to nothing. She could have sworn she caught a look pass between Gilruth and Michelle.

“That OK for you?” Michelle flashed a back-view mirror behind Maggie’s head.

“Oh…” Her eyes widened. “Amazing.” Maggie could barely recognise herself, so cleverly tamed were her unruly curls.

If her husband could only see her now. She caught a breath. There was the eye, still. But eye or no, she’d make George proud.

Use this glamorous new look to advance his cause.

Cross purpose

The first-floor conference room, like everything else in Force HQ, was institutional: white walls, dark brown paintwork, recessed lighting, standard office furnishings that wouldn’t have looked out of place in any council building up and down the country.

“When I told you to call a meeting,” Detective Inspector Chisolm strode through the door, “it wasn’t the G8 I had in mind.”

Just great, Brian thought, he’s on form. He’d heard the new DI had a short fuse, but this was pushing it. He ducked his chin. “No, sir.”

“All I’m needing is a briefing from you and get the actions handed out.”

He squared his shoulders. “Yes, sir.”

“Well,” the inspector threw a handful of files down on to the table, “get this lot together, then.”

Brian looked round the room. A number of CID officers and a clutch of uniforms stood in small groups, heads bowed, absorbed in conversation or drinking out of waxed paper cups.

Three people were already seated at the table: Dave Wood was a long-serving Detective Sergeant, a copper of the old school – a big man, with a bullet head and not that much in it.

Dave’s sidekick, Bob Duffy, sat alongside him. Across the table, Douglas Dunn sprawled, his chair tilted back at an angle. Douglas was a graduate recruit.

He tapped a water glass with his biro. “Get your backsides over here, folks. Meeting was called for eight o’clock and it’s almost ten past.”

The officers started to attention. They slid one by one on to the empty chairs.

“Let’s get this started,” Chisolm cast his eyes round the table. “Burnett,” he turned, “give us the background to the St Machar incident.”

Brian looked down at the notes in front of him. He looked up. “Sir. Incident was called in to emergency services at 19.07 last night.

“PCs Souter and Miller were first to respond, arriving on the scene at 19.16. They then commenced a search of the St Machar Cathedral precincts and were joined at 19.23 by PC Grassie, who…”

“Hang on,” Chisolm snapped, “who the hell’s Grassie?”

“Community bobby, sir. Picked up the shout from his beat in Tillydrone.”

“Continue.”

Incident van

“PC Souter located the body of a young female in the kirkyard behind the cathedral, close to its boundary with Seaton Park. The victim was lying on a tombstone and appeared to be deceased.

“A check of her pulse by Souter confirmed this to be the case. Backup and ambulance were called in by PC Grassie. SOCOs and an incident van were in place by 20.00 hours and the crime scene secured…”

“What about forensics?” the DI interrupted. “Are we confident at this stage that a crime has been committed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Toxicology?”

“They’re running tests as we speak.”

“Has Gourlay given us any leads?”

“Blunt trauma to the head.”

“Anything else?”

“When the girl was found, her lower clothing was disturbed. And there was this…” Brian hesitated. “Cross was what it looked like. Inside her.” “Christ,” Douglas muttered. “That’s a first.” “Enough,” Chisolm threw a warning look. “Tell us about the cross, Burnett.”

“It was a rough-looking thing, sir: couple of twigs fastened together with a rubber band. Place is surrounded by trees.

“And then there’s the park – Seaton Park, that is. It…”

More on Monday.