The Courier & Advertiser (Perth and Perthshire Edition)
Till Forensics get their finger out, this young guy’s all we’ve got... if he’s involved in this we’ll nail him
Allan Chisolm pushed through the door of the briefing room. “Listen up, you lot,” he addressed the detectives seated round the table, “we have a new development in the Simmons case.” “What’s that, sir?” Douglas Dunn strained forward eagerly. The inspector scowled. “When I have everyone’s attention I’ll be happy to tell you.”
There was a scuffling of papers. Backs straightened in seats. Someone aimed an empty Polystyrene coffee cup at a waste paper basket.
Chisolm waved a folder in the air. “Interim report has come back from the lab.”
“And?” Dave Wood queried.
The DI strode forward. “Bad news, I’m afraid.” He pulled out a chair. “It’s inconclusive.”
An audible sigh ran round the room.
“Tests indicate Lucy Simmons was a healthy young woman, other than – so the parents informed us – the girl had a minor heart defect at birth: one of her heart valves was narrower than normal.”
“So could that…?”
“Who knows? The doctors decided no treatment was necessary at the time, and according to the parents, Lucy has had no associated problems since – no shortness of breath, no high blood pressure, no abnormal heartbeat, nothing. That was one thing. Probably not enough to kill her on its own,” Chisolm paused, “but could have been a contributing factor. The only apparent sign of injury on the girl was the contusion to the head.”
“But,” Susan Strachan interjected, “haven’t we already established that?”
Persistence
“You might say so. But there’s a problem: the samples Forensics have taken from that don’t match up with anything at the scene, so they conclude Lucy’s body was moved .”
“So she could have been attacked elsewhere and her body dumped?” Douglas threw in his tuppenceworth.
“Doesn’t follow,” snapped George Duffy.” Dunn was starting to get up his nose.
“By the same person who hit her over the head?” Douglas persisted.
“Same person,” Duffy qualified, “or persons.” “Pack it in, you two,” Chisolm intervened. “Forensics haven’t been able to establish yet whether Lucy was hit from behind or whether she fell and bumped her head on something.”
“Then again, perhaps nobody moved her. Maybe Lucy Simmons climbed on to that tombstone all by herself,” Dave Wood volunteered from his seat in the back corner.
“That rules out the possibility of her having been bashed on the head, though,” Susan this time. “And what about the arrangement of the body? Couldn’t have happened by accident.”
“But we’ve no idea who laid her out like that.” This from Dave Wood.
“And the sexual assault?” Susan again. Chisolm glanced at the folder. “Gourlay has established the lass was sexually active, but we know that. Minor abrasions, but no bruising. No traces of semen present. No saliva. Not so much as a hair.”
“Goodness,” Duffy again. “Where does all that leave us?”
Where, indeed? The inspector wondered about his team: whether they should have been deployed differently. That Duffy was a steady sort, a good man to have at your back.
Wood? The DI had seen his type too often: the old brigade – plodding, resistant to change, they were being gradually pensioned off.
Couldn’t come quick enough, as far as Chisolm was concerned.
Burnett, now there was a man keeping his cards close to his chest. Dunn, a bright spark.
A bit full of himself, maybe, but he’d soon be taken down a peg or two. As for the wee girl, Strachan, she had the makings of a good detective.
Forensics
“Whatever,” Chisolm’s tone was resigned, “Forensics have had to go back and take samples from other parts of the graveyard.”
“Don’t tell me,” Douglas came back, undeterred, “that will take another week.”
The inspector scowled. “At least.”
“And that’s before we factor in the cross.” Brian looked up from his paperwork. “We don’t know what the heck that’s all about, sir. It’s floored the lot of us, to tell you the truth.”
Chisolm’s eyes surveyed the room. “What’s the story on the girl’s phone?”
Brian straightened. “No sign, sir.”
“And the tutor?”
“Waste of space. Plumley wasn’t chasing Lucy Simmons. He was too busy with the dean’s wife. Plus he has a cast-iron alibi for our time-frame.”
“The young guy, then, any progress on him?” “No, sir. Not a dickey bird.”
“Wasn’t it a young guy called it in?” Duffy queried.
“Might tie up.”
“Or it could be coincidence,” Douglas put his oar in. “Probably perfectly innocent,” Susan added. “Some poor kid taking a shortcut. Plus the perp is more likely to be someone much closer to home: a family member, for instance, or someone Lucy was actually in a relationship with.”
“Whatever. Till Forensics get their finger out, this young guy is all we’ve got. So get yourselves out there and find him. If he’s involved in this we’ll nail him.”
Shame-faced
“Need a wee.”
“How can you need a wee?” Kym demanded. “You just had a wee, no five minutes since.”
“Ah’m tellin ye,” the wee lad struggled up off the rug, “Ah need a wee.”
“Well, you’ll have to hold on.”
Kyle positioned himself alongside the settee, hopping from one foot to the other. “Ah need. Honest.”
“You can’t. I just told you.”
“But,” a small hand tugged at her sleeve.
“B ***** off. I’m away out in a minute.” “Kym,” the tug was insistent now. “Ah’m burstin.” She cut the boy short. “Well, away and do it yourself.”
Shame-faced, the lad looked down at the floor. “Ah canna.”
She turned her head. “Ye can fair pee yer pants.” For a moment she was tempted to rouse herself. Washing Kyle’s trousers and underwear would be more effort than taking him to the toilet, but still, she couldn’t be bothered.
A flush crept up Kyle’s neck.
“Away to the toilet like I told you.”
“Kym…” Tears brimmed in the child’s eyes. “Ah canna go masel.”
“How no?”
Choked voice. “The lavvie’s ower high.”
“It’s no that high,” she snorted. “Big loon like you.” The wee boy cocked his head to one side. “It’s no that.”
“What is it, then?” Kym uttered a theatrical sigh. “Ah need a j **** e.”
“So?”
“Ah’m feart ah’ll fa in.” The boy was bouncing up and down now, his crotch cupped in both hands. “Here,” Fatboy rose from his seat. “I’ll take him.” Fatboy headed down the hallway, Kyle trotting in his wake.
More tomorrow.