Chisolm changed tack. “What’s your take on the thing, Burnett?”

Cross Purpose (£8.99) is the first in Claire MacLeary’s Harcus & Laird crime trilogy, featuring an unlikely pair of middle aged female private investigators. The second, Burn Out, and the third, Runaway, are available now. All published by Saraband Publishing https:// saraband.net

Chisolm cut in. “Let’s move on. What about the rubber band?” “It was pink, sir, like the ones the Post Office use.” “Right. So you’re telling me these twigs could have come from anywhere?” “Yes, sir.” “And the rubber band is one of thousands discarded at random by our beloved postal service?” Brian lowered his head. “Sir.”

“When will the pathologist be able to be more precise?”

“When he’s good and ready.” The words were out before Brian could stop himself. “Sorry, sir, but you know how he is.” The inspector responded with a curt nod. “How about ID?”

“The lassie didn’t have a thing on her, except for a wee spiral notebook – the kind of thing you’d pick up in a supermarket – a stub of pencil and a Yale key.” “Anything in the notebook?”

“A few doodles, that’s all.”

“Clothing?”

“Converse trainers. Hollister jeans. Shirt had a label,” Brian looked down at his notes. “Boden, it was. Waistcoat was one of those quilted jobs,” he looked up, “like the nobs wear.”

“Our victim wasn’t a schemie, then?”

Unusual

“No, sir. More like someone from the Chanonry or the West End. A student, maybe, but a well-heeled one, I reckon.”

“I take it somebody has been in touch with the university?”

“Yes, sir. We’ve been on to the accommodation office and asked them to check with their halls of residence – whether anyone matching that description hasn’t been seen in their room, has missed lectures. Though from what I can gather, neither of these would be that unusual.”

The DI pursed his mouth in disapproval. “No.” “I’ve also sent them a photo of the key, so we can check whether it’s been issued for any of the university’s accommodation.”

“Have we managed to establish anything else?” “Not a lot, sir. The call was traced to a public phone box in Seaton. The caller, a young male, declined to give his name. Enquiries in the immediate vicinity haven’t been especially fruitful.

“From what this lot,” Brian jerked his head in the direction of the uniformed officers, “have managed to establish, nobody seems to have seen or heard anything unusual, and the only pedestrian we’ve managed to find is an elderly woman who was out walking her dog.”

“Anything useful from her?”

“Not really.” Brian ran a hand across his brow. “Didn’t see another soul the whole time she was out, not except for this one guy.”

“Description?” “Forties. Dark-haired. Time was vague. But looked to be loitering, the witness said.” “Has this information been verified?”

“No, but I’ve circulated a description.” “Good. Well, brief all units, Burnett. The sooner we can trace, interview and eliminate this individual, that will give us one less thing to…”

“Yessir.” Dutifully he scribbled a note. “Is that it?” He felt the colour rise in his face. “The Chanonry isn’t exactly full of activity at the best of times, never mind late evening on a weekday, but I can tell you I’ve briefed the press office and amended the scene boundaries to allow access to the cathedral.”

Volunteered

Brian could feel the perspiration begin to seep from his underarms onto the fabric of his shirt. He hadn’t got the measure of this new man from Glasgow yet.

“Any questions at this stage?” The inspector scanned the faces round the table. “What about a phone?” Duffy volunteered. “Didn’t the girl have a mobile on her?”

Brian shrugged. “No sign of one.”

“Could have been nicked.”

“I guess.”

“Great!” Dunn stopped doodling. What next, sir?” he cast an insolent glance towards his superior officer.

“Next,” Allan Chisolm fixed him with a gimlet eye, “we ask ourselves a number of questions: how did this girl arrive at the scene? On foot? By public transport? Or could she have been dropped off there by car? Where did she sustain her injury? At the scene? Elsewhere?

“What are the access points to the scene: roads, paths, gates, walls? Think of its proximity to Seaton Park, the High Street, King Street, St Machar Drive. What are our opportunities there: lines of sight, CCTV, cars, buses, houses, flats, university buildings? Who might have seen something?”

Douglas Dunn picked up his pen. He started doodling again. “Are you hearing me, Dunn?” “Loud and clear, sir.”

“Has anyone contacted the bus companies?” “I’ve had uniform do that, sir,” Brian responded. “And the taxi firms. They’ll canvass their drivers. See who was in the area.”

“That brings me to the next thing.” A dozen or so pairs of eyes focused on the inspector. “We need to be looking at where this incident is pointing.” He paused. “Which begs the question…Do we need to run the investigation on HOLMES 2 and if so, at what level?”

There were groans around the table. The analytical and research facility offered by the Police National Computer, they knew from experience, would also spew out a mountain of useless information.

“I see I have your commitment for that,” the inspector offered a tight smile. “Remind me, who’s on Disclosure?” An auxiliary officer raised a hand.

“Well, make sure it’s tight as a drum. Where I come from, investigations aren’t completed on evidence, they’re completed on paperwork.”

Changed tack

Chisolm changed tack. “What’s your take on the thing, Burnett?” Brian felt beads of perspiration begin to prickle his brow. “Well?”

“Judging by the contusion to the skull, the way the body was lying on the slab, the whole setup, it looked like the girl had been arranged. Staged, you might say.”

“That so?” It wasn’t a question, Brian decided. All the same, he felt the need to justify himself.

“It couldn’t have happened by accident, sir. It was a conscious act.”

“So it wasn”t a mugging?” a DC chipped in. “Forensics have found no trace of a weapon.”

“Plus the victim was found flat on her back. When they’ve been hit on the back of the head, ladies fall forward…”

Douglas threw a wink at Susan, the only female detective in the room.

“Quite.” Chisolm”s face was a mask. “So who would do a thing like that?”

“Goths?” one of the uniforms suggested. “Possibly.” “Some sort of religious freak?” One of the DCs. “There does seem to be a ritual element.”

“Could it have been a tribute of some sort?” Susan offered. “Tribute?” Duffy scoffed. “You’re joking. What about the unzipped jeans, the knickers pulled down? “

“More like some nasty wee perv.” Uniform again. Chisolm”s eyes swept the room. “We”ll need someone assigned to look at who’s got form for this sort of thing.”

“We’ve already checked out some of the usual suspects, sir,” Brian responded. “They were all doing their dirty little deeds elsewhere.”

More tomorrow.