going to have to tell me at some point what’s going on here. When was this Ross killed?’
‘The body was found last Sunday morning, the eleventh.’
She kick-started her chair and wheeled across a few feet until she was in front of her computer screen, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe what she was doing. Her fingers flashed across the keyboard and within seconds she had what she was looking for.
‘Samuel Kenneth Ross. Cause of death blah blah, puncture of major organs caused by a knife or similar sharp-bladed instrument. Pronounced dead at the scene by Campbell Baxter. Time of death estimated at 3.15 a.m. The body’s still in the morgue. Okay, what else am I looking for and how do you suggest I find it?’
He grinned at her apologetically.
‘I don’t know. I think there might be something else there beyond the stabbing, something that no one knew to look for. Or bothered to. And I was kind of hoping that you could have a second autopsy done.’
‘You have got to be kidding me. On the basis of what? Some half-arsed guess that you won’t explain to me?’
‘Yes. And I was also kind of hoping that no one would need to know about it.’
She gave a derisory laugh.
‘You are crazy. Give me one good reason. And it better be good.’
It was his last gambit. The card he was hoping not to play.
‘The only reason I’ve got is what we had together.’
She rolled her eyes.
‘Christ, I was wondering if you would try that one. What we had? What we had was one drunken night of admittedly fabulous sex. And you think that entitles you to a voucher for a free postmortem at a time of your choosing? Not to mention a career-threatening cover-up?’
‘You did say it was fabulous…’
She smiled ruefully.
‘Arsehole. Anyway, I exaggerated for the sake of your ego. It was merely very good. Tony, what we had was sex-’
‘Fabulous sex,’ he interrupted.
‘Sex followed by awkwardness and tension and sly looks and no explanation of why you never came back for more. Or why you never thought to ask me out. That’s what we had. And you think that’s good enough to get help like this?’
‘I’m hoping it is. It’s all I’ve got.’
‘Arsehole,’ she repeated. ‘Okay, okay. There is someone who could be persuaded to have a look. There’s a junior pathologist in the morgue who… well, let’s just say he likes me. A lot.’
‘Okay.’
She smiled wickedly at his discomfort.
‘I’m sure he will help me out if I ask very nicely.’
She was enjoying watching him squirm.
‘I’ll call him.’
‘Thanks, Cat. And I’m sorry about…’
‘Out. I’m not speaking to him when you’re here. I’ll call you back in when I’m done.’
A few minutes later, Winter was back in the lab, like a naughty schoolboy called before the headmistress. ’Okay, he’s going to do it. I didn’t quite promise him anything but he seems to have got the idea that he is in with a chance. If you know what I mean.’
Winter knew exactly what she meant and a steel toe-capped boot of inappropriate jealousy kicked him in the nuts.
‘You’ll call me if he finds anything, Cat?’
‘If he does, I’ll call. It will probably be tomorrow before I can get back to you. Okay, go. Run along now. I’ve got things to do.’
She turned her head back to the microscope and, duly dismissed, he turned for the door.
‘Tony,’ she called at his back.
‘Yes?’
‘I really hope Addison is okay. I don’t know what’s going on but I’ve heard the rumours. Whatever the truth is, I hope he makes it.’
He nodded at her silently and left.
CHAPTER 35
Tuesday 20 September
Narey had half expected, half hoped, for the phone call that she received that morning when she got into the office but it brought as many problems as it did promises. With Addison shot and Jan McConachie dead, the Nightjar team were two officers down and Alex Shirley needed her back on the team.
She couldn’t help but think it was where she should have been in the first place. It was a thought that scared her; she’d seen with her own eyes what had happened to the officers that were on it. More than that, whoever did it, whoever it was that had the phones that once belonged to Sturrock and the others, had her number too. Had her name. She shouldn’t have told Winter about it the night before, it was information he didn’t need and now he was going to plague her to keep out of sight. Fat chance of that.
For a start, the pressure was on to get the McCullough killing wrapped up as quickly as possible. The message was clear: it was way down the priority list compared to Dark Angel and if necessary it would be put aside until there was time to deal with it. Narey wasn’t for having that. As desperate as she was to be part of the sniper investigation, with her own neck on the line, she hated to let this one go completely and leave the McCulloughs without an answer.
She had to get back to the basics. It was all she knew to do when she ran into a brick wall and that was what was staring her in the face this time. Oonagh’s parents hadn’t been much help and Pamela had told her all that she knew or was willing to tell. All that was left was to go back to the slog of going through the CCTV tapes from the night that Oonagh was killed. Addison had already been through them but that was no excuse not to try again. It was the only bit of available footage they had and there just might be something he’d missed.
She felt a surge of guilt for doubting Addison when he was at death’s door but the truth was he was probably thinking about nothing other than Quinn and Caldwell when he watched the tapes so missing something was a real possibility. Christ, she hoped he pulled through. The tapes made for slow, depressing viewing. There was just her and the CCTV operator, a WPC named Imelda Couper, and neither had much stomach for frame-by-frame examination of the life forms that crawled through the red-light area. What made it bearable was the thought that they might just be able to put one of these pervs away.
The two of them watched every frame for half an hour before the estimated time of Oonagh’s killing and every frame for half an hour after it. Nothing but half-hidden sleaze bags and passing cars. Nothing that held out any real hope of finding a murderer among the punters. Still it was all Narey had, so she’d keep going, jotting down meagre notes and hoping for the best.
When they had exhausted the two half-hour windows, Narey had the WPC go back till an hour before Oonagh was killed, with the intention of doing the same for an hour after it. It meant they would have been sitting there three hours in all by the time she was done. Narey’s bottom was already starting to go numb and she could see that Couper’s eyes had glazed with boredom.
They were half an hour into the second sitting, back to the point where they’d started and the temptation was to skip that rather than going over it yet again but no, she’d make herself sit through it. She owed it to Oonagh’s mother and to prove to the father that some of them did actually care.
Twenty minutes before the estimated time of death and something, someone she hadn’t quite noticed before.
‘Hang on, Imelda. Back up a bit,’ she said quietly, trying not to get ahead of herself.
‘What is it, Sarge?’ said the WPC. ‘You see something?’
