She seemed unconvinced, but let it slide. ‘Look, Stevie has the details. Why don’t you fill Rob in?’
McGuire coughed nervously. He looked unprepared for the honour. ‘Eh, sure.’ He sat fidgeting in his chair, uncrossed his legs. ‘We have a positive ID.’
Brennan leaned forward. ‘The teenager — Trish whatever — she came good?’
Galloway interrupted, ‘No, Rob… That theory of yours was pretty wide of the mark.’
He felt stung. Looked first to Galloway, then back to McGuire. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘No, I don’t think you do,’ said Galloway. ‘Go on, Stevie.’
By the time the DC had finished detailing the fact that the parents of sixteen-year-old Carly Donald had been able to identify their daughter without any doubts, Brennan’s mind had shifted from disbelief to stupefaction. He had dropped all the facts into the personal computer that was his brain and the answer had came back the same every time: local girl. If he was wrong, and it seemed he was, then he had lost his touch — that, or this murder investigation was shaping up unlike any other he’d been involved in.
‘Have you got that, Rob?… She’s not a local girl,’ said Galloway.
Brennan twisted on the chair. ‘Yes, I heard the boy.’ The news had came as a shock to him, but the method of receiving it had come as an added embarrassment. He had told McGuire to relay all developments to him first. There was the missed call, and he could use that to cover his arse, but the lad had fucked him over for a second time and he didn’t like it. Putting Galloway in the picture about every new development on the case before him was going to make it impossible to operate, and the thought burned Brennan. He needed to get away, get out of the Chief Super’s office and try and make sense of all of this.
Brennan stood up. ‘Right, I want the full SP, Stevie.’
McGuire looked at the Chief Super first — was he waiting for her say-so? thought Brennan. ‘So, let’s get moving… Now, Stevie.’
Galloway nodded and the DC rose, turned for the door. Brennan followed. He got as far as the other side of the glass, handle in hand, before the Chief Super called him back. ‘A word before you go, Rob.’
He halted. ‘I’ve got my hands full here.’
She pointed to the seat he’d risen from. ‘A word, Rob.’
Chapter 19
Brennan felt the muscles in his shoulders tightening as he went back into the Chief Super’s office. He didn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him lowered before her — he brushed aside the offer of the chair and stood, hands on waist. ‘What is it?’
Galloway rose to face him. She wasn’t going to give him a height advantage when she was wearing four-inch heels, he thought.
She picked up the News, dropped it again. ‘They’re having a fucking field day.’
Brennan shrugged. ‘Tell the press office.’
She pointed a maroon fingernail at him. ‘I’m telling you.’
He looked her in the eye. ‘What are you telling me, ma’am?’
That riled her, the ma’am bit, always did. Brennan knew he was in no position to be cocky. To be cocky, you needed something to back it up, or big-time supporters, and he had neither.
Galloway upped the volume a notch. ‘I’m telling you that if there’s another set of headlines like that, I’ll be wearing your balls as earrings. Do you get me?’
He smiled. ‘I think they might stretch your ears.’
She didn’t flicker, held her face stone. ‘I’m warning you, Rob… You’re on probation, don’t forget that. As easily as I handed you this case I can take it away.’
It was a bluff, he was sure of it; who else was there to take over? The squad was stretched too tight. Not even her golden boy Lauder could take on another case. He was sound. Brennan stared at her for a moment: she was no more police than Stevie McGuire, she was a shiny-arsed careerist. A manager; an actress like Wullie said. But she had rank, and the force was all about rank. He held himself in check, said, ‘Nobody wants this bastard more than me.’
She made a moue of her mouth. ‘I know that, but there’s a difference between wanting something and getting it.’ She’d made her point, asserted herself. As she sat down again she picked up the newspaper, folded it in two and dropped it in the waste-paper basket beside the desk. ‘No more headlines, Rob.’
Brennan nodded, turned for the door.
DC Stevie McGuire was waiting for him outside the Chief Super’s office. ‘Rob, can we talk?’
Brennan walked past him, heading for the incident room. ‘Oh, we’ll talk Stevie. Soon enough.’
Brennan walked fast, his stride powerful enough to lift the carpet at his heels. As he reached the room, the door was already open. One or two officers approached; he could tell they sensed the shift. Brennan flagged them down, said, ‘One minute.’ He made for the end of the room, stood looking at the board where the pictures of sixteen-year-old Carly Donald had been pasted up. There was a lot of white space.
As Brennan placed his jacket on the back of a chair a small crowd began to gather. He noticed DC Stevie McGuire lurking at the back and motioned him to the front.
‘Right, listen up.’ Brennan’s voice reverberated around the room. ‘We have a positive ID for our victim. I don’t need to tell you that we have our nuts over the fire, and the press are pouring on the petrol, so we need to get moving.’ He turned to McGuire, who had reached the front of the crowd. ‘Right, Stevie… Fill them in on our victim.’
There was silence in the room as the DC cleared his throat, and read from the file. ‘Carly Donald was sixteen, a schoolgirl from Pitlochry.’ Some audible surprise was registered.
‘Listen up,’ said Brennan. ‘Go on, Stevie.’
‘She’s the daughter of the Reverend John Donald, and his wife, Frieda, a housewife. They’ve formally identified the body.’
Brennan took over. ‘Right. That’s it so far. Not much to go on but we’ll be interviewing the parents in due course. Meantime, I want this girl’s world turned upside down and anything that falls out put on my desk. I want you out there knocking doors, now. Friends, teachers, hockey team-mates, youth club members, the man she bought her Smarties from — I want them all spoken to. Got that?’
The group answered together, ‘Yes, sir.’
Brennan held the crowd rapt as he moved on to disseminate specific instructions. ‘Brian, I want you to grab all the CCTV. I want footage from the train stations, the bus station, taxi ranks, BP garages, truck stops… Anywhere you might think she’d show if she was coming here from the north.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Lou, get on the homeless shelters in the city. She had to be staying somewhere. Check out all the halfway houses, the cheap hostels in Hillside and elsewhere. This was a young girl away from home… Think where she’d go, think where she’d end up.’
‘Sir.’
Brennan looked round the room again. His eyes lighted on another face. ‘Davie, find out how she supported herself. Was she brass? If she was working the streets, who was pimping her? Call the faces in — all of them.’
‘Yes, boss.’
The room remained quiet, still, as Brennan leaned forward, rested his elbows on the back of his chair. ‘I don’t need to remind you that this is a young girl from a respectable family. She’s been cut up in the most brutal fashion imaginable. The media are already interested. When they get the full details they are going to go ape-shit. I want you all to work fast, but stay alert. Don’t let anything slide, don’t think twice about throwing up anything to Stevie or me — we’ll look at everything. Now, one more thing: I’m cancelling all leave with immediate effect.’ He paused, expecting to hear groans. None came. ‘Good, I’m glad you understand. We need to move like lightning. Our killer has already tried to cover their tracks and I want this bastard behind bars. Right, get to work.’
The group scattered. Brennan yanked his jacket from the chair, headed for the office. As he went, he called out, ‘Stevie, in here now.’
DC McGuire followed him in.
