‘You told me to leave the interviews to you,’ Fielding said, her posture an accusation in itself. ‘And what have you done so far? All I’ve seen is’ – she looked around and pointed at Alvin – ‘his completely inadequate interviews with a handful of the nuns in York. Including two with dementia. My team have been busting a gut to get to grips with what’s coming out of the ground, and you’re doing nothing. Oh no, you’re not doing nothing. You’re doing the sexy case. The one that’s going to end up in court. Maybe. If your so-called crack team can actually find anybody to charge with anything more than illegally disposing of a body.’ She shook her head and looked around, contempt written all over her. Sophie Valente looked astounded. Karim and Steve Nisbet stared at the whiteboards and Stacey slouched even lower behind her screens.
But Rutherford wasn’t in the least abashed. ‘We’ve had to chase your team for case materials. It’s quite clear from our brief that we are the go-to guys for the exceptional cases. The clue is in the name. Major Incident Team. Your detectives? Their job is to do the second-tier work. And that’s what the skeletons are. They don’t even look remotely like homicides. If the second lot of bodies had turned up completely independent of the skeletons, you wouldn’t be anywhere near this case, DCI Fielding.’
Paula feared Rutherford would live to regret this argument. Alex Fielding was not a woman you’d willingly go up against, as Paula knew only too well. And they’d need her goodwill for future investigations when they needed boots on the ground to boost their numbers.
‘In that case, get your DI out of my incident room. You want the credit? You can do the grunt work that goes with it. I’m going to the ACC to insist that these cases are separated. You don’t get to run my incident room and have my guys running around doing the stuff that’s beneath your lot. Stay away from the nuns and I’ll stay away from your headline-grabbing homicides.’
‘That’s just stupid. The nuns might have evidence relating to our cases.’ Rutherford was getting riled now. His neck was bright red against his white shirt collar.
‘And if they do, I’ll make sure you get it. Just the same as you’ll pass on to my team any product from your interviews that might have a bearing on ours. If you can manage to get any product without muddying the waters beyond recognition.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Father Michael Keenan. A key witness in how things were run inside the convent. How the nuns treated the girls. But now? He won’t talk to us. Not a cheep. Not after you hauled him out of his house at the crack of dawn, arrested him and interrogated him. Well, thanks very much, ReMIT.’ She bit her lip. Paula could almost read the should have been me on her face. ‘Just stay away from the nuns.’
Rutherford shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. DI McIntyre is on the morning flight to Galway. We need to interview the Mother Superior. I’m sure DI McIntyre will give you a full brief when she gets back.’
Paula couldn’t quite keep the surprise from her face. Fielding clocked it and looked as if she might be a candidate for spontaneous human combustion. ‘You’ve absolutely not heard the last of this,’ she stormed at Rutherford before she marched to the door and slammed it behind her.
Rutherford watched her go, shaking his head. ‘Is she always like that?’ he asked the room.
Nobody replied. Fielding might be intemperate but it didn’t take much insight to figure out that provoking her might not be the best route to take. ‘I’m going to Galway?’ Paula asked.
Rutherford gave a rueful grin. ‘Looks like it. Better get your flight booked before Fielding buys every ticket on the plane.’
‘Is there even a flight to Galway?’
‘Not any more. The airport closed a few years ago. You have to fly to Shannon and hire a car,’ Steve said. ‘I went for a weekend with a lass last year. Rained solid for the entire forty-seven hours we were there. Nothing for it but to shag and drink.’
Rutherford tutted. ‘Never mind hiring a car. Talk to the local garda and get them to send you a liaison officer to drive you around. Then they can’t complain about us treading on their jurisdiction.’
‘Great.’ Paula sat down and battered her keyboard.
‘You haven’t told me how your interview with Conway went.’ Rutherford perched on her desk as if nothing untoward had happened.
When exactly was she supposed to have done that, Paula wondered. ‘That’s because there was no interview. Conway refused to talk to us unless we arrested him, which I decided was a bad idea in the absence of any evidence. He refuses to let us in the house without a search warrant.’
‘So all we’ve achieved is showing our hand,’ Rutherford said. ‘Now he knows how little we’ve got and that we’ll be looking for more.’
Which was your idea. Paula gave him a dead-eyed stare then turned back to her computer. Manchester Shannon flights, she typed. She’d barely begun looking when a group message from Stacey pinged on her screen.
DNA lab results: The lab have extracted DNA from all eight victims of the second tranche of bodies. I’ve been running them against the database, both for direct hits and for familial results. I’ve got four direct hits and two indirect. The four direct hits
