‘Oh, he buggered off once he’d made it absolutely clear that all he was going to give to the press was an official statement and five minutes of his time for questions. And they quickly followed suit. The weather may have helped a little as well.’ She turned to the new face. ‘This is Police Constable Jadyn Okri,’ she said, and Harry watched as the owner of the new face stood up and reached out a hand. ‘A wee bit too keen if you ask me, demonstrated by the fact that he’s volunteered to come over from Catterick and join in the fun. And that was even after I’d told him about you.’
Harry looked the lad up and down. He was tall, looked fit, and his eyes burned bright, despite being the darkest of blues.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Harry said, taking Jadyn’s hand, then handed him the bag from the table. ‘Best you get started on these, then.’
Jadyn took the bag and, much to Harry’s barely disguised irritation, carried it as though it weighed little more than a bag of sugar.
‘What is it I’m looking for?’ Jadyn asked.
‘Anything unusual,’ Harry said. ‘I know that’s not much to go on, but sometimes that’s just how it is; you don’t know what you’re looking for until you find it. Oh, and here . . .’ Harry handed Jadyn his notebook. ‘There’s some names I’ve jotted down in there. See if anything crops up involving them, any incidents, anything odd I guess. That unclear enough?’
Jadyn gave a nod and took the files over to a corner of the room. Liz wandered over to join him.
‘An extra pair of hands makes a lot of sense,’ Harry said, seeing that Gordy was on her way to leaving.
‘Like I said, he’s keen,’ said Gordy. ‘Grew up in Bradford, great with kids, fit as pins. I think he was competing nationally as a sprinter at one point. Don’t break him, will you?’
Harry said, ‘Just so long as he doesn’t try running away, then, eh?’
‘Aye, well, I’ll be off, then,’ Gordy said. ‘I’m not around tomorrow, but keep me posted, okay?’
With Gordy gone, Harry went to wander over to join the newcomer and Liz. He pulled his phone out on the way and saw the missed call. It was Rebecca Sowerby, the pathologist.
‘Balls . . .’
Liz and Jaydn looked around.
‘Everything okay?’ Liz asked.
Harry had the phone to his ear and was dialling. ‘Pathologist,’ he said, then a beat later, ‘Hello, yes, just got your message. What’s up?’
‘Forensics found something,’ Sowerby said on the other end of the call. ‘At Hutchison’s house, and on his clothes. Not much, but enough to be significant.’
‘Enough of what to be significant?’
Harry wasn’t a massive fan of people not getting to the point and was working hard to not lose his rag in front of the fresh new face of PC Jadyn.
‘It’s probably nothing, but . . .’
‘But what? Just tell me, otherwise we’re going to have to talk to each other for even longer, and neither of us wants that now, do we?’
‘We found paint,’ Sowerby said.
Harry’s heart sank.
‘Paint? You rang me about paint?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’m assuming that this amazing paint can be linked to the other crime scenes somehow?’
‘No.’
‘Then why the hell are you calling me?’
Harry knew he was shouting. He knew that Liz and Jadyn were doing their very best to not stare at him. He also knew that he just couldn’t get excited about paint.
‘We’ve done a quick analysis,’ Sowerby explained. ‘It’s not normal paint, by which I mean, it’s not paint you’d buy from a shop. That’s why I’m calling you. And I didn’t have to, you know? I could have left it till the morning. But, for some reason, and one I’m clearly regretting already, I thought that you might appreciate being told. More fool me, eh?’
Harry breathed deep.
‘So, this paint then,’ he said, ‘in what way is it not normal?’
‘I’ve sent you the details,’ Sowerby said. ‘Why don’t you have a look for yourself?’
Harry felt the beep of the line going dead as much as he heard it. Then he pulled open his emails and clicked on what Rebecca had sent through.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Clay, berries, plants, various minerals, tree bark,’ Harry said. ‘Now who the hell makes paint out of any of that? Actually, how does anyone make paint out of any of that? And why?’
Late evening had rolled into the room and Harry was still sitting with Liz and Jadyn doing his best to ignore the hunger chewing at his stomach.
‘And that’s all we’ve got?’ Liz asked.
Harry flipped his phone around and showed her the message.
‘I remember making paint at school,’ Jadyn said. ‘We had this mad teacher in art, Mr Neville, and he was always trying to get us to try new stuff, instead of just sketching a picture of a shoe or a crushed can of coke or whatever. It was pretty cool, you know?’
‘I’m sure it was,’ Harry said, not really sure why Jaydn was telling them this.
‘Why were you making paint?’ Liz asked. ‘We never did that. Mind, that’s probably because our teacher spent most of his time asleep or reading the paper.’
Jadyn shrugged. ‘I think it was a school project or something? Yeah, that was it. We did this thing on the stone age or the bronze age, one of the ages anyway, you know, they weren’t living in caves and stuff, but were a bit more advanced, with tools and stuff.’
‘This is fascinating stuff,’ Harry said, with a fly wink at Liz, who did her best to not laugh.
Jaydn continued, ‘They made their own paint, right? To decorate stuff, draw pictures on walls and bits of wood, even on each other.’
‘You mean like woad?’ Liz asked.
‘Do I?’ Jadyn said.
‘War paint,’ Liz explained. ‘You’ve seen Braveheart, right? Mel Gibson in a skirt and running around a lot? We had a trip to the Jorvik museum place in York once. Vikings and whatnot. Right smelly place, too, an proud of
