Time was, that would’ve been Vicky, dressed up for a night on the town. In years to come, it could be Bella. A shiver crawled up her spine, like the cold had got deep into her bones.
Jenny stabbed a finger off her phone and kicked the crime scene suit trousers up in the air. ‘Jay’s found a Samsung smartphone nearby.’ She caught the trousers and dumped them on the discard pile. ‘I’m going to head back to the station to work at it.’
Forrester scowled at her. ‘I need you here, though.’
‘No, you don’t.’ Jenny smiled. ‘You need my team here, working on any forensics, not me. And there won’t be any, will there?’ She looked around. ‘Meanwhile, I’m going to get into that phone and see who your girl was meeting.’
‘Meeting?’
‘Well, you don’t come here dressed like that if you’re out for a stroll, do you?’
‘You’re assuming she wasn’t dumped?’
‘Same difference. She’s probably been speaking to her killer. Happens all the time.’
Forrester looked desperate now, his eyes darting around the car park. ‘Are you cataloguing the cars?’
‘Not my job, David. You’ve got a very big team who can handle that kind of malarkey.’
Forrester shut his eyes. ‘Right. Well. Off you bloody go.’
‘Charming.’ Jenny patted Vicky’s arm as she passed. ‘Catch you guys later.’
Forrester nodded at Karen. ‘Constable, see that stuff about cataloguing cars?’
‘Can’t you get DC Considine to do it?’
Forrester frowned, but it eased off when he spotted Considine’s eager bunny nodding. ‘Aye, fine. Relieve him from Crime Scene Management.’
‘Thanks, sir.’
Forrester watched them go, easing off his suit trousers. ‘Swear she gets worse every day, Vicks.’
‘Karen or Jenny?’
‘Take your pick.’
The tent opened and Arbuthnott stormed out, lugging her medicine bag. ‘Well, David, I’ll check to see if she was raped when I get her back.’
Vicky felt like her gut was boiling now. ‘Raped?’
‘It’s possible.’ Arbuthnott grimaced. ‘Sooner I get her into the lab, the sooner—’
‘But if you were a betting lady?’
Arbuthnott exhaled slowly, her breath misting in the air. ‘My take is that the victim was strangled and then dumped here.’
Vicky looked around the car park again. ‘Why would you dump a body here?’
‘Good question.’ Arbuthnott shrugged. ‘But the body’s still warm, so I can give you a very accurate time of death.’ She checked her watch. ‘Eighty-two minutes ago.’
Forrester gave her a warmer smile than he gave Jenny. ‘Any danger we can get the PM fast tracked?’
Arbuthnott was nodding her head. ‘I mean, it’s Christmas Eve and all of my children are waiting on Santa’s visit, but this is a young girl’s life, snuffed out just like that.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘As soon as she’s in the mortuary, I’ll fast-track a preliminary post-mortem.’
‘I appreciate it, Shirley.’
‘I’m not the one who has to break the news to her parents. Evening.’ Arbuthnott hefted up her bag again and charged across the car park.
Vicky stood there, trying to process it all. A dead girl in the middle of a supermarket car park. ‘Take it we don’t know who she is?’
‘No purse, no ID. Nothing.’ Forrester folded up his trousers and put them on the discard pile. ‘Hoping that, despite her general nippiness, Jenny can get us at least that from the phone.’
‘Assuming it’s the victim’s.’
‘Right.’
‘Who found the body?’
‘Night security lad.’ Forrester was scratching at his seven o’clock shadow, rasping like a matchbox. ‘Lad wasn’t the full shilling. More excited about how he’s working all of Christmas Day too and how he’s coining it in at double time. Some nonsense about going to Barcelona in a week to watch the El Clásico and tour the stadium.’
‘David, “the” is redundant.’
‘Eh?’
‘It’s El Clásico, not the El Clásico.’
‘Either way, I fancy Barca crushing Real.’
‘Displacement activity, right?’ Vicky looked over at the supermarket, now emptying of staff. ‘He’s just found a dead body. Can’t process that, so he talks about football.’
‘Right.’
She focused on him. ‘Unless he killed her.’
‘Already crossed my mind.’ Forrester shot her a crafty wink, just the wrong side of creepy. ‘Lad didn’t see anybody turn up, though.’
‘You believe him?’
‘I do. Young Buchan got hold of the CCTV.’ Forrester pulled out a smartphone and pressed his finger to the sensor. ‘Bastard thing never— Here we go.’ He held out the screen to Vicky.
It was paused, showing a car driving over from the roundabout. A silver Skoda, but blurry. Vicky nudged the frame on but it disappeared. Back two, and it was over at the roundabout.
Forrester scowled. ‘They’ve got the world’s worst security system.’
‘It’s 2015 – who only stores every five seconds?’
‘Ashworth’s is who. Cheap bastards.’ Forrester shook his head. ‘Had a case over at their head office in Crieff a few years back. Bunch of clowns, I tell you. Had to threaten both brothers. Twins, would you believe?’
‘Believe anything. So, you think this Skoda dumped her body here?’
‘Possible.’ He took the phone back and held it out, on the frame of the car. ‘You see both of our problems, though, aye?’
Vicky stared at the screen, but she couldn’t see much else. Ah. She had it. ‘So, there’s no CCTV nearer the store?’
‘Nope. It’s like Fort Knox, Doddsy.’ Forrester shook his head. ‘Cameras everywhere. And in glorious HD. Just not out there. Not their land, so no dice on the old cameras.’
‘And that car doesn’t show up?’
‘Correct.’
Vicky stared at the screen again. ‘No, I don’t see what the issues are.’
Forrester tapped the screen. ‘The car’s got masked plates.’
‘That’s not just blur?’
‘No, that Jay gadgie in forensics ran it through his laptop, said it’s been sprayed with that shite that, you know, masks it.’
‘It’s a Skoda, right?’
‘Right. An Octavia. Why?’
‘Well, my dad’s always joking about how—’
‘All taxis in Dundee are Skoda Octavias. Aye.’
‘What’s the other one?’
‘Well, if that car didn’t dump her, then let’s say they were meeting here.
