woman called Nancy’s proffered hand. She liked ice cream.
CHAPTER 16
It was one of those times when Wilson didn’t really want to go back to the office. The investigation was going nowhere fast, and he would have preferred to be out on the streets trying to drum up a lead than sitting behind a desk waiting for something to happen. It was one of the drawbacks of rank. As a young detective constable, it had all been about finding evidence and learning the game. When he moved up to detective sergeant, he’d taken on some responsibility for the work of the constables, but he was also on a learning curve to become an inspector, and then the exalted rank of chief inspector. It was what he and the other cadets aspired to when they were at Police College. Some cadets like Jennings took it to extremes of ambition while others were happy to truck along as constables for the rest of their lives. He knew that among his own team, the only person who had leadership qualities was Moira McElvaney. He had insisted that they make her up to detective sergeant but from now on it would be up to her how far she wanted to go. As far as he was concerned, he was happy to have made superintendent, and he had no desire to climb any further up the greasy pole to the rank of chief superintendent where he would be buried in a mound of bullshit administration. He had recently carried out the annual appraisals of his team and to a man they declared their ambition satisfied. That didn’t mean that they wouldn’t like a few extra quid in their pay packets every month but in terms of job satisfaction, they were, by and large, happy. Harry Graham had, he thought, finally accepted the fact that he would never be able to pass the sergeant’s exam. He didn’t know why Harry continually failed. He didn’t think that the man was dyslexic so perhaps it was simply a phobia with exams. Wilson had already put in twenty years on the Force. Despite the overt antipathy of DCC Jennings towards him, he had managed to reach a rank he had no desire to go beyond. Ian Wilson was a copper, and that’s what he always would be.
Only Ronald McIver was present in the squad room when he returned. The other four members of the team were beating the bushes for a lead. As soon as he was settled behind his desk, he reluctantly opened his computer and clicked the mail icon. A flood of new e-mails filled the screen in front of him. He wondered whether this new technology was a blessing or an affliction. He knew what he thought. He selected one with the subject line ‘toxicology’. He clicked on the enclosed pdf and learned that Lizzie was marginally over the legal alcohol limit and Sammy Rice was over by the proverbial mile. He was glad he didn’t have Sammy’s liver. There was nothing else of interest. The second e-mail contained a revised forensics report. Nothing major there either only a few more finger prints were identified. Added to the report were the rap sheets of those additional people. None of them would have been welcomed in heaven judging from their past deeds. He worked quickly through the rest of the e-mails discarding the ones that had been sent simply to show the hierarchy that a particular officer was still alive and working on something extremely important. Then he dumped the e-mails in which he had been copied for no other reason than that he was a superintendent. Then he dumped the e-mails consisting of ‘things he should know about’ such as new rules concerning the powers of the Chief Super to amend the station organisation chart. Important stuff no doubt, but not very relevant to finding the murderer of Lizzie Rice. By the time he had cleared his e-mails he had done a considerable amount of work but the investigation into the murder of Lizzie Rice hadn’t moved forward by one inch. He looked at his watch. It was lunchtime, and he had to choose. He hated eating alone in a pub.
CHAPTER 17
Deane’s restaurant
CHAPTER 16
It was one of those times when Wilson didn’t really want to go back to the office. The investigation was going nowhere fast, and he would have preferred to be out on the streets trying to drum up a lead than sitting behind a desk waiting for something to happen. It was one of the drawbacks of rank. As a young detective constable, it had all been about finding evidence and learning the game. When he moved up to detective sergeant, he’d taken on some responsibility for the work of the constables, but he was also on a learning curve to become an inspector, and then the exalted rank of chief inspector. It was what he and the other cadets aspired to when they were at Police College. Some cadets like Jennings took it to extremes of ambition while others were happy to truck along as constables for the rest of their lives. He knew that among his own team, the only person who had leadership qualities was Moira McElvaney. He had insisted that they make her up to detective sergeant but from now on it would be up to her how far she wanted to go. As far as he was concerned, he was happy to have made superintendent, and he had no desire to climb any further up the greasy pole to the rank of chief superintendent where he would be buried in a mound of bullshit administration. He had recently carried out the annual appraisals of his team and to a man they declared their ambition satisfied. That didn’t mean that they wouldn’t like a few extra quid in their pay packets every month but in terms of job satisfaction, they were, by and large, happy. Harry Graham had, he thought, finally accepted the fact that he would never be able to pass the sergeant’s exam. He didn’t know why Harry continually failed. He didn’t think that the man was dyslexic so perhaps it was simply a phobia with exams. Wilson had already put in twenty years on the Force. Despite the overt antipathy of DCC Jennings towards him, he had managed to reach a rank he had no desire to go beyond. Ian Wilson was a copper, and that’s what he always would be.
Only Ronald McIver was present in the squad room when he returned. The other four members of the team were beating the bushes for a lead. As soon as he was settled behind his desk, he reluctantly opened his computer and clicked the mail icon. A flood of new e-mails filled the screen in front of him. He wondered whether this new technology was a blessing or an affliction. He knew what he thought. He selected one with the subject line ‘toxicology’. He clicked on the enclosed pdf and learned that Lizzie was marginally over the legal alcohol limit and Sammy Rice was over by the proverbial mile. He was glad he didn’t have Sammy’s liver. There was nothing else of interest. The second e-mail contained a revised forensics report. Nothing major there either only a few more finger prints were identified. Added to the report were the rap sheets of those additional people. None of them would have been welcomed in heaven judging from their past deeds. He worked quickly through the rest of the e-mails discarding the ones that had been sent simply to show the hierarchy that a particular officer was still alive and working on something extremely important. Then he dumped the e-mails in which he had been copied for no other reason than that he was a superintendent. Then he dumped the e-mails consisting of ‘things he should know about’ such as new rules concerning the powers of the Chief Super to amend the station organisation chart. Important stuff no doubt, but not very relevant to finding the murderer of Lizzie Rice. By the time he had cleared his e-mails he had done a considerable amount of work but the investigation into the murder of Lizzie Rice hadn’t moved forward by one inch. He looked at his watch. It was lunchtime, and he had to choose. He hated eating alone in a pub.
CHAPTER 17
Deane’s restaurant
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