journalist who blew the story – a reprobate by the name of Ewan McGuigan – buttonholed me yesterday and said the SP on the murder, together with the photo of Lyall’s body in the rec, was pushed through his letterbox in a sealed envelope around 00.45 hours – which was before Lyall was even found by Derringer.’
Gilham whistled softly. ‘Then the nocturnal postman must have been the killer.’
Fulton nodded. ‘McGuigan said he saw no one in the vicinity after the delivery except a police patrol car cruising past. I thought the plod in it might have clocked someone out and about in the area.’
‘And the envelope and contents?’
‘Already en route to the lab, but I doubt whether there’ll be anything on them of use to us.’
‘Ah, so that’s why the SOCO team were sent to Merchant Street this morning?’
‘Yeah, I thought they might come up with something off the letterbox. Long shot, but there you are.’
‘Well, talking to Eddie Hutch a few minutes ago, I gather there were just a few smudged marks – nothing of any real value, and they could belong to anyone.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me, but at least we can’t be criticized later for not doing something.’
Gilham nodded, but he was still far from happy. ‘Jack, I have to say that all this “secret squirrel” stuff is not like you. We’ve done lots of jobs together in the past and you’ve always been right up front with me. If you don’t snap out of this business with Janet—’
Fulton’s aggression returned with a vengeance. ‘I’ve told you before, Phil, Janet is my business, so keep out of it! Now, what’s the SP from the early-turn inspector?’
Gilham started to say something, then changed his mind. ‘Merchant Street is on Area 3’s beat,’ he said, his tone now cold and resentful. ‘I’m told Alpha Shift were on nights when Lyall was murdered and their Area 3 is normally a PC Jenny Storey.’
‘Then we’d better have her interviewed pronto.’
‘No point. She was apparently in the nick with a prisoner from 23.00 until about 01.30 hours.’
Fulton was losing patience. ‘So who the bloody hell was it in Merchant Street?’
‘Area 4 – PC Derringer – would seem the most likely candidate. We can account for the locations of the rest of the mobiles through the control room log, but he hardly reported in all night – until he found Lyall’s body, that is.’
‘Derringer?’ Fulton breathed the word as if it were an expletive. ‘Our illustrious plod! That bugger seems to be popping up everywhere on this investigation.’
‘At least he seems to be out and about.’
‘Yeah, and well off his area this time.’
‘Probably poaching for collars. He has a good arrest record, don’t forget.’
Fulton looked unconvinced. ‘So, when is he next on duty?’
‘That depends. He reported sick today.’
‘Then we’ll have to get him seen at home.’
Gilham shook his head. ‘Not the done thing nowadays, Jack. It could be seen as harassment by the welfare lobby – even an infringement of his human rights.’
Fulton released his breath like an explosive charge. ‘Phil, this is a bloody murder investigation. Has anyone in this nick cottoned on to that yet? All I’ve heard about so far is political correctness and human sodding rights.’ He waved a hand angrily in the air, as if clearing away irritating tobacco smoke. ‘Let’s just get to this PM, shall we? And when we get back, I ’ll handle Mr John Derringer’s human rights personally!’
The red-brick building was almost hidden behind a row of strategically placed conifer trees in the grounds of the local hospital and a big green van was parked outside, its rear doors open.
Fulton recognized the undertaker’s wagon at once. These days ambulances no longer carried bodies to the mortuary, so the undertakers did the job with one of their less conspicuous vehicles, saving their sleek black hearses for the funerals.
Two men in shabby suits were leaving
Gilham whistled softly. ‘Then the nocturnal postman must have been the killer.’
Fulton nodded. ‘McGuigan said he saw no one in the vicinity after the delivery except a police patrol car cruising past. I thought the plod in it might have clocked someone out and about in the area.’
‘And the envelope and contents?’
‘Already en route to the lab, but I doubt whether there’ll be anything on them of use to us.’
‘Ah, so that’s why the SOCO team were sent to Merchant Street this morning?’
‘Yeah, I thought they might come up with something off the letterbox. Long shot, but there you are.’
‘Well, talking to Eddie Hutch a few minutes ago, I gather there were just a few smudged marks – nothing of any real value, and they could belong to anyone.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me, but at least we can’t be criticized later for not doing something.’
Gilham nodded, but he was still far from happy. ‘Jack, I have to say that all this “secret squirrel” stuff is not like you. We’ve done lots of jobs together in the past and you’ve always been right up front with me. If you don’t snap out of this business with Janet—’
Fulton’s aggression returned with a vengeance. ‘I’ve told you before, Phil, Janet is my business, so keep out of it! Now, what’s the SP from the early-turn inspector?’
Gilham started to say something, then changed his mind. ‘Merchant Street is on Area 3’s beat,’ he said, his tone now cold and resentful. ‘I’m told Alpha Shift were on nights when Lyall was murdered and their Area 3 is normally a PC Jenny Storey.’
‘Then we’d better have her interviewed pronto.’
‘No point. She was apparently in the nick with a prisoner from 23.00 until about 01.30 hours.’
Fulton was losing patience. ‘So who the bloody hell was it in Merchant Street?’
‘Area 4 – PC Derringer – would seem the most likely candidate. We can account for the locations of the rest of the mobiles through the control room log, but he hardly reported in all night – until he found Lyall’s body, that is.’
‘Derringer?’ Fulton breathed the word as if it were an expletive. ‘Our illustrious plod! That bugger seems to be popping up everywhere on this investigation.’
‘At least he seems to be out and about.’
‘Yeah, and well off his area this time.’
‘Probably poaching for collars. He has a good arrest record, don’t forget.’
Fulton looked unconvinced. ‘So, when is he next on duty?’
‘That depends. He reported sick today.’
‘Then we’ll have to get him seen at home.’
Gilham shook his head. ‘Not the done thing nowadays, Jack. It could be seen as harassment by the welfare lobby – even an infringement of his human rights.’
Fulton released his breath like an explosive charge. ‘Phil, this is a bloody murder investigation. Has anyone in this nick cottoned on to that yet? All I’ve heard about so far is political correctness and human sodding rights.’ He waved a hand angrily in the air, as if clearing away irritating tobacco smoke. ‘Let’s just get to this PM, shall we? And when we get back, I ’ll handle Mr John Derringer’s human rights personally!’
The red-brick building was almost hidden behind a row of strategically placed conifer trees in the grounds of the local hospital and a big green van was parked outside, its rear doors open.
Fulton recognized the undertaker’s wagon at once. These days ambulances no longer carried bodies to the mortuary, so the undertakers did the job with one of their less conspicuous vehicles, saving their sleek black hearses for the funerals.
Two men in shabby suits were leaving
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