contact with Fox. ‘Fell over in the kitchen?’
‘That’s what she told me.’
‘And you repeated it for my benefit . . . but your face tightened just a little when you spoke.’
‘Are you supposed to be Columbo or something?’
‘Just observant, Inspector Fox. You need to take the next left.’
‘I know.’
‘And there’s that facial tightening again,’ Jamie Breck said, just loud enough for Fox to hear.
The police cordon was still in place, but the uniform on duty eased up the tape so they could pass beneath. There was a couple of journalists from the local paper, but both were old enough to know they would ask in vain for a quote. A few people watched from the towpath, not that there was much to see. The Scene of Crime Unit had already picked over the area. Photos showed the body in situ - Breck grabbed some from a SOCO and handed them to Fox. Vince Faulkner had been found face down, arms thrown in front of him. His skull had been crushed by something heavy. The hair was matted with blood. There were grazes to the palms and fingers - consistent with someone trying to defend himself.
‘We won’t know about internal injuries until after the autopsy,’ Breck commented. Fox nodded and looked around. It was a bleak spot. Mounds of earth and rubble from where some of the old brewery had been demolished. Warehouses remained, emptied of their contents and with windows pulverised. On the other side of the road, groundworks were under way for what would become a ‘mixed social development’, according to the billboard - shops, office space and apartments (no one seemed to call them flats these days). Cops in overalls were working in a line, trying to locate the murder weapon. There were tens of thousands of possibilities, from half-bricks to rocks and concrete rubble.
‘Could have been tossed into the canal,’ Fox mused.
‘We’ve got divers coming,’ Breck assured him.
‘Not much blood on the ground.’ Fox was studying the photos again.
‘No.’
‘Which is why you think he was dumped here?’
‘Maybe.’
‘In which case it’s not just a mugging gone wrong.’
‘No comment.’ Breck looked to the skies and took a deep breath.
‘I know,’ Fox said, intercepting the speech. ‘I can’t get involved. I shouldn’t make it personal. I mustn’t get in the way.’
‘Pretty much.’ Breck had taken the photos from him so he could flick through them. ‘Anything you want to tell me about your sister’s partner?’
‘No.’
‘He broke her arm, didn’t he?’
‘You’ll have to ask her that.’
Breck stared at him, then nodded slowly and kicked at a small stone, sending it rolling along the ground. ‘How long do you reckon this’ll stay a building site?’
‘Who knows?’
‘Someone told me HBOS were moving their corporate headquarters here.’
‘That might not happen for a while.’
‘I hope you didn’t have shares.’
Fox gave a snort, then stuck out a hand for the younger man to take. ‘Thanks for letting me come here. I appreciate it.’
‘Rest assured, Inspector, we’ll be doing all we can - and not just because you’re a fellow traveller.’ Breck gave a wink as he released Fox’s hand.
Twenty-five-pic minimum . . . You like looking at young kids, DS Breck, and it’s my job to hang you out to dry ...
‘Thanks again,’ Malcolm Fox said. ‘Can I drop you back at the mortuary?’
‘I’m going to stay here a while.’ Breck paused, as if deep in thought. ‘PSU,’ he eventually said, ‘just got through mangling one of my colleagues.’
‘It’d take more than the Complaints to mangle Glen Heaton.’
‘Were you part of that team?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘No real reason.’
‘You’re not particularly a friend of his, are you?’
Breck stared at him. ‘What makes you ask?’
‘I’m the Complaints, DS Breck - I see everything and hear everything. ’
‘I’ll bear that in mind, Inspector,’ Jamie
‘That’s what she told me.’
‘And you repeated it for my benefit . . . but your face tightened just a little when you spoke.’
‘Are you supposed to be Columbo or something?’
‘Just observant, Inspector Fox. You need to take the next left.’
‘I know.’
‘And there’s that facial tightening again,’ Jamie Breck said, just loud enough for Fox to hear.
The police cordon was still in place, but the uniform on duty eased up the tape so they could pass beneath. There was a couple of journalists from the local paper, but both were old enough to know they would ask in vain for a quote. A few people watched from the towpath, not that there was much to see. The Scene of Crime Unit had already picked over the area. Photos showed the body in situ - Breck grabbed some from a SOCO and handed them to Fox. Vince Faulkner had been found face down, arms thrown in front of him. His skull had been crushed by something heavy. The hair was matted with blood. There were grazes to the palms and fingers - consistent with someone trying to defend himself.
‘We won’t know about internal injuries until after the autopsy,’ Breck commented. Fox nodded and looked around. It was a bleak spot. Mounds of earth and rubble from where some of the old brewery had been demolished. Warehouses remained, emptied of their contents and with windows pulverised. On the other side of the road, groundworks were under way for what would become a ‘mixed social development’, according to the billboard - shops, office space and apartments (no one seemed to call them flats these days). Cops in overalls were working in a line, trying to locate the murder weapon. There were tens of thousands of possibilities, from half-bricks to rocks and concrete rubble.
‘Could have been tossed into the canal,’ Fox mused.
‘We’ve got divers coming,’ Breck assured him.
‘Not much blood on the ground.’ Fox was studying the photos again.
‘No.’
‘Which is why you think he was dumped here?’
‘Maybe.’
‘In which case it’s not just a mugging gone wrong.’
‘No comment.’ Breck looked to the skies and took a deep breath.
‘I know,’ Fox said, intercepting the speech. ‘I can’t get involved. I shouldn’t make it personal. I mustn’t get in the way.’
‘Pretty much.’ Breck had taken the photos from him so he could flick through them. ‘Anything you want to tell me about your sister’s partner?’
‘No.’
‘He broke her arm, didn’t he?’
‘You’ll have to ask her that.’
Breck stared at him, then nodded slowly and kicked at a small stone, sending it rolling along the ground. ‘How long do you reckon this’ll stay a building site?’
‘Who knows?’
‘Someone told me HBOS were moving their corporate headquarters here.’
‘That might not happen for a while.’
‘I hope you didn’t have shares.’
Fox gave a snort, then stuck out a hand for the younger man to take. ‘Thanks for letting me come here. I appreciate it.’
‘Rest assured, Inspector, we’ll be doing all we can - and not just because you’re a fellow traveller.’ Breck gave a wink as he released Fox’s hand.
Twenty-five-pic minimum . . . You like looking at young kids, DS Breck, and it’s my job to hang you out to dry ...
‘Thanks again,’ Malcolm Fox said. ‘Can I drop you back at the mortuary?’
‘I’m going to stay here a while.’ Breck paused, as if deep in thought. ‘PSU,’ he eventually said, ‘just got through mangling one of my colleagues.’
‘It’d take more than the Complaints to mangle Glen Heaton.’
‘Were you part of that team?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘No real reason.’
‘You’re not particularly a friend of his, are you?’
Breck stared at him. ‘What makes you ask?’
‘I’m the Complaints, DS Breck - I see everything and hear everything. ’
‘I’ll bear that in mind, Inspector,’ Jamie
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