A Case Number
‘Well, Souter?’ The sergeant looked up. He peered over the rim of his reading glasses.
PC Ian Souter shuffled his size twelve feet. Willie Esson was a big man, with a temper to match, and Souter had been at the wrong end of it once too often.
‘Reporting on the call-out to Murtle Den Road, Sergeant.’
‘Ye-es?’ Willie Esson removed his glasses and put them down on the desk in front of him.
‘There was a shout for the nearest unit to Milltimber. PC Miller and me responded.’
‘PC Miller and I, Souter.’
‘PC Miller and aye, sir.’
Willie Esson ran his fingers through what was left of his hair. He didn’t know where they got these young guys from. Some of them, even the university graduates, were barely literate these days.
‘What did you find when you got there, Constable?’
‘A body, sir.’
The sergeant sighed theatrically. ‘What sort of a bloody body, Souter?’
‘A female body.’
‘Go on.’
Souter scratched the side of his nose, unsure quite how to respond.
‘What about this body, Constable?’ prompted the senior officer. ‘Who found it? Where was it? Give me the facts.’
Forehead creased, Souter bent to consult his notebook. He straightened. ‘Incident called in 09.02 to emergency services. PCs Souter and Miller first to respond. Arrived Murtle Den Road, Milltimber 09.16. Entry to property given by Zofia Wisniewski, cleaner. Body of unresponsive female found in first floor bedroom. Identified as householder Sheena Struthers. No other parties present. Ambulance services arrived 09.22. Patient transferred to ARI.’
‘That’s better, son,’ Willie Esson leaned back in his chair. ‘Did you establish if there is anyone else resident at the address?’
‘Husband. Gordon Struthers.’
‘Has anyone contacted him?’
‘I left Miller to do that.’
‘All the same.’ The sergeant threw his constable an arch look. ‘We’d better follow that up.’ He scribbled a note. ‘Now, I’d like you to tell me, in your own words, exactly what you saw at the scene.’
‘Not a lot.’ Souter couldn’t meet his senior officer’s eyes. He stood, rooted to the spot. ‘It all happened in that much of a rush, sir: us gaining access, the ambulance arriving at our back.’
Behind the desk, his superior sat, anger seething out of every pore. ‘You have to do better than that.’
Souter blushed from the base of his neck to the roots of his hair. Finally, he spoke. ‘There were no obvious signs of injury, Sarge. Seems the woman suffered a heart attack, and…’
The sergeant cut him off mid-flow ‘How did you establish that, Constable? No, on second thought, don’t tell me.’ He drew a breath. ‘And don’t go making bloody assumptions. You’ve obviously been watching too much shite on the telly, Souter. Stick to the fucking facts.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Where was Miller while this was happening?’
‘Downstairs, sir, with the cleaner.’
‘She gave you access?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Miller took a statement from the cleaner, then.’
‘N-no, sir,’ Souter stammered.
‘Why the fuck not?’
‘She doesn’t speak English.’
‘Christ Almighty.’ The sergeant’s face suffused with blood. ‘Not one word?’
‘Hardly any, sir. She’s Polish. Miller got her to write down her name, then…’
‘Never mind,’ Esson cut him short. ‘I hope you two wankers didn’t disturb anything.’
‘No, sir. That’s one of the first things…’
‘Right. And maybe one of the very few things you haven’t forgotten.’
Souter stammered. ‘S-sir.’
The older man sighed deeply. ‘What happened then?’
‘Well, me and Miller…’
‘Miller and I,’ thundered the sergeant.
‘I followed the ambulance. Miller stayed at the house.’
‘It’s taken us fucking long enough to get to this stage.’ Sergeant Esson let out a long sigh. ‘Now, before we’re done here, take a minute, son. Is there anything you’ve overlooked?’
Souter scrunched his eyes shut. He stood for a few moments, then opened them again. ‘No, sir.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then, away you go, and get the thing written up.’
‘Right you are, sir.’ Relief written all over his face, Souter turned away.
‘And Souter…’
‘Yes, Sarge?’ He swivelled on his heel to face his boss again.
‘Don’t forget to put a fucking case number on it.’