31

‘Think I’ve got a potential name for our final male victim.’

Despite his strange interview with the chief superintendent, McLean found himself still surprisingly upbeat. There was still far too much to do, and too many questions unanswered, but it felt like they were making progress now. Something would doubtless come along and ruin his mood soon, but for now he was going to make the most of it.

‘You have?’ Detective Inspector Ritchie turned away from the group of uniform constables she had been addressing. The noisy hubbub carried on as officers went about their work, answering calls, tapping actions into computer terminals, ferrying stacks of paper from one end of the room to the other. It was amazing how well-oiled a machine an incident room could be with someone half competent in charge. Not McLean, of course. He’d be the first to acknowledge that wasn’t where his skills lay. Detective Constable Gregg was in her element, though.

‘Reginald Samuel Saunders.’ McLean walked up to the whiteboard, searched around for a marker pen. After an awkward moment a constable handed him one and he wrote down the name on a spare space. ‘Pothead Sammy to those who know him, apparently. Low level dealer, mostly in cannabis and ecstasy. There’s a chance he’s been dabbling in harder stuff recently.’

‘What makes you think he’s our man?’ Ritchie asked.

McLean studied the board. All the identified bodies had been scrubbed off now, only the three unknown victims left. While that meant more space for writing notes, queries and other actions, it also meant there was space for larger photographs of their remains. He couldn’t help thinking that it was somewhat macabre and unnecessary, since none of their faces had survived, but it did serve to remind everyone what they were dealing with.

‘It’s very circumstantial at the moment, but Angus is going to get his DNA profile compared with the database as quickly as possible. The victim has some of the physical hallmarks of an addict. Pothead Sammy was known to frequent the area and hasn’t been seen since the crash.’

‘That’s a bit tenuous, isn’t it?’ Ritchie took the pen from McLean’s grip, leaned forward and scrawled a large question mark at the end of the name. ‘How come anyone even noticed? Have you any idea how many drug addicts there are in this city? In the half square-mile surrounding the crash?’

McLean paused before answering, his initial enthusiasm leaking like air from an old balloon. He’d not told Ritchie about Eric Forrester yet. Still couldn’t decide whether he was going to. Even if he did, in the middle of the busy major-investigation room wasn’t the place.

‘His name came up and he can be placed close to the scene around the time of the accident. No one’s seen him since then. It’s worth checking out at least, don’t you think?’

Ritchie gave him an odd expression, made odder by the pale, thin arches of her missing eyebrows. ‘Thought I was meant to be in charge of the identifications while you chased down the haulage company angle. Aren’t you heading up that suspicious death, too?’

‘I was … I am. Sorry, Kirsty. I’m not trying to muscle in on your investigation. This just … came up.’ McLean realized he was only digging himself in deeper. He’d have to tell her sooner or later. Probably should have done as soon as Forrester had come to him. What the hell had he been thinking?

‘Look. I’ll explain what it’s all about, but I need to find Grumpy Bob first. No point going over everything twice.’

‘He was in the canteen last I saw him.’ Ritchie cocked her head to one side like an inquisitive spaniel. ‘What’s going on, Tony?’

‘My office. Five minutes.’ McLean winced at the words, too often heard in an angry tone from Duguid or Brooks. ‘And see if someone can’t dig up the file on Pothead Sammy in the meantime, eh?’

‘So you’ve known about this for three days and haven’t thought to tell me?’

Ritchie paced up and down in front of the large window that dominated one wall of McLean’s office. He leaned against the edge of his desk, trying to work out the best way to proceed. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Grumpy Bob had sat down at the conference table and put his feet up on one of the other chairs.

‘Two days, I think. And to be fair, you were away when Forrester told me.’

‘There are things called phones, Tony. Reception’s a bit shit right up the top of the glens, but mostly they work even in Perthshire, you know?’

‘I also thought it best to let as few people know as possible. Last thing we need is this getting out. Imagine the fun Jo Dalgliesh would have with it.’

‘Imagine how much more fun she’ll have when she finds out we covered it up? Or had you not thought of that?’ Ritchie made another couple of turns around the carpet before speaking again. ‘And what if our dead body’s not Pothead Sammy but the chief superintendent’s son? You going to go public, then?’

‘Once his parents have been informed. Yes.’ McLean crossed the room to where Ritchie stood. ‘Look, Kirsty. I’m sorry, OK. But Forrester put us all in a difficult situation with this. I put Bob and Duguid on to it because that was the best way to avoid wasting resources.’

‘Duguid?’ Ritchie’s missing eyebrows arched high in surprise. ‘What the hell did you get him involved for?’

‘Contrary to popular belief, he’s actually quite a good detective. Shit at man-management, but then I can kind of sympathize. He was doing good work with the cold-case unit until the DCC shut it down. If he can help Forrester find his son – dead or alive, but hopefully alive – then there’s every chance we can get that team back up and running.’

Ritchie continued to stare wide-eyed at him for long moments. ‘Why would we care about the cold-case unit? We’re stretched that thin as it is, and half of the sergeants are due to retire soon … oh.’

‘Thought you’d get there eventually, lass.’ Grumpy Bob took his feet off the chair, pushed it away from the table for her to sit down. ‘They’ll pension me off at the end of the year whether I want it or not. Dagwood’s no’ my favourite idiot to work with, but I’d rather be down in that cellar with him than stuck in my wee flat waiting till it’s late enough to go for a pint.’

‘We need detectives with experience, Kirsty. There’s some promising new blood coming up, but they need mentoring. We’ve lost too many people recently. Brooks and Spence were only the last of it. At least if we’ve some of the old guard in a properly funded CCU then we can lean on them when we need their expertise.’

Ritchie pulled the chair further away from the table and sat down, Grumpy Bob shuffling to one side so that McLean could join the two of them at the table.

‘OK. So what’s the plan, then? We need to find Eric Forrester, and you think Sammy the Pothead is connected to him how?’

‘He’s Eric’s dealer. Least, I think that’s the relationship. They’re not that far apart in age, both grew up in Helensburgh. I wouldn’t be surprised if they knew each other from back then. Likely went to the same school.’ As he said it, McLean remembered Forrester’s expression when he’d first heard mention of Sammy Saunders. There was certainly a connection there, and it went deeper than addict and fixer.

‘So how are we going to ask him where Eric is if he’s lying in the mortuary cold store, then?’ Ritchie asked. ‘And what if it’s Eric lying there, not Sammy? What if it’s neither of them?’

‘DNA samples will be in soon enough. That’ll give us some answers. Meantime, Sammy’s a known quantity. He’s got a record, associates we can talk to, places we can search.’

Ritchie fixed McLean with a look of disbelief mixed with something else. ‘You only slapped his name up on the board so we could use the resources from the major-incident team to help track him down? Help track Eric down? I’m impressed, Tony. That’s far more devious than I’d have thought you capable of.’

McLean began to protest. That wasn’t what he’d intended at all when he’d put Pothead Sammy’s name up on the board. No one would believe him, though; the links were far too tenuous otherwise. Instead he just shrugged.

‘We need the manpower. And it’s not as if the chief superintendent’s going to complain.’