THESE MAGGOTY WEASELS ALWAYS DO, HOWEVER CUNNING
‘His name is Peter James Grimshaw, of 67 Effington Street. We’ve got a perfect match of prints, exactly tallying those found on the glass under Emily’s bed. We’ve got our man. We’ve got our man,’ Shuggie McDermott excitedly advised as he burst into Yarrow’s office later that day. ‘Aye, we got the bastard.’
‘You are sure it’s him, his prints compare with those on the glass?’
‘Oh aye, see, all prints fall into one of four main types: arches, whorls, loops, and compounds,’ Shuggie expounded enthusiastically. ‘And about 60% of all prints are loops, 5% are arches and so…’
‘Shuggie, Shuggie, spare me the lecture,’ Yarrow said gently with a smile. He knew that once Shuggie McDermott got into full stride with his enthusiasm for fingerprint theory, they would be there all day as he expounded on ridge counting, inner and outer termini, numerators, denominators, and sub-classes such as ulna-loops. ‘Just tell me, do we have enough reference points on the comparison between his prints and the prints on the glass to be irrefutable evidence in court.’
‘Ayr, aye, we’ve got 17 reference points; we need 16 for positive identification. We’ve got him.’
‘Not so fast, Shuggie. We need to be sure we have him absolutely watertight. A good defence lawyer will argue that the fact of his prints on the glass does not conclusively prove he killed Emily Black. Probably, but not absolutely. We need some more, something else to tie him to Emily. Small things. Insignificant things, anything to tighten the noose.’
‘We arrest him, right, question him, he’ll slip up then, we’ll find inconsistencies with his story, he will trip himself up and hang himself. They always do. He’s got to explain his prints on the glass, and he can’t, that irrefutably puts him at Emily’s bedside the night she was taken,’
‘But is it enough to charge him?’
‘Aye, that’s the question.’
‘I’ll talk to Trevor Bullock; see how we play it. I think you’re right, though. Bring him in and sweat him, get him to trip himself up. He’s our man, I’m certain of that, like you I can smell him, but we need more. We need more to make it stick in court.’
Yarrow felt exalted yet cautious, all the hard work, all the long hours, the extensive overtime, the telling, killing, strain would all be worth it if they could bring Peter Grimshaw to trial and prove his guilt beyond reasonable doubt and then deliver him into the hands of the hangman.
But!
He was convinced Grimshaw was their man, throughout the investigation had been driven by that central conviction; that the man who had left his fingerprints on the glass beneath Emily Black’s bed must be her killer. Grimshaw’s prints on the glass went a long way to proving that. But! Was it enough to convince a jury? He closed his eyes and leant back. Could it be nearly over?
Bullock agreed. ‘Bring him in. You’ve got enough to get an arrest on suspicion and get a search warrant. Swear out a warrant with the magistrates, reasonable cause to search for evidentiary material relative to the murder of wee Emily. Take his place apart, there’ll be something. He’ll have left some trace. These maggoty weasels always do, however cunning. He’ll have left a trace. Find it, Chris. Nail the bastard.’