‘How are we doing on IDing the body?’ Helena Grant asked.
‘Not brilliantly,’ Ginny Horton said. ‘Or, more accurately, not at all.’
‘You wouldn’t believe it was possible for someone to remain anonymous in this day and age, would you?’ Grant shook her head. ‘I know we’ll get there eventually, but aren’t we all supposed to be tracked and trailed wherever we go these days?’
‘Never quite seems to work like that for us,’ Horton agreed. ‘Not when it really matters, anyway. He had no ID on him. No mobile phone. His clothes are either mass-produced chain store stuff or charity shop purchases. He’s got no tattoos or other identifying characteristics. There’s no trace of his fingerprints or DNA on our records–’
‘I get the picture. What about the cameras?’
‘We’ve checked the CCTV from the fort. No sign of him on the Sunday afternoon. There’re a fair number of cameras, so either we’ve just been unlucky or he was deliberately avoiding them.’
‘And had the knowledge and skills to do so? I suppose it’s possible,’ Grant said, doubtfully.
‘Anything’s possible till we know who he is. We’ve checked the car park CCTV, but no sign of him arriving by car and no sign of him arriving at the entrance on foot either.’
‘He must have got there somehow.’
‘You’d think. We’ve been looking at the reg numbers captured by the ANPR cameras on the A96, but even on a Sunday afternoon in January there was a hell of a lot of traffic. And the positioning of the camera doesn’t help us in terms of who might have turned off to the fort.’
‘Great.’
‘We’ve got the numbers of all the cars the CCTV caught on Sunday,' Horton said, 'and we’re working through those. We’re also checking the buses. There is a bus service up there on Sunday, though there aren’t many buses, so we may get something from CCTV or even the driver’s memory.’
‘Not that the driver’s memory will tell us much, other than maybe where he got on.’
‘I’m trying to be optimistic. Every little helps.’
Grant smiled. ‘Aye, I know. It’s just frustrating not even to be at first base.’ She slid a set of stapled papers across the desk. ‘At least we’ve got Jacquie Green’s report. It’s on the system but I’ve printed off a hard copy for you.’
‘Anything useful?’
‘Only if every little helps,’ Grant said. ‘Confirms the likelihood of an unlawful killing. Confirms cause of death as asphyxiation, most likely caused by something being pressed across the victim’s face. No evidence of alcohol or drugs in the bloodstream at the time of death. Looks like the victim had eaten breakfast that morning, but I’m guessing you don’t want the details of that just now.’
‘Not really. So, in summary, not much?’
‘Not that you’d notice, no. If the victim wasn’t under the influence, it does raise the question of how he was killed. Examiners reckon there was no obvious sign of any struggle, so must have been taken by surprise.’
‘Not easy to suffocate someone by surprise, I’d have thought.’
‘Would require some distraction, I imagine. And maybe some strength. Though our victim wasn’t exactly the muscular type.’
Horton was consulting her notes. ‘We’re trying to interview everyone who was on site on Sunday afternoon. Just on the off-chance someone might have seen our victim at some point. That’s a fair number – soldiers, some civilian staff and so on – so it’ll take a while. No idea if it’ll tell us anything useful.’
‘Only if they spotted our man with someone else, I’m guessing,’ Grant said. ‘Which is always possible. It’s not as if the place was heaving with visitors on Sunday.’
‘We’ve been trawling through the mispers too, but there’s no one local who matches the description. Of course, he may not have been missed yet, or at least not sufficiently for anyone to report it to us. Beyond that, I’m not sure what else we can do.’
‘I’m talking to comms. If we don’t have any luck with the identity by tomorrow, we’ll organise an appeal for anyone who knows him. We’ve given basic details in the media reports so far, but if we go out with something more detailed we might strike lucky.’
‘Like you say, we’ll pin him down eventually, one way or another. It’s just that, with every day that passes, we risk losing intelligence.’
‘What about a mobile?’ Grant said. ‘It’s unusual not to carry one these days. Any chance it was dropped somewhere?’
Horton shrugged. ‘My guess is it was removed by the killer, along with whatever ID he might have had. In which case, it could be anywhere. Or nowhere. We’ve searched the vicinity of the building, and we’ll look to widening the search but I’m not hopeful.’
‘I know. I’m clutching at straws. Let’s hope something turns up, eh?’
‘It usually does. Mostly when you least expect it.’ Horton shuffled together her notes, preparing to end the meeting. ‘I hear we’re to be deprived of Alec’s company for a while?’
‘Only briefly, I’m hoping. Just till we have a view on his brother-in-law’s death.’
‘If he’s working with Charlie Farrow, I can’t imagine it’s going to last long. One of the many people that Alec’s never quite managed to rub along with.’
‘Not exactly an exclusive club.’
‘Most people aren’t as tolerant as we are. I wouldn’t mind being a fly on the wall in their meetings, though.’
Grant nodded, a mildly weary expression on her face. ‘Oh, aye. I’d pay good money to sit in on any of those, right enough.’