Cross and Ottey met Michael Swift at the crime scene on Monday morning. Cross wanted to have another look.
‘Detective Inspector Ottey!’ declared the forensic investigator enthusiastically in the first-floor room where Ed Squire had been murdered. ‘How cool is that! Well-deserved and not before time.’
Ottey smiled, before immediately looking over at Cross, who if he had heard and was in the least put out, didn’t show it.
‘Thank you. So what have you got?’ she asked.
‘Not a whole lot, truth be told. As you know, the victim was killed here, in front of his desk, indicated by the blood on the floor,’ he replied.
The floor was bare floorboards except for a couple of rugs under the table in the middle of the room and Ed’s desk. The blood had seeped into the wood and was congealed in a sticky black mess in the cracks between the boards.
‘From what we’ve been told the victim answered the door from his desk. There’s a release mechanism on the wall. No video, alas, just an intercom. Obviously he got up from the desk. There was an altercation and he was stabbed.’
Cross noticed various papers and books on the floor near the bloodstain. He looked around the room and saw that it was well ordered and organised. As was the desk. But there was a gap on top of it where the objects on the floor had fallen.
‘I think those might’ve fallen off the desk during some kind of altercation,’ Swift suggested.
‘But there are no defence wounds on the victim,’ Cross pointed out. ‘Which would indicate he wasn’t expecting the attack. It took him completely by surprise.’
‘Which means he probably knew his killer,’ added Ottey.
‘I think the fact that we believe he let the killer in would suggest as much,’ Cross pointed out.
‘This is a difficult scene forensically, being a shop, which is why I’m still here. Added to the fact that there was no overtime available for the team over the weekend. Plus ça change. So there are multiple traces of DNA, probably fibres, from dozens of customers. All in all, I really don’t think I’m going to be much use on this one,’ Swift said a little mournfully. He liked to work as closely with Cross as he could, such was his admiration for the detective. But it had become rapidly obvious to him that this case wasn’t going to furnish him with such an opportunity. ‘It’s a bugger,’ he concluded. Cross left the room.
‘How’s Alice?’ asked Ottey.
‘Good, good,’ replied Swift, the mention of his girlfriend bringing a smile to his lips. ‘Really enjoying herself, while at the same time hating the idea of being a student again. Her time at uni still doesn’t feel that far away.’
‘We must catch up some time,’ Ottey said.
‘She’d like that.’
‘Maybe a Sunday lunch. It’s the only time I seem to be at home these days,’ Ottey suggested, thinking adult company other than just her mother – who managed to imply disapproval of her daughter even when she simply said, ‘Good morning’ – might be a relief.
‘I’ll let her know. She’s always asking about you and DS Cross. “The team”, as she calls it.’
‘I suspect it’s mainly George she asks about,’ she replied.
‘True. Oh, I haven’t told her about your promotion. She’ll be thrilled. One thing though – does that mean the team will be split up?’ he asked.
‘It’s quite possible I’ll be transferred,’ she said.
‘I don’t think you’ll be going anywhere, now I think about it,’ the forensic scientist speculated.
‘Oh yes, and why’s that?’ she asked.
‘You’ve got a secret weapon,’ he reliably informed her.
‘Which is?’ she asked, playing along.
‘No one can deal with George like you. No way Carson’s going to give that up in a hurry.’
She hadn’t thought of this before. The truth was, leaving the department was a possible, unwelcome, price to pay for her elevation. Unwelcome, because she wasn’t a great one for change, and to her surprise, Swift’s theory seemed to give her a moment’s warm solace. It was in that same moment that she knew for the first time how the idea of not working with George was what was really gnawing away at her insides. Like the annoying mouse she’d found, by dint of her children’s screams, chewing through all the cables leading to their TV.
*
Carson wanted to talk through what they had come up with, this despite the fact that Ottey had told him there was nothing to discuss. But this kind of inconvenience was always irrelevant to a man who was preoccupied by trying to show that he is in charge and on top of things. Ottey found these meetings intensely frustrating and time-wasting, with Carson’s posturing almost a personal insult aimed fairly and squarely at her. There was nothing to discuss. What were they doing? Cross, on the other hand, quite enjoyed hearing where they weren’t at and what they didn’t have. Although he never indulged in it, he listened to the speculation of others with interest, as occasionally it prompted a line of thought he might not have considered otherwise. This was, admittedly, rare, but when it did occur, it made all the other hours of pointless hypothesis in the incident room seem a price worth paying.
‘Do we have any CCTV from the neighbouring buildings?’ Carson asked, as if this might not have occurred to any of them to check.
‘We do not,’ Ottey replied. ‘But Catherine’s looking at cameras on streets that lead into the square from Park Street, to see who, if anyone, entered the square at the pertinent times.’
‘That was my next question,’ he assured them all.
‘He could’ve come from Brandon Hill,’ Cross pointed out.
‘Indeed. Which, I’m assuming, has no CCTV coverage,’ Carson said confidently, having read a preliminary report. ‘Our victim let his killer in,’ he continued.
‘Correct,’ replied Ottey. ‘He operated the door catch next to his desk. It was an old-style intercom release.’
‘So, he knew the killer?’
‘Most likely,’ sighed Ottey.
‘What time does the shop normally close?’ asked Cross from the back of the room by the door.
‘Six p.m.,’ replied Prianka.
‘According to Persephone, the visitor rang the doorbell around seven,’ said Cross.
‘So are you suggesting it was a prearranged meeting?’ asked Carson.
‘I wasn’t aware I was suggesting anything,’ replied Cross. ‘We’ve been told by the victim’s wife that he was still at work because he was waiting for his father to return from London. So unless the meeting was organised at short notice, that idea seems unlikely.’
‘It’s not unusual for people to work on after shop hours. Administration, answering emails, etc,’ Ottey pointed out.
‘Unless it was a regular occurrence, how could the killer be sure Ed Squire would be there?’ asked Cross.
‘Maybe the killer was observing the building. Knew Squire hadn’t left,’ replied Carson.
‘Or perhaps he wasn’t the target. What if it was the old man? I mean, he does live there,’ another detective suggested.
‘Too many questions, not enough answers,’ declared Carson. His usual mantra in such situations. ‘Answers, people. Let’s find some answers. That’ll be all.’
‘Helpful as ever,’ muttered Ottey as she turned back to her desk. ‘George, plan of action after that stirring speech?’
‘What stirring speech?’ replied Cross, fairly sure he hadn’t missed anything. ‘We should go back to Torquil Squire.’