‘You wanted to see me, Claire?’ Detective Chief Inspector Turnbull’s bulk filled the doorway.
Claire Trent looked up from her spreadsheets. ‘Come in, Paul. Take a seat. Won’t be a minute. The acting chief constable wants them before the end of today. Stats time. Unless I finish these numbers, we won’t have a bloody department.’
‘That bad?’
‘Worse.’
Turnbull took his seat in front of his boss, Detective Superintendent Claire Trent, as she peered into the long list of percentages and case numbers. Officially, she ran the Major Investigation Team, but if he had his way, it wouldn’t be for long. ‘Still, trying to tweak the stats, boss, rather you than me.’
‘Just a minute.’ Her pen poised over the printout and then scored a deep line though one of the items. She placed the pen down and sat back in her chair. ‘How’s morale at the moment?’
Turnbull shrugged his shoulders. ‘As good as can be expected. Being put in special measures by the Inspectorate of Constabulary was a kick in the teeth for the team. Most of them had worked their guts out only to be told everything they were doing was shit.’
‘Not exactly true, Paul. We had reporting issues, a failure of the systems, it was not the work of the force.’
‘People don’t see it that way, boss.’
‘It’s your job to convince them. Just because the chief constable took a hit and retired, doesn’t mean we’re out the woods.’
‘On a nice, sweet pension. Any news of a replacement?’
She nodded her head. ‘Somebody from Yorkshire, apparently, but I don’t know anything about him except he has a reputation for sorting out failing organisations.’
‘Bringing in a new brush to sweep the place clean?’
‘Something like that. Above our pay grade, Paul.’ She leant forward, placing her elbows on the table. ‘Our job is to keep going, locking up the bad guys and working cases. Understood?’
‘Understood.’
‘How are we right now?’
Turnbull sighed. ‘Stretched very thin, boss. The Liverpool gang shooting is taking up a lot of resource. The Rochdale murder, the county lines investigation with Cheshire, and the ongoing drugs investigation with South Yorkshire. Not to mention a spate of Post Office robberies in Levenshulme and Fallowfield. Plus we’ve had intelligence the Salford and Cheetham Hill mobs are about to kick off again.’
‘The last thing we need right now, another gang war.’
‘We could do with some more warm bodies, boss.’
‘Not going to happen, Paul. We make do with what we have at the moment. Budgets have to be balanced.’
‘We’re burning through a lot of overtime…’
It was Claire Trent’s turn to sigh. ‘You have to do more with less, Paul.’
‘The only thing you do with less is less, boss.’
‘I’m afraid I have to give you something else.’ She slid a file across his desk. ‘A film crew discovered a backpack when they were filming.’
‘I heard about it. Thought it was con, paranormal investigators looking for free publicity.’
She ignored him. ‘Three human hands were discovered inside the backpack. We don’t know how long they have been there.’
He picked up the file and flicked through it. ‘Just the hands, no other body parts?’
She nodded. ‘The CSI team has finished its work and the full post-mortem results will come in soon.’
‘DNA?’
‘Sent off to the lab. But they are backed up, results could take a while.’
‘Fingerprints?’
‘Sent off. But—’
‘I bet they are backed up too…’
‘Got it in one. We’ll get the results when we get them.’
‘Can’t the local CID handle it?’
‘They don’t have the resource.’
‘Neither do we.’
‘Could be a big case, could be nothing. A few medical students having a joke.’ Claire Trent stared across the table. ‘I’ve already promised the assistant chief constable we’re going to help the local plod.’
Turnbull didn’t look up from the file. Suddenly his eyes narrowed. ‘Has this already been reported to the coroner?’
‘I presume so.’
‘And they will be holding an inquest?’
‘Probably. What are you thinking, Paul?’
‘Why don’t we give it to Ridpath? He’s going to be looking into it for the coroner anyway, and we still pay for him. He’s not doing anything for us right now.’
Claire Trent thought for a moment without answering.
‘It’s a win–win for us, boss.’
‘Could be a conflict of interest.’
‘I’m sure we could work out something. If it turns out to be something, we can put more resource on it later.’
The detective superintendent sat back in her chair, chewing the end of her pencil. ‘I’ll have a chat with Mrs Challinor.’
‘And you’ll tell Ridpath after this afternoon’s meeting?’
She nodded and stared at Turnbull as he stood up. ‘Why are you giving Ridpath a case, Paul? I thought you and him didn’t see eye to eye?’
‘At the moment, we have no other choice, our resources are so stretched. Plus it sounds like the sort of investigation Ridpath is good at.’
‘And keeps him out of your hair?’
Turnbull ran his fingers along his newly shaven bald head. ‘You could say something like that.’ He turned to go, stopping as he reached the door. ‘You did say the hands could have been in the backpack for a long time?’
‘The CSIs weren’t sure how long. We should know more after the post-mortem.’
‘Doesn’t that make it a cold case? If Ridpath doesn’t find anything, we could move it quietly across to Holburt and his team, especially if it links to an old murder.’
‘And off our stats?’
‘Win–win–win, boss.’