A Plague Of Crows: The Second Detective Thomas Hutton Thriller by Douglas Lindsay Page B
Authors: Douglas Lindsay
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there's any reflection in her eye.'
'If there is, that would be a mistake,' I say.
'And he doesn't make mistakes. Check it anyway.'
Off back out the door, away to speak to a woman I know.
18
Ninety minutes later we're sitting in Taylor's car, heading up the M80 on our way to the murder site. A polis in Perth thought he recognised the hills and went for a look. Found the bodies where the killer had left them, still surrounded by birds. Birds which seemed reluctant to leave despite the presence of the police. In the end, apparently, they killed a couple of them. Better not let that get out to the press. Bird-Killing Cops Disrespect Crime Scene or some shit like that.
We're listening to Bob, thank God, although Taylor stuck on Saved , which he knows I don't like. Petty. Very petty.
The boys from Edinburgh have already headed on out to take charge. We oughtn't to be going at all, but Connor called Taylor in and told him to get his arse out there. He's expecting us to blag our way onto the crime scene. Hopefully it'll be the locals who are in charge of securing the perimeter and they won't know to tell us to bugger off. Next time it happens, if there is a next time, the guys from Edinburgh will be ready for us. They'll know that we're still working the case.
What we're doing now is starting a turf war over investigation rights, but we're not thinking about that at the moment. Just doing what we're told.
The one positive, and it's a pretty small positive but we're grasping, is that the area was one that we'd marked off as a potential spot when we saw the Whittaker woman in Aberfoyle. We'd been thinking along the right lines, just without the resources to do anything about it.
If we'd told the Edinburgh boys what we were thinking, would they have done anything? Would they have said good idea chaps, let's crack on ? Probably not. Or maybe they've been thinking the same thing.
Taylor's not talking. Thinking the case through, likely wondering the same thing I am. Will he have left no trace and be gone on his way? Will it be three months before he strikes again? Longer, shorter, exactly to the day?
Phone goes, take the call. Sophie in the tech room.
'Yep?'
'Sergeant,' she says, 'we got a good look at your guy from the video. He was wearing a mask.'
That makes sense. Even though he was obviously confident his victims were not going to survive, he doesn't take chances.
'What kind?' I ask. Pointless question, but I feel like I need to say something to justify a conversation that has already pretty much given up all that it will.
'Well… a crow. It looks like the head of a crow… I'll send the images over.'
I stare straight ahead, don't immediately say anything.
'Can you see his eyes?' I eventually think to ask.
'No.'
'He knew we'd check…'
'Fuck, yeah. And given the precision of the scalping that everyone's talking about, it's hard to imagine he wore the mask while he was cutting. He hardly needed to care that his victims would see what he looked like. So, he just put the mask on for filming. He knew we'd see. That's why he waves.'
'What?'
'Oh yes. And you know he's not waving at that terrified woman. He's waving at you.'
'Us.'
'If that's how you want to see it, Sergeant.'
There's a short silence which Sophie in the tech room breaks by hanging up.
She watches movies. People don't say goodbye when they end phone calls in movies, they just hang up. That's because at some stage the writer will have been told to cut the script down, so he'll have scrapped pointless shit like people being pleasant to each other. Now it's seeped insidiously into society.
'Mask?' says Taylor.
'A crow's head.'
'Oh for crying out loud… What was the other thing?'
'He waves when he's filming her eyes 'cause he knows we're going to check that shit.'
'Jesus. He's taking the piss?'
'I think we knew that already.'
The conversation is over, and we're coming towards the end of the motorway, still twenty minutes or so to go and
'If there is, that would be a mistake,' I say.
'And he doesn't make mistakes. Check it anyway.'
Off back out the door, away to speak to a woman I know.
18
Ninety minutes later we're sitting in Taylor's car, heading up the M80 on our way to the murder site. A polis in Perth thought he recognised the hills and went for a look. Found the bodies where the killer had left them, still surrounded by birds. Birds which seemed reluctant to leave despite the presence of the police. In the end, apparently, they killed a couple of them. Better not let that get out to the press. Bird-Killing Cops Disrespect Crime Scene or some shit like that.
We're listening to Bob, thank God, although Taylor stuck on Saved , which he knows I don't like. Petty. Very petty.
The boys from Edinburgh have already headed on out to take charge. We oughtn't to be going at all, but Connor called Taylor in and told him to get his arse out there. He's expecting us to blag our way onto the crime scene. Hopefully it'll be the locals who are in charge of securing the perimeter and they won't know to tell us to bugger off. Next time it happens, if there is a next time, the guys from Edinburgh will be ready for us. They'll know that we're still working the case.
What we're doing now is starting a turf war over investigation rights, but we're not thinking about that at the moment. Just doing what we're told.
The one positive, and it's a pretty small positive but we're grasping, is that the area was one that we'd marked off as a potential spot when we saw the Whittaker woman in Aberfoyle. We'd been thinking along the right lines, just without the resources to do anything about it.
If we'd told the Edinburgh boys what we were thinking, would they have done anything? Would they have said good idea chaps, let's crack on ? Probably not. Or maybe they've been thinking the same thing.
Taylor's not talking. Thinking the case through, likely wondering the same thing I am. Will he have left no trace and be gone on his way? Will it be three months before he strikes again? Longer, shorter, exactly to the day?
Phone goes, take the call. Sophie in the tech room.
'Yep?'
'Sergeant,' she says, 'we got a good look at your guy from the video. He was wearing a mask.'
That makes sense. Even though he was obviously confident his victims were not going to survive, he doesn't take chances.
'What kind?' I ask. Pointless question, but I feel like I need to say something to justify a conversation that has already pretty much given up all that it will.
'Well… a crow. It looks like the head of a crow… I'll send the images over.'
I stare straight ahead, don't immediately say anything.
'Can you see his eyes?' I eventually think to ask.
'No.'
'He knew we'd check…'
'Fuck, yeah. And given the precision of the scalping that everyone's talking about, it's hard to imagine he wore the mask while he was cutting. He hardly needed to care that his victims would see what he looked like. So, he just put the mask on for filming. He knew we'd see. That's why he waves.'
'What?'
'Oh yes. And you know he's not waving at that terrified woman. He's waving at you.'
'Us.'
'If that's how you want to see it, Sergeant.'
There's a short silence which Sophie in the tech room breaks by hanging up.
She watches movies. People don't say goodbye when they end phone calls in movies, they just hang up. That's because at some stage the writer will have been told to cut the script down, so he'll have scrapped pointless shit like people being pleasant to each other. Now it's seeped insidiously into society.
'Mask?' says Taylor.
'A crow's head.'
'Oh for crying out loud… What was the other thing?'
'He waves when he's filming her eyes 'cause he knows we're going to check that shit.'
'Jesus. He's taking the piss?'
'I think we knew that already.'
The conversation is over, and we're coming towards the end of the motorway, still twenty minutes or so to go and
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