weird.”
“Matches what the Spindlies are supposed to wear, Sarge,” said Tranter. “And have a look at the mask.”
“Mask?” Stakowski saw. “Christ Almighty.”
“Pretty much what we thought, Sarge.”
“Yes, thank you, Wayland. Fair enough, I call that bloody weird too.”
“Ever seen anything like it before, Sarge?”
“I’d remember if I had.”
“What gets me is how life-like it is,” said Tranter. “Someone spent a lot of time on it.”
“And then just dumped it,” said Wayland.
“Mm.” Stakowski hefted it. “Pretty light, too. What is it, tin?”
“Tin or copper, I think.”
“Alright. Get it down to Sergeant Brock at the station – signed for, tagged, the lot. And while you’re at it, take Mr Griffiths down the station, get a statement off him. Everything. Every detail. Clear?”
“Sarge.”
“Good. But first, get onto the boss and tell her Mr Griffiths is alive and well. His kiddie were sobbing her heart out.”
Wayland nodded, didn’t move.
“What is it lad?”
“Speak to you a sec, Sarge?”
“Alright.” They moved aside. Tranter stood outside the gate, scratching his head. “What’s on your mind, Paul?”
“Just–” Wayland bit his lip.
“Spit it out.”
“DC Janson, Sarge.”
“What? She sexually harassing you? Christ, I’ll have nightmares.”
“Er... no, Sarge. But she has been mouthing off something fierce.”
“What about?”
“The way the investigation’s being handled.”
Wayland looked miserable. No-one liked being the school sneak. “Go on.”
“Basically... we’re wasting time treating the two cases as linked. The Khalid girl’s an honour killing, Pakis being Pakis, nothing to do with the missing kid.”
“I can imagine.”
“And she keeps going on about the Spindly Men angle as well. Says that’s wasting time too.”
“Where’s Sergeant McAdams been in all this?”
“Even Janson’s not thick enough to gob off near him. But... we were in the canteen today and she was rattling on. Rest of us were trying not to take any notice of her – heard it a dozen times already. But, you know Inspector Sherwood?”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. He was on the next table, and you know what he’s like.”
“Oh yeah. Old Brown Nose himself. So by now he’ll’ve gone straight to the Bedstead saying the investigation’s a shambles and her own team think she’s lost it.”
“Thought you’d best know.”
“Aye. Thanks lad. Owt else I should hear?”
Wayland bit his lip, glanced at Tranter, shook his head. “No, Sarge.”
“Alright. Get weaving. Shift the evidence down the station, let the boss know ’bout Griffiths.” Stakowski turned away. Cover her back, Mike . What, even though he’d most likely get pulled down with her? Yes . Didn’t even need to think on it, really. “Tranter! Where’s the rest of the weird stuff?”
“Inside, Sarge. We gave the place the once-over, made sure it was empty. Apart from that we’ve kept it clear for the SOCOs.”
“You called in the circus, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good lad. Suppose we should wait for them to arrive, properly speaking.”
“Suppose so, Sarge.”
“Dr Wisher’ll be very upset, otherwise.”
“There is that.”
Stakowski grinned. “Let’s get in there, then.”
“Sarge.” Tranter passed Stakowski a pair of latex gloves and a torch; they went through. Stakowski shone the torch around; bloated white faces came out of the walls. “Bloody hell.”
“Yeah.”
They picked their way over the rotten floorboards. In the middle of the room, the table and the bucket on top. There was a stick laid across the top of the bucket, something dangling down from it. There was a car battery on the table too, wired to the bucket or its contents. “Shit.”
“Don’t think it’s a bomb, Sarge.”
“Oh, you don’t, do you? That’s nice to know.”
“I’ve not touched it,” said Tranter.
“Thank heavens for that. Might be wearing half the bloody street
“Matches what the Spindlies are supposed to wear, Sarge,” said Tranter. “And have a look at the mask.”
“Mask?” Stakowski saw. “Christ Almighty.”
“Pretty much what we thought, Sarge.”
“Yes, thank you, Wayland. Fair enough, I call that bloody weird too.”
“Ever seen anything like it before, Sarge?”
“I’d remember if I had.”
“What gets me is how life-like it is,” said Tranter. “Someone spent a lot of time on it.”
“And then just dumped it,” said Wayland.
“Mm.” Stakowski hefted it. “Pretty light, too. What is it, tin?”
“Tin or copper, I think.”
“Alright. Get it down to Sergeant Brock at the station – signed for, tagged, the lot. And while you’re at it, take Mr Griffiths down the station, get a statement off him. Everything. Every detail. Clear?”
“Sarge.”
“Good. But first, get onto the boss and tell her Mr Griffiths is alive and well. His kiddie were sobbing her heart out.”
Wayland nodded, didn’t move.
“What is it lad?”
“Speak to you a sec, Sarge?”
“Alright.” They moved aside. Tranter stood outside the gate, scratching his head. “What’s on your mind, Paul?”
“Just–” Wayland bit his lip.
“Spit it out.”
“DC Janson, Sarge.”
“What? She sexually harassing you? Christ, I’ll have nightmares.”
“Er... no, Sarge. But she has been mouthing off something fierce.”
“What about?”
“The way the investigation’s being handled.”
Wayland looked miserable. No-one liked being the school sneak. “Go on.”
“Basically... we’re wasting time treating the two cases as linked. The Khalid girl’s an honour killing, Pakis being Pakis, nothing to do with the missing kid.”
“I can imagine.”
“And she keeps going on about the Spindly Men angle as well. Says that’s wasting time too.”
“Where’s Sergeant McAdams been in all this?”
“Even Janson’s not thick enough to gob off near him. But... we were in the canteen today and she was rattling on. Rest of us were trying not to take any notice of her – heard it a dozen times already. But, you know Inspector Sherwood?”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. He was on the next table, and you know what he’s like.”
“Oh yeah. Old Brown Nose himself. So by now he’ll’ve gone straight to the Bedstead saying the investigation’s a shambles and her own team think she’s lost it.”
“Thought you’d best know.”
“Aye. Thanks lad. Owt else I should hear?”
Wayland bit his lip, glanced at Tranter, shook his head. “No, Sarge.”
“Alright. Get weaving. Shift the evidence down the station, let the boss know ’bout Griffiths.” Stakowski turned away. Cover her back, Mike . What, even though he’d most likely get pulled down with her? Yes . Didn’t even need to think on it, really. “Tranter! Where’s the rest of the weird stuff?”
“Inside, Sarge. We gave the place the once-over, made sure it was empty. Apart from that we’ve kept it clear for the SOCOs.”
“You called in the circus, then?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good lad. Suppose we should wait for them to arrive, properly speaking.”
“Suppose so, Sarge.”
“Dr Wisher’ll be very upset, otherwise.”
“There is that.”
Stakowski grinned. “Let’s get in there, then.”
“Sarge.” Tranter passed Stakowski a pair of latex gloves and a torch; they went through. Stakowski shone the torch around; bloated white faces came out of the walls. “Bloody hell.”
“Yeah.”
They picked their way over the rotten floorboards. In the middle of the room, the table and the bucket on top. There was a stick laid across the top of the bucket, something dangling down from it. There was a car battery on the table too, wired to the bucket or its contents. “Shit.”
“Don’t think it’s a bomb, Sarge.”
“Oh, you don’t, do you? That’s nice to know.”
“I’ve not touched it,” said Tranter.
“Thank heavens for that. Might be wearing half the bloody street
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