fucking moron or it’s a half-arsed attempt at making someone look like a moron.’ He shook his head, walked away from the officer. ‘Get me on the mobile if we get an ID off that saw.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Or anything else. Right away.’
‘Yes, right away . . . Don’t you want to see it? It’s at the lab.’
Brennan shook his head. ‘No, I’m going to the morgue. The preliminary report’s in.’
As the DI walked through the incident room he looked about. There was a lot of leaning on elbows, chewing on pens. Tomorrow would be different. He could already hear Galloway screaming for updates on the hour, the press office passing on requests for interviews. He stopped at the desk of the WPC that McGuire had given the missing persons job to. ‘How’s the list coming along?’
‘We’ve got it narrowed down . . . There’s been some calls, after the telly, sir.’
‘And?’
‘Two very good possible . . . erm . . .’ She shuffled some papers on her desk, picked up a black notebook with an elastic fastener. ‘This one’s been missing for six months. She’s from Leith.’
Brennan leaned in. ‘Go on.’
‘Elaine Auld . . . She’s sixteen and been seen about Muirhouse before. She’s not been seen for six months, though, like I said.’
The Muirhouse connection was promising. Brennan had it in his gut that the girl was local. Leith was close enough to Muirhouse for her to have known associates there, but it bothered him that she had been missing for six months. That was a long time – common sense told him people didn’t disappear for that length of time in their own town without some kind of sighting.
‘What’s the other one?’
The WPC put down the notebook. ‘Hang on, I was just printing that up now.’ She rose from her chair and walked over to the small printer that sat on the desk next to hers. As she walked back she read the page: ‘This is from Northern Constabulary, sir . . .’
‘What?’
‘She’s from Pitlochry . . .’
Brennan curled down the edges of his mouth. ‘Why do you think she’s a possible?’
She turned over the page. There was a badly pixelated picture of a young girl. It seemed to have been taken from the internet, a social-networking site perhaps. The image had been printed in black and white and it was difficult to make out any more than the fact that she was female, and blonde. ‘She’s the right weight and height . . . age too.’
The detective took the page, scanned the print. ‘There’s no city connection . . . She might never have been here.’
‘But if she’s a runaway, sir.’
She had a point, but it didn’t do to concede points to juniors in the ranks. ‘I’m not buying it.’ He handed her back the page. ‘Keep looking. I want an update on my desk before you go home. All possible, with the favourites on top. Okay?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She looked crestfallen.
‘Good work, though. Keep it up.’ Brennan spoke loud enough for the room to hear as he left. He caught sight of McGuire in the corner of his eye. The DC was frowning.
Chapter 15
DI ROB BRENNAN TOOK THE car McGuire had been driving that morning but he had since claimed. He had already put the seat back to accommodate his heavier frame, had adjusted the steering wheel slightly, but it still didn’t feel like a vehicle he should be driving. The VW Passat started on the first turn of the key. The noise beneath the bonnet betrayed the fact that it was a diesel engine. Edinburgh had too many diesel engines, thought Brennan – taxis, buses, they were all rank, stinking up the city worse than any brewery. The place didn’t need any help on the grime front; it had been doing well enough for centuries. He engaged the clutch and pulled out.
A smattering of rain hit the windscreen as Brennan turned onto Comely Bank. He put on the wipers. By Raeburn Place the rain was coming down in torrents. He slowed his speed through the Circus. He liked the New Town. The
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Or anything else. Right away.’
‘Yes, right away . . . Don’t you want to see it? It’s at the lab.’
Brennan shook his head. ‘No, I’m going to the morgue. The preliminary report’s in.’
As the DI walked through the incident room he looked about. There was a lot of leaning on elbows, chewing on pens. Tomorrow would be different. He could already hear Galloway screaming for updates on the hour, the press office passing on requests for interviews. He stopped at the desk of the WPC that McGuire had given the missing persons job to. ‘How’s the list coming along?’
‘We’ve got it narrowed down . . . There’s been some calls, after the telly, sir.’
‘And?’
‘Two very good possible . . . erm . . .’ She shuffled some papers on her desk, picked up a black notebook with an elastic fastener. ‘This one’s been missing for six months. She’s from Leith.’
Brennan leaned in. ‘Go on.’
‘Elaine Auld . . . She’s sixteen and been seen about Muirhouse before. She’s not been seen for six months, though, like I said.’
The Muirhouse connection was promising. Brennan had it in his gut that the girl was local. Leith was close enough to Muirhouse for her to have known associates there, but it bothered him that she had been missing for six months. That was a long time – common sense told him people didn’t disappear for that length of time in their own town without some kind of sighting.
‘What’s the other one?’
The WPC put down the notebook. ‘Hang on, I was just printing that up now.’ She rose from her chair and walked over to the small printer that sat on the desk next to hers. As she walked back she read the page: ‘This is from Northern Constabulary, sir . . .’
‘What?’
‘She’s from Pitlochry . . .’
Brennan curled down the edges of his mouth. ‘Why do you think she’s a possible?’
She turned over the page. There was a badly pixelated picture of a young girl. It seemed to have been taken from the internet, a social-networking site perhaps. The image had been printed in black and white and it was difficult to make out any more than the fact that she was female, and blonde. ‘She’s the right weight and height . . . age too.’
The detective took the page, scanned the print. ‘There’s no city connection . . . She might never have been here.’
‘But if she’s a runaway, sir.’
She had a point, but it didn’t do to concede points to juniors in the ranks. ‘I’m not buying it.’ He handed her back the page. ‘Keep looking. I want an update on my desk before you go home. All possible, with the favourites on top. Okay?’
‘Yes, sir.’ She looked crestfallen.
‘Good work, though. Keep it up.’ Brennan spoke loud enough for the room to hear as he left. He caught sight of McGuire in the corner of his eye. The DC was frowning.
Chapter 15
DI ROB BRENNAN TOOK THE car McGuire had been driving that morning but he had since claimed. He had already put the seat back to accommodate his heavier frame, had adjusted the steering wheel slightly, but it still didn’t feel like a vehicle he should be driving. The VW Passat started on the first turn of the key. The noise beneath the bonnet betrayed the fact that it was a diesel engine. Edinburgh had too many diesel engines, thought Brennan – taxis, buses, they were all rank, stinking up the city worse than any brewery. The place didn’t need any help on the grime front; it had been doing well enough for centuries. He engaged the clutch and pulled out.
A smattering of rain hit the windscreen as Brennan turned onto Comely Bank. He put on the wipers. By Raeburn Place the rain was coming down in torrents. He slowed his speed through the Circus. He liked the New Town. The
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