Police at the Station and They Don't Look Friendly (Detective Sean Duffy #6)(11)

“There were other police officers here this morning, where are they now?”

Silence.

The rain increased a fraction and a mist began rolling down the north road from the Antrim Hills. A man on all fours, perhaps with species dysphoria, was attempting to communicate with the goat.

Christ, this was depressing. It didn’t help when an ice-cream van pulled up, parked itself at the end of the street and began playing a selection of television themes. Its haunting version of EastEnders brought a few punters over.

This police/honest-citizen liaison was getting me nowhere. I lit a ciggie and went inside the house where I was met by a distracted and visibly upset Detective Constable Lawson coming down the stairs.

“Oh, sir, thank God you’ve got here at last!”

“What’s going on Lawson? Why isn’t my crime scene secured? Where’s forensic?”

“I’m so sorry, sir, it’s been a bit of a crazy morning. I was just on the phone, I was just trying to call them, I wasn’t sure what number, I …”

“Call whom?”

“Forensic.”

“Surely they were notified by dispatch?”

“Yes, sir. They’ve been and gone, sir.”

“They left?”

“Yes, sir,” Lawson said, his lip trembling and his bright blue-green eyes on the verge of tears.

“Are they finished?”

“No. They didn’t even get started. Chief Inspector McCann said it was an unsafe work environment. He said it was union regulations.”

“What union? What are they … Why isn’t the victim even covered with a police blanket? He’s getting rained on, ashed on and there’s little kids staring at him.”

“I’m so sorry, sir. I did ask for permission but Inspector Dalziel sort of dismissed my request.”

“Inspector Dalziel?”

“He got promoted while you were away, sir.”

“Let me get this straight. Inspector Dalziel arrived from the station and took over the crime scene?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And wouldn’t let you put a police blanket over the victim?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“He said the goat would probably eat it and ruin police property. He may have been being sarcastic, sir, I wasn’t sure …”

“Why didn’t you control the goat, Lawson?”

“I mentioned that as well, sir. I said that the goat was slobbering over the fence, potentially contaminating the crime scene.”

“And what did Dalziel say to that?”

“He said that that was forensics’s problem. And then he said that the goat was on someone else’s property and we’d need permission to enter the house next door to take the goat away from the fence.”

“We’re the Old Bill. We can do whatever the fuck we want, son!” I said, really angry now.

I noticed that my fists were clenched and my face must have been bright red. Kenny Dalziel had the same effect on everyone he worked with and the bastard was not going to give me a heart attack. I forced myself to take a couple of deep breaths and calm down.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Lawson said, all trembly-voiced.

“It’s not your fault, son. Where the fuck is Sergeant McCrabban? He’s supposed to be in charge of—”

“That’s what I mean by crazy. I thought you knew, sir. Oh gosh. I thought someone had told you!”

“Told me what?”

“Deauville’s wife, sir – Deauville’s the victim, sir – she stabbed Sergeant McCrabban when he tried to get her off the body so the forensic officers could do their work.”

“Holy shit! Crabbie was stabbed! Why didn’t you tell me that straightaway?”

“I thought you knew, sir.”

“How would I know? I only just got here. What happened? How is he?”

“Uhm, I was just on the phone with him. Apparently he’s fine, sir. No stitches, just a tetanus shot. She stabbed him with a fork. He didn’t want to go to the hospital in the first place but—”

“What happened?”

“Mrs Deauville was very upset. Sergeant McCrabban tried to move her away from the body and she stabbed him in the shoulder with a fork. She’s a foreigner, I think. We had to report the stabbing, of course, and, uhm, Inspector Dalziel showed up. He ordered Mrs Deauville placed in custody and he ordered Sergeant McCrabban to report himself to the Royal Victoria Hospital as per the injury-at-work regulations.”

“Christ! And then what?”

“And then the forensic team left, saying it was an unsafe work environment.”

“And the forensic officer is this McCann fellow, eh? Don’t know him. OK. Then what happened?”

“And then I tried to secure the crime scene … and the goat … and Inspector Dalziel …”

I bit my tongue. It wouldn’t do to let young Lawson hear my full profanity-laden tirade against a superior officer. “And then Inspector Dalziel left with Mrs Deauville?” I asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Probably the first arrest he’s made in years,” I couldn’t help but mutter.

“Unfortunately Inspector Dalziel took both constables off crowd control to restrain Mrs Deauville in the back of the Land Rover, so that just left me here, sir.”