Summoning the Dead (DI Bob Valentine #3)(15)
‘There’s a lot to be bagged, sir. I don’t think the drum has even been examined yet.’
Valentine waved down Donnelly. ‘OK, son, it’s not our usual crime scene – we’ll have to be patient. Fortunately the crime occurred twenty-five years ago. We’re not under the stopwatch on this one.’
‘The SOCOs are putting in a late one, sir. We should have an index of the evidence early doors.’
‘Good. When you get it catalogued I want you to go over it with a microscope yourself. If there’s a shirt button in that barrel I want to know if it’s from Woolworths or Marks & Spencer, do you understand?’
‘Loud and clear, boss.’
‘And who’s tracing the barrel with ICI on the side?’
DS McAlister raised his hand. ‘There’s quite a few markings, nothing immediately decipherable, boss, but if we can tie it to a manufacturing source or retail point then we’ll know better.’
‘Good. Don’t drag your heels on that. With any luck it’s exotic, or better yet, unique. I want to know how it ended up in Cumnock. It might be that it was just something close to hand that they grabbed for their own purposes – it was the right size, shape and so on – but it might lead us somewhere we might not otherwise have been looking. A perp’s workplace or spot on a delivery route. Check it all out – thoroughly.’
‘I’m on it, sir.’
Valentine folded his arms, then quickly unfolded them and started to walk among the group. He found it easier to concentrate on the move, like the motion freed up thoughts. ‘I want you to get into that basement tomorrow too, Ally. Any cases of missing children in the cold-case files from twenty-five to thirty years ago that you can find down there then I want to know about it. You might need to do some digging, but it could give us something to go on. Are there any unresolved disappearances? Any serial killers or predatory paedophiles we do know about sighted in the area at this time? Check them out, and pay close attention to the detective’s handwritten notes. The stuff you don’t normally see on the crime reports can quite often yield interesting information.’
‘I’ll get to that too, boss.’
‘And watch the cobwebs down there.’
‘I’ll take a feather duster, sir.’
The group sniggered at the image. Valentine continued to strut. ‘And, Phil, I want you to get hold of all the case files and all the newspaper reports on the scandal at Columba House.’
‘Scandal, sir?’ said Donnelly.
‘It was a boys’ home, of course there was a scandal. They shut the place in ’89 after an investigation. You’ll need to go to the archives, but Colleen in the media unit might help you with the newspaper cuttings, if you talk nicely to her, that is.’
‘I think I can manage that.’
‘Oh, and liaise with Sylvia on the Columba House stuff. She’s chasing separate records. I don’t want you falling over each other and giving them the impression that we’re less than perfect. If that mob have anything to hide, I want it flushed out and I want them to know we’re on to them.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Right, that’s your starter for ten. Remember, we’ve got two dead kids to consider, tread very carefully. People are sensitive enough about the thought of a murder investigation. When kiddies are involved, sensitivity has a tendency to dip into hysteria.’
9
Night had crept in by the time DI Bob Valentine reached the door of the station. It had been a long day, longer than he had envisioned, and certainly one to remember. He could list the days on the job he had been genuinely shocked by events he was tasked to investigate; there had been a few – but none like today. As he had grown older, and grown into the role of detective inspector, the shocks had diminished, become fewer, to the point where it was almost impossible to be truly taken aback by anything.
When he thought about it dispassionately, Valentine wasn’t moved by the crimes. He had ceased to be confounded by depravity or evil; he merely accepted they were part of life, like the rainfall or the changing of the tide. He could no more do anything about the fact that such things existed than he could stop the world turning. It would be futile to try.
That wasn’t to say he welcomed their existence, or the feelings they engendered in him; he merely accepted evil-doing with a shrug. Part of him had changed along the way, hardened to the reality. It often felt like he’d grown an outer skin that was protecting him from the full impact. Perhaps there was a shield around his very human heart. It had been through so much, he wondered sometimes how it managed to keep going.
But amidst it all he knew that it wasn’t in his interests to completely shut out the realities of the world, or totally protect his heart from their buffering. To do that was to diminish yourself, become less human, and then they had won. Valentine needed to remind himself from time to time that he was a man first and a cop second. He had a wife and children; he was the head of a family, not just a murder squad. If at any point one encroached on the other, he knew he was lost. But it was a hard fight and sometimes his vigilance slipped.
He got into the Vectra, started the engine and flicked on the lights. As he drove for home the night’s darkness was spreading over the auld town. He saw the moonlight’s silvery-white sheen reflected in the calmness of the River Ayr. The Town Hall’s gargoyles, backlit with a greenish haze, added an air of the gothic to the scene. It seemed an unnatural place, Ayr’s ancient cobbled streets and humpbacked bridges looking backwards to another time entirely.