Summoning the Dead (DI Bob Valentine #3)(7)

The DI rose. ‘I can’t fault a man for that. Jim Prentice wasn’t kidding when he said the corpse was mummified.’

‘Horrific, isn’t it?’ said CS Martin.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it in my entire career. Those hands . . . you can still see the flesh. It’s like they’ve been frozen that way since the time of death.’

‘The drum was sealed, sir,’ said Ally. ‘The doc reckoned all the moisture had been locked out, effectively preserving the contents.’

Valentine faced the team. He was pulling the latex gloves from his hands when he spoke. ‘Right, if the fiscal and the medic have seen this then I want the barrel removed from the ground and the contents examined.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Ally.

‘I want this forensic team doubled and the contents photographed and catalogued within the hour. Phil, get on to Wrighty. I want him to look at this today – no excuses – and if it’s not his thing, then he gets someone in – today!’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘We have a dead child, and a crime scene that has been remarkably well kept for us. If we can’t get a jump on this case through the boffins, then I don’t know when they’ll ever be of use to us.’ Valentine rubbed the back of his head; the dull pain had become an ache now.

‘Boss, what about door to door?’ said DS Donnelly. ‘There’s a farmhouse up there, I saw a for-sale sign, but . . .’

The DI cut in. ‘No. Leave that for now. Any witnesses and suspects are likely to be long gone, or in need of very good memories. Did the doc say how long he’d been in there?’

‘No, though he did say at least twenty-five years.’

‘That’s what I was worried about. Hopefully there’ll be some more evidence in the barrel. If it’s preserved as well as the corpse then we might be lucky and find the poor lad’s bus pass or dinner ticket. Get it all looked at. And, Phil, don’t be a stranger to the phone. I want calls with every step of the way.’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Do we know who owns the property?’

DS Donnelly removed a sheaf of paper from beneath his clipboard. ‘The site manager gave me this.’

Valentine took the sheet of A4. ‘Blairgowan Construction. They’re not local.’

‘No, Glasgow, sir. And they’ve been about as helpful and accommodating as you’d expect them to be.’

‘Perhaps someone should tell them it’s not a pair of nesting barn owls we’re dealing with, it’s murder . . . Hang on, this is a title deed, and it says they purchased the land and buildings in October of 2014.’

‘From a Mr Keirns, I think it says.’

‘It does indeed. Our very own Mr Garry Keirns.’ Valentine headed out of the tent. ‘Sylvia, you’re with me.’

‘Are we going where I think we are, sir?’

The DI was marching through the wet grass towards the car. ‘If you think we’re going to interrupt a funeral, then yes.’

McCormack stopped still. ‘I knew you were going to say that. I was hoping you wouldn’t, but I knew it.’





4

‘Hang on a minute, boss. Shouldn’t we wait to see what comes out of the barrel?’ said DS McCormack.

‘I think we can trust Phil and Ally with that. Besides, it looks like the construction crew have knocked off, and they’ll need to call back the digger operator to get it out of there. We haven’t got the time to waste if we want to bring in Keirns.’

The detective hadn’t altered his stride. He was at the gate now, climbing over the rail on his way back to the car. McCormack gritted her teeth and followed him over the top.

Inside the car, McCormack spoke up again: ‘So we’re really going to do this?’

‘Interrupt the funeral, you mean? I can’t see any other way.’

‘We could secure the scene, sir, supervise the removal of the oil drum.’

‘And send in the Chuckle Brothers? I don’t think so. This requires tact, Sylvia. They’re good cops but neither have that particular talent.’

‘I just thought . . .’

‘I know what you thought.’ Valentine proceeded to rub the back of his head again. ‘But we have to do our own dirty work this time.’

‘Something the matter with your head?’

The DI jerked his hand away and started the car. ‘Twisted a muscle or something.’

‘OK.’

Valentine knew exactly what McCormack’s response really said but resisted the urge to explain himself. He’d have enough of that to do later, when he got home to Clare and his father. The consequences of what he was about to do didn’t sit easily with him, but he’d sooner be in full control than delegate it and have even more to explain in time.

The road to Cumnock Congregational Church wasn’t long. Fields and moorland butted the road on either side whilst a light smirr pattered on the windscreen. It was familiar territory to the detective, but after what he had just seen, it felt like he was viewing the place with fresh eyes.

Valentine knew the streets he grew up in well, possibly even better than the streets of Ayr that he now walked daily. But the Cumnock of his boyhood appeared to him as another place entirely these days.