7
Rebecca Irvine’s phone sounded as she got in the car outside Ellie’s school, waving to Ellie as she disappeared into a crowd of her friends. Her son was in his car seat in the back.
‘DC Irvine,’ she said when she answered the call – recognising the number as the Strathclyde Police HQ.
‘Becky, it’s me.’
Detective Superintendent Liam Moore – her boss.
‘Morning, sir.’
‘Where are you?’
He sounded cranky. Not an encouraging start to the day.
‘I’m going to drop my son off at the childminder. Why, do you need me?’
‘Yes. What are you working on right now?’
‘The Johnson case. You know, the body in the Range Rover? Ewen Cameron’s the DS on it.’
‘It’s stalled, right?’
He was right. They had identified the victim as Andrew Johnson: soldier, turned private security mercenary, turned … something else. Shot twice in the head. ‘Execution style’ was how the newspapers described it. Beyond that, they had nothing to go on.
‘No need to be defensive about it,’ Moore said when she didn’t answer. ‘I know you guys are working it. Maybe you need something new. Freshen things up, you know.’
Irvine said maybe.
‘No one else is free right now anyway,’ he said. ‘We’re getting slammed.’
So what’s new?
‘What have you got?’ she asked.
‘It’s a floater. Fished out the Clyde this morning down on the Broomielaw.’
Irvine closed her eyes. Those were never good.
‘There’s a twist with this one,’ Moore said.
‘Okay. What is it?’
‘It’s a drug squad investigation. Those guys are at the locus already. They’ve asked for CID assistance.’
‘Am I volunteering?’
‘You already did.’
Irvine cradled the phone with her shoulder while Moore talked, reached inside her jacket and took out a notebook. She wrote the location of the body. Was about to write the name of the drug squad contact on site when she paused.
‘Did you say the Director General is there?’ she asked Moore.
‘Yes.’
‘Why is the head of the SCDEA at a crime scene?’
‘I didn’t ask. Must be big time, eh?’
‘I guess. Are we going to be in charge of the scene?’
‘Yes. I briefed Jim Murphy already.’
Murphy was a veteran detective sergeant who had turned the latter half of his time on the force into a career as a crime scene manager. It was a desk job that he was entirely happy with as he headed rapidly downhill towards retirement. That wasn’t to say that he was a bad detective. He just preferred a life behind a desk to a life stepping over bodies.
Who could blame him?
‘Leave it with me,’ Irvine told Moore. ‘I’ll head over there as soon as I can.’
‘Brief me when you get in.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Irvine had very little experience of dealing with the SCDEA – the Scottish Crime and Drug Enforcement Agency. But she knew enough about police hierarchies to realise that if the head man – the DG – was at a crime scene, then it was a very big deal.