The woman frowned, placing her index finger against her chin. ‘Now you mention it,’ she murmured, ‘yes, I did. I’d just checked the trout that I had baking in the Aga, when I heard a couple of bangs.’
‘That didn’t alarm you?’
She shook her head, firmly. ‘No. Chief Inspector, there are deer in this area, and where there are deer these days, there are poachers. It might surprise you but gunshots are not unusual around here.’
‘Even at night?’
‘Especially at night: that’s when poachers work. I met one, a couple of years ago. He had radiator trouble and he came to the house to ask if we could fill his water can. He was quite open about what he was doing. He told me that he used a night sight; assured me that we were quite safe, that it could tell the difference between a person and a deer.’ She paused. ‘So, are you now telling me that the people in the burning car were shot?’
‘I’m afraid we are.’
‘That’s quite appalling. What is this world coming to?’
‘A good question,’ Haddock conceded. ‘Mrs Walker, have you seen anyone recently who was out of the ordinary?’
‘Around here, most people are out of the ordinary. You may think of this as an isolated spot on the edge of a busy city, but it isn’t. Further on up the road, the reservoir, and the one beyond, are very popular places. They’re stocked with trout; lots of people pass by here on the way to a few hours’ fishing. Some stay longer; I believe there is holiday accommodation. The fact is, if we see strangers here, we don’t give them a second glance.’
‘Don’t you feel exposed?’
‘No.’ For the first time, she allowed them a hint of a smile, although it was condescending. ‘We have complete faith in the police, and we have a very good alarm system, with cameras.’
Pye was about to remark that having a double murder a hundred yards from their driveway might make them think about reviewing their security, when he was interrupted by his phone, vibrating in his pocket. ‘Excuse me,’ he murmured, taking it out.
A warm female voice sounded in his ear. ‘Sammy, it’s Sarah Grace here.’
‘Hello, Prof,’ he replied. ‘It seems hardly any time since we left your place of work. You have been home, haven’t you?’
‘Not for long. There was a question from the autopsies that I wanted to answer as soon as I could,’ he could sense her smile, ‘and now I’m happy to say I have.’
‘Good for you. Does it take us any further?’
‘It might, although it might also need a bit of legwork on your part. Remember the stomach contents that I wasn’t sure about?’
‘I’ll never forget them.’ Pye’s own stomach threatened to heave as he recalled the moments of their recovery.
‘I’ve identified them. Dino and Anna had the same last meal, no more than three hours before they died: venison burger, in a bun. She had mustard on hers, he had piccalilli. I hope that helps you.’
The DCI beamed. ‘Oh I think it might. Thanks, Sarah.’
He winked at Haddock. ‘Our next port of call, after we do the press briefing,’ he announced. ‘Mrs Walker, thanks for your help. I don’t think we’ll heed to haul your husband out of his meeting with the Secretary of State. Nor will we need a formal statement from you; if there is anything else, we’ll get back to you.’
The DS waited until the front door had closed behind them before giving in to his curiosity. ‘So?’ he exploded.
‘Remember Jagger’s speciality burger yesterday?’ Pye retorted. ‘Well,’ he said, not waiting for Haddock’s nod, ‘after we left, he had two more customers.’
Twenty-Eight
Mario McGuire had ordered that Sammy Pye should be senior investigating officer on both the Zena case and the murders of Dino and Anna, and that he should take a press briefing at the former Edinburgh police HQ.
The DCI was used to being on camera, but he had never been in the hot seat at a formal media conference before such a large audience. He was set to be flanked on the platform by Haddock, for little more than moral support, and by a woman he had never met before. Her name was Isabel Cant, ScotServe’s deputy head of communications, and to Pye, she set new standards in abrasiveness.
‘There’s your statement,’ she said, as they waited in a small room behind the conference hall, five minutes before they were due on stage, and as she thrust a sheaf of paper into his hands. ‘Your Q and A brief is there too, but I’ll field the questions and decide which we can answer.’
‘We?’ Sauce Haddock murmured, beside him.
‘This is a team event, Detective Sergeant,’ she snapped.
‘Fine,’ he chuckled, ‘so where’s my team sheet?’
‘You don’t need one. You won’t be saying anything. This is a very high-profile situation, and very sensitive in media terms. I can’t run the risk of you coming out with information that can’t be revealed at this stage.’
‘In that case,’ Pye intervened, looking up from the text, ‘what’s this doing here? We’re naming the child?’
‘That’s been decided at the highest level,’ she said. ‘The father is incommunicado and could be so for months. In those circumstances, we can waive the “next of kin informed” tradition on this occasion. It’s only ever done as a courtesy anyway.’
‘The highest level? Does that mean the chief constable, or DCC McGuire?’
Cant’s stare reminded him of one of his primary school teachers: he had hated that woman. ‘No, it means the director of communications.’
‘And is that person,’ he began, his voice low and slow, ‘aware that the mother is still unconscious in hospital after surgery? Is he aware that the link between her injuries and the child’s death hasn’t been revealed to anyone outside my team? Is he aware that I don’t want her waking up to find a posse of journos outside her room?’
He took out his phone, scrolled through his contact numbers and offered it to her. ‘There. That’s DCC McGuire’s number. Would you like to call him and tell him what we’re about to do?’
‘I don’t need to. This is my department’s remit. We’re responsible for all media communications.’
Haddock laughed. ‘So you’re going to swan in here and tell an SIO what he can and can’t say about his own investigation?’
‘Welcome to the world of ScotServe,’ Isabel Cant said.
‘Welcome to the world of the Menu,’ Sammy Pye retorted. ‘It’ll still be our arses on the line out there, never yours, so we will make the rules.’ He checked the time on his phone and put it back in his pocket. ‘We won’t be needing you in there.’
‘I think you’ll find that you do,’ she snapped back at him.
‘I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you call your boss while you’re waiting here, and find out who’s right and who’s wrong about that? Meantime we’re going to do our job the way we see fit.’
He opened the door and stepped into the conference room, leaving Haddock to close it behind them.
Twenty-Nine
‘Are you prepared for the wrath of God to crash around your ears?’
‘If necessary, sir,’ Pye told the deputy chief constable. ‘I made a judgement and acted on it.’
‘And personalities had nothing to do with it?’
‘I hope not. How can I put this? I’d like to think that Ms Cant and I had different perceptions of our relative roles in a police investigation, and that mine prevailed.’
‘Thanks to Haddock slamming a door in the face of a senior civilian colleague?’
‘Not true, sir.’ The DCI winked at the detective sergeant. ‘He closed it very gently.’
‘Jesus,’ McGuire sighed, the sound amplified by the phone’s speaker. ‘You do know that the new media structure was signed off personally by Sir Andrew?’
‘I didn’t, but I hope he’ll support his officers when it leads to a conflict of priorities.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Sammy, cut out the diplomatic language. You were told to release the child’s name and you countermanded that instruction.’