Page 19 of Watching You

They gathered outside the police station, behind the main building, between smokers’ corner and the bike racks.

June was proving to be elusive in terms of sunshine, so they huddled in coats and wished the wind would die down.

Present were not just the Major Incident Team’s detectives, but civilian support staff, uniformed officers who’d been assigned to the day-to-day tasks murders threw into the standard policing mix, and a couple of senior officers including Detective Superintendent Overbeck.

She was the only person completely unaffected by the low temperature.

Baarda was at the back of the pack and Connie was waiting inside, delaying her appearance just long enough to make sure she’d have everyone’s attention.

She walked out with the sleeves of her white cotton shirt folded up and her ankles bare between her three-quarter-length jeans and tennis shoes.

‘Due respect, ma’am, this isn’t California. You should maybe go on a continuing professional development course to prepare you for the Scottish weather,’ someone shouted.

‘Does everyone want to stand here while I waste your time being witty and sarcastic to the officer who thinks Scottish weather jokes are still funny?’ There were a few muttered ‘Shut the fuck up’s from the vicinity of the offending idiot.

‘Good. Now you can all come back in. Briefing room please, two minutes, and make sure y’all exhaust your venting on the way.

Anyone who doesn’t take me seriously will be filling in for Superintendent Overbeck’s assistant for the next month. ’

The immediate silence was gratifying. Every pair of eyes slid towards Overbeck for a response which was nothing more than a nod of quiet touché in Connie’s direction.

Connie held the door open for the herd, who jogged half-heartedly along the corridor and up the two staircases to the briefing room and the board that was separated into three segments, each with a picture of one of the deceased in its centre.

‘Walk with me,’ Overbeck purred at Connie as she went inside. ‘I gather you saw Lively in hospital. Am I losing yet another of my squad or is he salvageable?’

‘The problem isn’t getting him back to work, it’s stopping him,’ Connie said. ‘The surgeon’s concerned about how weak his blood vessels will be for a while. He should really stay on a desk for at least a month after he’s back. He was adamant about discharging himself against medical advice.’

‘The man’s a liability.’ Overbeck sighed. ‘You and your sidekick had better come up with the goods quick-smart.’

Connie flashed her a dazzling smile. ‘My sidekick. Gosh, now I feel like I’m entitled to some sort of cape or maybe a flying car. Hey, I like your nails. That’s quite some signal you’re sending out.’

Overbeck instinctively glanced down at the false nails she kept long and pointed, with a burnished gold polish.

‘It’s called finishing. Apparently, in spite of your impressive CV and list of accomplishments, that’s not something you concern yourself with.’

‘I really don’t, but that isn’t finishing.

As mammals go, we’re pretty underwhelming in terms of physical prowess.

Most dangerous animals retract their claws because they’re purely functional.

Human females, and a few males, have evolved nail-signalling only relatively recently.

Whether you realise it or not, you’re flashing a sign that says I’m a great lover but I also bite; submit or beware. Very much how you present at work.’

‘Kill me now,’ Overbeck muttered.

‘Is that something you think about often? Being killed?’ Connie asked. Overbeck took the depth of breath she reserved exclusively for either screaming or sacking someone. ‘I’m kidding, but that was fun. Note to self – you’re not a fan of self-exploration. Let’s do this.’

She walked into the briefing room and let Overbeck slip inside to lean against the door she closed behind them both. Connie walked to the board, pulled out three sheets of paper from her pocket and, next to each murder victim’s living photo, added an image of them taken at the mortuary.

‘Good morning. I’ve added the above images as a constant reminder to us all of what was done to them and what was taken from them.

It’s easier for us to look at living images, but what we need is a visual reference of what death looks like.

’ There were some coughs and shuffles, but most people simply looked at the board in silence.

Connie gave them all a minute to take it in.

‘Thank you for joining me outside earlier. By now, you should all be feeling a little more alive. This room is overheated, the windows are stuck, and while we try to find the murderers of Dale Abnay, Archie Bass and Divya Singh, I’m banning all egg, fish and cheese products from the room.

’ That produced a round of cheers that Connie waved away.

‘It’s not even a joke. I need y ou all focused and anything that makes this room feel less than fresh and inspiring is stopping you from working effectively.

Environment is important. Minimise your sugar intake while you’re here, get outside on your breaks, reignite your brain, shift some blood around your bodies. ’

‘Never mind the air quality, what we need is proper pay for all the overtime we’re having to put in,’ a uniformed officer commented.

‘I agree, and I’m pleased to be able to tell you that Superintendent Overbeck has confirmed that every hour you spend here will be fully recompensed and there’ll also be a package to make sure you’re offered vacation to make up for the interruption to your home and family time.

’ Connie looked across to Overbeck whose lips were pressed so tightly together the muscles in her jaw were visibly quivering.

DS Christie Salter got to her feet. ‘We all appreciate that, ma’am.

Both ma’ams. I’m not sure what the plural is.

’ Salter allowed a beat for everyone to smile and, just like that, even Overbeck relaxed again.

‘Could I add to your ingredient list an obligation for everyone to wear an additional layer of deodorant as we’ve more bodies than usual in this room? ’

‘Done,’ Connie agreed.

‘So what do you need from us in return?’ Salter asked.

Connie could have kissed her. Not that she was afraid to give orders, but being invited to do so always made for a softer landing.

‘Lively will be missing for a few more days, and when he comes back he’ll be restricted to desk duties only.

In his absence, DS Salter will be in charge of police operations, and Baarda and I will be heading up intelligence and investigation structure.

The superintendent will be overseeing, of course, but given that we’ve just hit the start of the summer, the city will be soon be flooded with tourists and the crime rate will soar.

That means we have to maximise the resources we have to resolve these three murders quickly and efficiently. ’

The door opened behind Overbeck and a woman pushed in past her. Her hair and clothes were dishevelled, her face was flushed dark and she was breathing as if she’d just run up several flights of stairs.

‘Who’s in charge here?’ she demanded, staring straight at Connie who was the obvious target, front and centre of the room with everyone focused on her.

‘Are you all right, miss?’ Salter asked. ‘Do you need help?’ The woman ignored her.

‘It must be you. You’re the one they’re all looking at.’ She jabbed a finger in Connie’s direction.

‘I’m Dr Connie Woolwine,’ she said. ‘You look distressed. I’d like to help. Shall we find—’

The woman stepped forward, swung her arm back and slapped Connie full force with an open palm. Connie staggered but didn’t fall and turned to face the woman again.

A millisecond of pause followed, then every chair scraped and feet stampeded in an effort to rush forward and grab the offender.

‘No!’ Connie yelled. ‘Stay where you are.’

‘Not in my police station,’ Overbeck overruled her. ‘This is a security threat. How did you get through from the public area?’ she demanded. The woman said nothing. ‘Restrain her and arrest her for assault.’

‘My fault, ma’am. Ever so sorry,’ PC Biddlecombe panted from the corridor. ‘This lady’s your ten a.m. meeting. I only left her alone in your office for a minute, because I was bursting—’

‘Biddlecombe, how the hell have you not been fired yet?’ Overbeck hissed.

‘Could we just take a beat?’ Connie shouted. ‘Biddlecombe, who is this woman?’

‘This is Jane Bass, ma’am. Archie Bass’s sister.’ Biddlecombe’s voice was little more than a mutter, but the import of it carried through the room.

‘Let Ms Bass go, please,’ Connie said. Overbeck didn’t argue and the officers released her and stepped a good distance away.

Salter picked up the handbag that had been on Jane Bass’s shoulder and handed it to her gently before stepping silently behind her and pulling the mortuary photo of her brother from the board.

Jane Bass was panting like a bull about to charge, shoulders high, knees slightly bent, chin down to her chest.

‘Slap me again,’ Connie said, so quietly that only those at the front of the room caught it.

‘Don’t even—’

‘Thank you, superintendent, but I don’t need your intervention,’ Connie said, equally quietly. ‘Ms Bass. You’re not going to get in any trouble here today. I’m asking you to put your faith in me and let me help you. Slap me again. It’s all right. You have more than fifty witnesses.’

Jane Bass raised her right hand in front of her face and stared at it as if unsure what it might do. Baarda had moved forward so he was positioned just behind Bass, and was staring intently at Connie.

‘No one else moves,’ Connie said. ‘No one,’ she directed at Baarda. ‘Ms Bass, I promise that if you do as I say, we can make some progress. I know you don’t know me, but I do know quite a lot about what I’m asking from you. Slap me ag—’