Free Whisky From Small Glasses by Denzil Meyrick Page B

Jim.’
    ‘You said two, Andy. My memory’s not that bad.’
    ‘I said she had sex with two men prior to death. A third man had sex with her post mortem.’
    There was a brief silence as Daley processed this new information. ‘Necrophilia? Are you absolutely sure, Andrew?’
    ‘Afraid so, Jim. We have highly accurate tests for that sort of thing now. Fascinating, yet macabre at the same time. None of the samples match in terms of DNA, to answer your question.’
    ‘So we’re talking about three separate men, right?’
    ‘Yes. The first two within a relatively short space of time – maybe even at the same time – and our third man some eight or nine hours later. Most unusual.’ After a few moments of mutual reflection, Crichton spoke again. ‘I’ll send the DNA profiles to the database, of course. You should get a match, if there is one, early tomorrow.’
    ‘This is a strange one, Andy. A victim, no missing persons, no suspects, and now necrophilia. Anything more on that mark on her ankle?’
    ‘Only that it was made by some rough type of plastic – like that stuff they wrap parcels in these days, but much thicker.’
    Daley finished his call with the pathologist. He knew that the possibility of getting a DNA match from the semen samples with someone already on the database was remote. Right now though, it was his only hard lead. The grinding process of checks would continue through the night. A young PC was settling down to check the footage from all the CCTV cameras operational in the town in the forty-eight hour period prior to the victim’s estimated time of death. She had contacted all the neighbouringpolice forces, including the Police Service of Northern Ireland, the coastline of County Antrim being less than twenty miles from where the body had been found. So far, no response.
    Daley took his mobile from the inside pocket of his jacket. Within seconds the familiar sound of DS Scott coughing loudly could be heard on the other end of the phone. ‘What a way to greet your superior. You sound as though you’re on your way out, Brian.’
    ‘Aye, a happy Christmas tae you too. Should you no’ be stripping the willow, or whitever they get up tae in Teuchterland?’
    Daley smiled. He was tired, hungry and perplexed, but he was realising what a tight team he and Scott had become. He had forgotten all the things his DS would have attended to as a matter of course, until today when he himself had had to make sure all the bases were covered. ‘I thought you’d be pleased, a trip to the country at this time of year. Just the thing.’
    ‘No’ when you’ve tae listen tae all the pish I’ve had tae pit up wi’ today. First His Majesty giein’ me the pep talk aboot representin’ the division. Noo my dear lady bendin’ my nut wi’ how much she’ll miss me, an’ how will she manage tae get the shoppin’? Blah blah blah.’ Scott told Daley to hang on; muffled oaths were audible as he imparted some more wisdom to his long-suffering wife. ‘Sorry aboot that. She’s burst intae tears noo. Ye’d think I wiz headin’ off tae Afghanistan. Will you shut up, woman, I’m talkin’ tae Jim.’
    Daley heard Mrs Scott shouting hello as though there was nothing amiss. ‘Have you managed to read the PM report, Brian?’
    ‘Aye, in between a’ the shit. Some right goings-on doon there. Lucky I’m comin’ doon tae watch yer back.’
    ‘Wait till you meet Inspector MacLeod – he’s a cracker.’
    ‘Oh, I’ve got something for you from on high. I’ll gie ye it tomorrow when I get there. Who dae ye want me tae bring? They’re all on standby, as ye can imagine.’
    Daley thought for a moment. Thinking was getting difficult, so he left the choice of personnel to his sergeant.
    ‘How long dae ye think it’ll take me tae get there in a minibus, Jim?’
    ‘Well, hang on.’ Daley swivelled around in his chair to consult a large map on the wall behind him. ‘Seems as though you’re going a long way for a