useable information and she didn’t care a toss if the others on the team thought her completely anal in her working methods. Besides, hadn’t she already uncovered bits and pieces that had helped in previous cases? Her SIO had meted out sufficient scraps of praise to encourage her dogged approach to investigations, though Barbara knew fine that she would work things her own way even without such encouraging words. Take this one, she smirked, pressing the print button to churn out hard copy to take through to her boss. HOLMES had come up with a nice parallel case that was not only in their region but remained satisfyingly unsolved. Satisfying, at least, for a young woman like her who was hungry to prove what a great officer she was going to be. The Home Office Large Major Enquiry System had provided information on past cases in the UK for more than two decades now and was a primary tool in any ongoing investigation. What Barbara found most satisfying was its ability to process and prioritise information, something she wished every one of her fellow officers shared. It would be a great start to the New Year if she could impress the SIO.
Barbara lifted her ample bottom off the computer chair and marched through to Mumby’s room, only pausing briefly to give his door a swift rat-a-tat-tat.
‘Think you’ll want to see this, sir,’ she said gruffly, stepping towards the desk. A balding man with a round, rosy face looked up at her. DCI Mumby’s mouth hung open ever so slightly, giving him the look of a startled child.
‘It came from HOLMES,’ Barbara added. ‘Case last summer that was never solved. Guy shot dead in his own car,’ she added, nodding at the paper now in Mumby’s hand.
‘Hmm, found slumped across the steering wheel … neat hole drilled in his chest … found under a railway bridge …’ Mumby muttered, reading from the report. ‘Good Lord! Looks like we may have the same killer on our own patch, Knox. Well done. Hmm, well done indeed.’ DCI Mumby nodded his head at her.
‘There are other similarities too, sir,’ Barbara insisted, coming around the side of her boss’s desk and pointing at a paragraph halfway down the page, oblivious to the proximity of her large breasts to the DCI’s reddening cheeks. ‘Both men were strangers in the city, both of them up on legitimate business.’
‘Meetings noted in their BlackBerrys.’ Mumby nodded again, trying hard to keep from staring at his junior officer’s expansive bosom. The faint smell of lavender filled his nostrils; a very feminine scent, somehow at odds with this large, plain woman whose stubby fingers were drawing his attention to a particular part of the photocopied page.
‘And no connection with any sort of organised crime,’ Barbara pointed out. ‘Pure as the driven snow, or so it would seem,’ she added darkly, cynicism having coloured her outlook ever since that very first week at Tulliallan Police College.
‘Coincidences do happen, of course,’ Mumby said, then sighed and shook his head as he caught sight of DC Knox’s sceptical expression.
‘Two men driving white Mercedes S-class cars found shot dead under railway bridges?’ Her scorn was almost palpable.
‘Well, yes,’ Mumby admitted. ‘Perhaps we ought to see what this DI Preston has to say about the first case.’
Barbara Knox nodded her satisfaction. The body of Thomas Littlejohn might even now be laid out on the cold steel of the mortuary table. There was no apparent reason for his death, no connection with the sorts of people who meted out summary execution. But that was exactly how this murder had appeared.
Okay, the two killings might be several months apart, but DC Knox was willing to bet a chunk of her monthly salary that it was the same person who had picked off these apparently innocent men.
CHAPTER 5
Detective Superintendent William Lorimer turned over the calendar so that the month of January was showing. It was a snowscape of Rannoch Moor, one single wind-bent tree standing starkly in the foreground, the Black Mount a brooding presence against the cold blue sky, misty wisps of cloud hovering balefully above. Despite its bleakness, the moor was a place that beckoned to the policeman, making him want to be there, his climbing boots sinking into the snowy approach to the hills, a pack on his back. Instead he was here in the red brick sprawl that was police headquarters, his only view the streets and buildings of Glasgow. This was Lorimer’s first day