Skinner's Mission

42

It was almost 2.30 p.m. before Inspector Shields returned Skinner’s phone call. The photographic unit at the Howdenhall Lab was closed for the weekend and its head had been on the golf course.

‘You were looking for me, sir?’ boomed the cheery voice.

‘Yes, George. Thanks for calling back. You sound as if you had a good day.’

‘Can’t grumble, sir. I shot a net 66, off 16 handicap. I should win the medal with that, unless there’s another bandit still to come in.’

Skinner laughed. ‘Good for you. Listen George, I want to ask you about your negatives, and what happens to them. I know that where major criminal investigations are concerned, they go to the files and are stored there. But what about the others?’

‘What others, sir?’ Shields sounded puzzled.

‘Photographs from accident scenes, to be specific.’

There was a hiss of air from the other end of the line as the Inspector thought about the question. ‘Mostly, sir, they’re disposed of once it’s clear that they’re no longer needed. Do you have a specific accident in mind?’

‘Yes. It happened eighteen years ago.’

‘Then I’d have binned the negs, sir. Chances are they were destroyed long since . . .’ He paused, ‘. . . unless of course, Sergeant Whatnot took them.’

‘Who?’

‘You remember, sir, Tam Whatling. He worked in the photographic unit for years. Everyone called him Sergeant Whatnot. He kept a lot of the negs once they were done with. He was always going on about writing his memoirs.’

‘I remember Big Tam well,’ said Skinner. ‘He retired didn’t he, last year? I made the presentation to him in the Chief’s absence. Where is he now, d’you know?’

‘He retired to a pub across the river in Lower Largo, sir. It’s called the Travellers’ Inn, I think. He also does photography: weddings and the like.

‘If the negs you’re after still exist, then the only place they’ll be is with ex-Sergeant Whatnot.’

‘In that case,’ said Skinner, ‘it looks as if I’m going for a pint in Fife tomorrow.’