Stay of Execution

47

Bob Skinner’s day was looking up. His worst waking nightmares about a wave of cyanide deaths across the country had not come true, and negative test results were being reported from all over the country by the toothpaste manufacturers.

More and more the investigation was being focused on Newcastle; the DCC had spent some of the morning in telephone conference with his opposite number on the Northumbria force. He had been told that the sale of Bartholemy Lebeau’s fatal toothpaste had been identified, thanks to bar coding and a computerised till system. It had been a cash transaction, at four thirty-five in the afternoon; one item only, five-pound note tendered, three pounds thirty-seven pence change.

Further enquiries were being pursued and when Ruth Pye called to tell him that DCC Les Cairns was on the line once more, he had been expecting him.

‘Have your people spoken to the assistant?’ he asked at once.

‘Yes, but she’s a kid,’ Cairns replied, ‘a sixteen-year-old part-timer; there’s no way she remembers the sale, let alone anything about the buyer. We’ve taken her prints, though; I guess you’ll need them for elimination.’

‘Yes, thanks. Have they got video surveillance in this store?’

‘I’m afraid not. I wish to hell they had, because in the absence of any other contaminated product, there’s a growing possibility that the victim’s tube was stolen, spiked, then put back on the shelf. It would have been nice to catch the perpetrator on tape.’

‘Sure it would, but since when did real life get that nice? You’re right, though, Les. We’ve got an integrated investigation here; I’ve got a murder on my patch and you’ve got product sabotage on yours. It needs high-level handling; I’ve put my head of CID in charge up here.’

‘And mine is in Newcastle,’ Cairns interjected, ‘so do we exchange information through them?’

‘For efficiency yes, but let’s you and I talk on a daily basis. Meanwhile, I’d be grateful if you’d e-mail that girl’s prints to DI Arthur Dorward, at our forensic lab.’

‘Will do. Cheers.’

Skinner hung up and walked across the corridor to brief the chief on developments, catching him just before he left for an ACPOS meeting in Glasgow. He was smiling as he came back to his room, having put the poisoning investigation to one side for the moment as he contemplated his meeting with Aileen de Marco. He wondered what they would have to talk about, and how much insight she would give him into her own thinking on policy.

‘She’s still a politician, though, Bob,’ he whispered to himself. ‘She’ll be out to pick your brains and that’ll be it.’

The phone on his desk cut into his thoughts. It was his direct line, and that meant urgent. He snatched it up. ‘Yes.’

‘Boss, it’s Neil. I’m on my mobile, and there are people here, so I can’t talk, but I need you down here straight away. Albert Dock, Leith.’