Blood Loss by Kerena Swan (good beach reads .txt) 📕

chief sounded sympathetic but his sneaky glance at his watch showed that he was merely going through the motions of concern.

Paton had arrived fifteen minutes late this morning, but Tommy’s school bus had been delayed because of the snow and Wendy was at work in the old folk’s home. The lad could hardly have been left on his own. Paton sat up straighter and held eye contact. He wanted this role. He hoped his home life wouldn’t take away such an exciting opportunity.

‘I’m sorry about this morning, sir. Wendy went to work at six and Tommy’s school bus was late.’

‘I’m sure your priorities will be in place going forward.’

Paton felt his muscles tighten. It was okay for the chief. He didn’t have a wife with mental health issues, let alone a vulnerable teenager. Surely a man at his level should show more empathy. ‘They will. Is that everything? Only the team’s waiting.’

The incident room was warm and stuffy. The heavy smell of coffee and bacon rolls in the air made Paton’s stomach growl. He stood in the doorway and marvelled at the number of officers in attendance. There were at least fifteen, some without chairs perched on desks or standing at the back of the room. He’d have to buy a ton of cakes for this lot. Several unfamiliar faces must be from the Murder Investigation Team. He was pleased to note that Metcalfe hadn’t arrived yet. Maybe he’d been diverted to something bigger. At least now if one of Paton’s team grassed him up about his cock-up at the crime scene it wouldn’t be in front of the SIO.

Paton strode to the front and picked up a whiteboard pen, glancing only briefly at the photographs of the corpse on display nearby. He couldn’t risk feeling light-headed again. ‘Okay, everyone; thanks for waiting. We’ll go through what we’ve got so far, then I want you to throw in any questions.’

The babble of voices dropped to an expectant hush and Paton saw the excitement on his team’s upturned faces. They hadn’t had a real murder investigation in the area since the suspicious drowning of a tourist in 2014, so for some of them it was their first. He hoped they were up to the task. He hoped he was up to the task. His attention was diverted from his musings by a loud sneeze from a young man with pink, round cheeks and a mop of blonde hair. DC Mitchell Tomkins.

‘Mitchell, would you like to start?’ Paton asked him.

The DC cleared his throat and his flush deepened as he looked around the room. He’d only been with Paton’s team a few weeks and was keen to prove himself. ‘So far, we’ve discovered that the holiday cabin is owned by Harold Enright. He tells us that the booking for the last seven days was in the name of Richard Newman, but so far no one of that name has been reported as missing.’

Paton interjected. ‘We found no documents or credit cards to verify his identity, and his phone was a pay-as-you-go that had been topped up using cash transactions. This leads us to believe he may have been operating under a different identity.’

Mitchell waited for a nod from Paton, then continued. ‘The booking was made over the phone and a courier hired to take a cash payment to Mr. Enright. He thought this a little odd but, in his words,’ Mitchell looked down at his notebook and read, “It isn’t the first time a customer has booked the place for a bit on the side.” Apparently, remote cabins are popular with married men.’

The team tittered. ‘Can I have his number?’ one joker called out.

Paton frowned. ‘We’re not ruling out other possibilities for why the cabin might have been booked. It could have been for an illegal business transaction or even a hiding place. The bed sheets are missing but that may just as easily be because the perpetrator wants to misdirect us into thinking there was a love tryst that went wrong and she – or he – was worried about leaving their DNA on them.’ Paton looked around the room, catching eye contact with each officer as he spoke to keep them engaged. ‘As I always say…’

‘Assume nothing and question everything,’ his team chanted, like kids in a school assembly.

Paton grinned.

‘What about DNA on the victim or elsewhere in the cabin?’ A young DC with her hair twisted into a tight, shiny pleat flicked her pencil up and down between her thumb and forefinger.

Was she trying to embarrass him because she’d heard about his blunder with the blood spatter evidence? Or was she merely asking a sensible question? Paton didn’t know her well enough to judge. He wondered if he should simply admit to the blunder there and then, but why risk losing the team’s focus – and perhaps their respect – when there was a chance they’d never get to hear of it? ‘We won’t get the results back for a while,’ he said instead. ‘Don’t believe everything you see on the telly. We’ve plenty to do in the meantime.’

He looked at one of the DCs. ‘Tony, I want you to organise house to house calls in the area. See if anyone saw visitors or unknown cars around. Maybe someone was seen speeding yesterday morning. Visit Mr Enright as well. See if he knows the name of the courier service.’

‘How do you think the victim got to the cabin? He didn’t have a car there.’ It was the eager DC again.

‘Good question. The forensics team is trying to match the tyre tracks, although the snow hasn’t helped. There are several options to consider.’ Paton counted them off on his fingers. ‘One, the victim flew into Glasgow, Aberdeen or Edinburgh, then caught a cab. Two, he drove his own vehicle or a hired car and the perpetrator stole it. Three, he was given a lift by someone. Maybe the perpetrator.’

He picked out another DC. ‘Ian, I’d like you to