"I didna want to spread this'un around, skipper, but it's a two-wetsuit job. "Ye ken a goner when ye see wan." McDougall's Loanhead accent comes out to play when he's a tad stressed. What he isn't saying is probably more important than what he is, but in these goldfish-bowl days, no cop in their right mind is going to say anything prejudicial over an evidence channel. Berman's got her sittin' doon with a cuppa in the living room while I log the scene." "Victim's cleaner was first on the scene, she had a wee panic, then called 112. There's something odd about his voice, and there's no video. Constable Berman was first responder, an' she called me in." Jase pauses for a moment. I'm on Dean Park Mews, attendin' an accidental death, no witnesses. You push back your chair, stretch, and wait while Mac's icon pulses, then expands. Chu's shoulders when he comes on shift, so that's you on the spot: you with your shift-end paper-work looming, an evening's appointment with the hair salon, and your dodgy gastric reflux. You can't think of a reasonable excuse to dump it on D. "Jesus fucking Christ," you subvocalize, careful not to let it out aloud-the transcription software responds erratically to scatology, never mind eschatology-and wave two fingers at Mac's icon. It's a slow Tuesday afternoon, and you're coming to the end of your shift on the West End control desk when Sergeant McDougall IMs you: INSPECTOR WANTED ON FATACC SCENE.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |