Blindside - By Gj Moffat Page 0,42

was swollen and discoloured and her eye had closed a little overnight. A dull throb pulsed behind her eye so she took two painkillers from the drawer in the vanity unit beneath the sink and washed them down with water from the tap.

Irvine got dressed in her bedroom and was drying her hair when Connor wobbled into the room in his jammies and wrapped himself around her legs. She switched the dryer off and lifted her son into her arms.

‘Hey, little man. How are you today?’

He grinned at her and buried his face in her neck, putting his hands in her still damp hair and twisting it around his fingers. He pulled back from her and put a hand on her bruised face.

‘You hurt, Mummy?’

Irvine stroked his hair back from his forehead and kissed him.

‘No,’ she lied.

‘Good.’

She hugged him again.

‘Breakfast?’ he asked.

‘What do you want?’

‘Toast.’ His face contorted as he considered other options. ‘Juice.’

Irvine admired his ability to communicate his precise needs in as few words as possible – thought it would be nice if little boys could grow into men and not lose that trait.

After dropping Connor at the childminder, Irvine looked up and saw a jet high above her, fumes trailing behind it. She checked her watch and guessed that Logan and Cahill were probably sitting around the lounge at Heathrow waiting for their connection to Denver right now.

She got in the car and her phone rang. It was Armstrong.

‘How’s the face? Bet it looks like you’ve gone ten rounds with someone.’

‘I’ve looked better.’

‘You coming in today?’

‘Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘No reason. Just that after last night, you know …’

‘Listen, why don’t you speak to Jim Murphy. See if the forensics people have come up with anything yet. I spoke with him last night. He said they had found Lewski’s clothes.’

‘Where?’

‘Not sure. Nearby somewhere.’

‘Intact?’

‘No. They’d been burned just like we thought. But there might be something they can get.’

‘Blood results back yet?’

‘Not as of last night. Ask him about that too.’

‘I’ll see if I can find him.’

Irvine started her car and tuned the radio to a news channel. There was a brief story about the body found in the river but there was nothing much to it. Basic information. She switched it off and drove into town.

Armstrong wasn’t around when Irvine got to her desk so she called the CCTV centre again and spoke to the shift supervisor, hoping he would tell her that the stuff was on its way to her already.

‘Dan Patrick,’ the supervisor said when he came on the line.

‘Dan, this is DC Irvine from Strathclyde CID. I’m looking to see if we can get anything from the last couple of days in connection with a murder investigation. I spoke to someone already about getting some recordings over here.’

‘Okay. We’re kind of short-staffed. But I’ll help if I can.’

She got the impression that no one had done anything about looking at the footage yet. Irvine went through the circumstances of Joanna Lewski’s death and the time periods that she thought would be crucial. Again.

‘We should have some coverage that might help,’ Patrick told her. ‘It’ll take a while to go through it, though. I mean, that’s a lot of hours.’

‘I don’t need you guys to go over it. And I need it now. Send it to DS Jim Murphy at Pitt Street. Today.’

There was a brief pause before he replied.

‘I’ll get someone on to it.’

2

After an hour, there was still no sign of Armstrong. Irvine picked up her desk phone and called his mobile.

‘Kenny, it’s me. How are you getting on? Any progress after the post-mortem yesterday?’

‘I’m over here at the mortuary with the pathologist. He’s finished with his report and I’ve got some samples from Lewski’s body. I thought I’d pick them up and rush them over to the lab. Let forensics get a head start on things.’

‘You should have told me you were going there.’

‘Just trying to move things on, you know?’

‘I told you that I’m fine, Kenny. You don’t have to treat me like an invalid.’

He didn’t say anything.

‘What kind of samples did we get?’ she asked.

‘A swab of semen and also some hairs.’

‘She had sex before she was killed?’

‘That’s what he says.’

‘If we’re lucky we’ll get a DNA hit on it.’

‘I’ll get the stuff up to Pitt Street, to the lab, then meet you back at your desk. What you been up to?’

‘I’m going to see the lawyer here, find out who owns Suzie Murray’s flat.’

‘It’s not hers?’

‘She said no.’

‘Okay. Let’s