DI Monica Proctor riffled through the pages of personnel files until she came to a small section under K. Picking up the nearest telephone, the DI dialled her colleague’s home number. She listened to the ringtone for a few moments then an automated voice invited her to leave a message.
‘Barbara, DI Proctor here. Are you okay? Call in and let us know if you’re sick, will you? Thanks.’
Monica Proctor put the phone back down, frowning. DC Knox was punctilious about being at her desk before anyone else. Annoying as her over-efficiency could sometimes be, the fact remained that it was quite out of character for the girl not to let her workplace know if she was unwell. Monica studied the paper again. She’d try Barbara’s mobile, just in case there had been some major hold up en route to work. But here again there was no answer and the DI felt a sudden sense of disquiet.
‘Tom, there’s no reply from either her landline or her mobile. I don’t like it,’ Monica said slowly, making DI Armstrong turn in his chair and stare at her.
‘D’you want me to make calls round the local hospitals? She lived alone, didn’t she?’
Monica shrugged. ‘Don’t know. She was one of Mumby’s lot. Don’t know much about her at all.’
‘She’s a car nut,’ DS Martin Gray offered. ‘We went up to see the start of the rally a wee while ago. Don’t know much else about her, except … ’ He bit his lip as he let the rest of his words tail off. Barbara’s sexuality wasn’t a matter for discussion but they had all guessed that the detective constable had no interest in men.
‘Any family or girlfriend we should know about?’ DI Proctor asked briskly.
‘Sorry, can’t help you there. She’s a very private sort of person,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘Takes her work terribly seriously. Don’t know if she ever has much time for any fun.’
‘Well, I think we should ring round the hospitals. See if she’s been admitted anywhere in the Glasgow area, maybe start with the Royal Alexandra. That’s the nearest to where she lives, isn’t it?’
As Detective Superintendent Lorimer scrutinised the latest memo from the deputy chief constable he shook his head, wondering at the way a simple decision could affect so many people’s lives. Politics had never been his strong suit and he had expected his position of greater authority to carry some sort of weight when it came to deciding the future of his officers. But now that he had been in this job a few weeks, Lorimer could see that he was entirely wrong about that.
What was it that ‘Desiderata’ said? Something about there always being greater and lesser peoples than yourself? He still hadn’t had time to fix his pictures to the wall and the framed prayer sat with all the rest of his stuff in a box behind the office door. He wasn’t a conventionally religious man, Lorimer would admit to anyone who asked, but ‘Desiderata’ had the sort of wisdom that spoke to any sort of heart.
He sighed, wondering when he ought to call a staff meeting. They were all up to high doh right now, preparing for the surveillance operation tomorrow night. It wasn’t the time to drop a bombshell like this in their midst, was it? In less than two months all of them would be deployed into different divisions throughout Strathclyde, with the options of selecting a post in another force if it could be managed. Joyce Rogers had warned him that the squad might be disbanded within the year but even she had admitted a degree of surprise at the news when he’d called her this morning.
It’s been taken out of our hands, Lorimer, she’d told him. All to do with streamlining. It’s the in word, apparently. Lorimer had been only slightly mollified to hear the disgust in her voice.
So, here he was on this Monday morning, with the notification that the officers who had worked their butts off in recent weeks were to come off whatever case they were working on and leave Pitt Street in a measly eight weeks’ time. Only Rita Livingstone would be kept here, intelligence being an integral part of the setup at headquarters.
And he hadn’t come anywhere near solving this damned case, he thought, clenching his teeth together.
‘Sir?’
Lorimer turned as the door was knocked and as he caught sight of DI Proctor, his hand slipped the memo under another set of papers.