“Are they finished?”
“No. They didn’t even get started. Chief Inspector McCann said it was an unsafe work environment. He said it was union regulations.”
“What union? What are they … Why isn’t the victim even covered with a police blanket? He’s getting rained on, ashed on and there’s little kids staring at him.”
“I’m so sorry, sir. I did ask for permission but Inspector Dalziel sort of dismissed my request.”
“Inspector Dalziel?”
“He got promoted while you were away, sir.”
“Let me get this straight. Inspector Dalziel arrived from the station and took over the crime scene?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And wouldn’t let you put a police blanket over the victim?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He said the goat would probably eat it and ruin police property. He may have been being sarcastic, sir, I wasn’t sure …”
“Why didn’t you control the goat, Lawson?”
“I mentioned that as well, sir. I said that the goat was slobbering over the fence, potentially contaminating the crime scene.”
“And what did Dalziel say to that?”
“He said that that was forensics’s problem. And then he said that the goat was on someone else’s property and we’d need permission to enter the house next door to take the goat away from the fence.”
“We’re the Old Bill. We can do whatever the fuck we want, son!” I said, really angry now.
I noticed that my fists were clenched and my face must have been bright red. Kenny Dalziel had the same effect on everyone he worked with and the bastard was not going to give me a heart attack. I forced myself to take a couple of deep breaths and calm down.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Lawson said, all trembly-voiced.
“It’s not your fault, son. Where the fuck is Sergeant McCrabban? He’s supposed to be in charge of—”
“That’s what I mean by crazy. I thought you knew, sir. Oh gosh. I thought someone had told you!”
“Told me what?”
“Deauville’s wife, sir – Deauville’s the victim, sir – she stabbed Sergeant McCrabban when he tried to get her off the body so the forensic officers could do their work.”
“Holy shit! Crabbie was stabbed! Why didn’t you tell me that straightaway?”
“I thought you knew, sir.”
“How would I know? I only just got here. What happened? How is he?”
“Uhm, I was just on the phone with him. Apparently he’s fine, sir. No stitches, just a tetanus shot. She stabbed him with a fork. He didn’t want to go to the hospital in the first place but—”
“What happened?”
“Mrs Deauville was very upset. Sergeant McCrabban tried to move her away from the body and she stabbed him in the shoulder with a fork. She’s a foreigner, I think. We had to report the stabbing, of course, and, uhm, Inspector Dalziel showed up. He ordered Mrs Deauville placed in custody and he ordered Sergeant McCrabban to report himself to the Royal Victoria Hospital as per the injury-at-work regulations.”
“Christ! And then what?”
“And then the forensic team left, saying it was an unsafe work environment.”
“And the forensic officer is this McCann fellow, eh? Don’t know him. OK. Then what happened?”
“And then I tried to secure the crime scene … and the goat … and Inspector Dalziel …”
I bit my tongue. It wouldn’t do to let young Lawson hear my full profanity-laden tirade against a superior officer. “And then Inspector Dalziel left with Mrs Deauville?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Probably the first arrest he’s made in years,” I couldn’t help but mutter.
“Unfortunately Inspector Dalziel took both constables off crowd control to restrain Mrs Deauville in the back of the Land Rover, so that just left me here, sir.”
“Are forensic coming back, or what?”
Lawson flipped open his notebook. “Chief Inspector McCann said that with ‘police officers being stabbed and with a hostile crowd in front of the house this was not a safe crime scene for his men to do their work’, so they were withdrawing until the crime scene was secured.”
“Withdrawing to the nearest pub I’ll bet.”
“I wouldn’t know about that, sir.”
“So Dalziel left just you to control the crowd, canvas witnesses and conduct an entire murder investigation?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry about all this, sir,” he said, correctly interpreting the look of horror on my face. For this was a nearly perfect fuck up – all we needed now was a newspaper reporter or a random inspection by the Chief Constable.
“All right Lawson, we’ve got to move fast before the press or a local councillor gets here. Go upstairs, get a clean bed sheet if you can find one and cover up the victim’s body. I’ve already taken care of the goat. Once you’ve done that, get the crowd back onto the pavement and if you are able please urge them to go indoors.”
“But how, sir?”
“Shoot someone in the kneecaps every five minutes until the rest get the message?” I suggested.
“Sir.”