“You finally showed up, did you? I have to tell you, Inspector Duffy, that the competence of your department leaves a lot to be desired. I found a scene of total disarray when I got there,” was his opening sally. Dalziel was the son-in-law of a prominent high court judge but that didn’t bother me as you knew his father-in-law probably couldn’t stand him either.
“Listen to me, Kenny, if you interfere in any future CID investigations or boss around any of my men ever again I am going to come round your house and take that gnome you have with the fishing pole in your front garden and shove gnome and pole up your arse until the wee red hat comes out your bloody throat. Savvy?”
“You can’t talk to me that way, Duffy, I’ve been promoted to—”
“I’ll talk to you any way I fucking please, you useless ballbag fuck. Now I’m having Mrs Deauville brought back to Carrick to be questioned and I don’t want you to interfere, OK?”
“I’m sending her to Castlereagh to be processed. In my opinion she is a Category 1 offender who needs to be centrally processed: a dead drug-dealer’s wife who assaulted a police officer …”
“The facts aren’t in but don’t let that stop you giving your opinion.”
“If that Land Rover shows up here, Duffy, I’m sending it back to Castlereagh.”
“I dare you. I fucking dare you to do that, Dalziel!” I said and slammed the phone down.
I took a few deep breaths and went back outside.
The body had been covered with a sheet, the goat was being held back by a kid, but the crowd was even bigger now as we found ourselves in that unhappy window between people returning from their morning dole appointments and daytime TV kicking in. The sky was overcast and drizzling but what I wouldn’t give for a short thunder shower to send these gawkers indoors.
Lawson had gone out onto the street and was now locked in a battle of wills with the ice-cream-van driver who had pulled his truck right up in front of the victim’s house in the exact place where the forensic team would want to park their Land Rovers. Sensing his youth and low rank, the van driver and the crowd were hassling Lawson with invective extravagant even by the somewhat elevated standards of Sunnylands Estate.
It would never do. I pushed my way through the unwashed mob and told the ice-cream-van driver to fuck off before I arrested him for obstruction.
He could see the fury behind my eyes and like a sensible chap he fucked off back to the end of the street again. Some of the crowd went with him and, satisfied with this momentum, I turned to the others.
“This is a police matter. Get back inside your houses or I’ll lift the bloody lot of you!” I said, seething.
A heavy-set red-faced man with a minister’s collar got in my face. “I’m the Reverend William McFaul, I’m chairman of the residents’ association. How dare you speak to us like that! This is our street and our concern.”
“Reverend McFaul, please tell your friends and parishioners to get back inside their homes. There’s nothing to see here. These people are obstructing police officers at their work and contaminating a crime scene,” I replied.
“We have a right to see what the RUC is doing on our street!” McFaul said, trembling with rage.
“You bloody don’t.”
“I’m a God-fearing man. I’m not used to such language,” McFaul said.
“Language? You mean ‘bloody’? Do you also clutch your pearls and occasionally get the vapours? Come on now, move along,” I said, pushing him away from the house.
“I’ll report you!”
“That’s fine but just make sure you do it from the other side of the street,” I said, giving him another shove.
“You are an extremely rude young man. What is your name? I am going to call your supervisor,” McFaul said, taking a diary and a pencil out of his overcoat pocket.
“My name is Inspector Kenneth Dalziel of Carrickfergus RUC. My supervisor is Chief Inspector McArthur. Report me all you want,” I said, giving him a last push and walking back to the crime scene with a feeling of immense satisfaction.
Lawson had found some “RUC CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS” tape and was stretching it in front of the house.
“Forensic are on their way,” I told him. “Should be here in twenty minutes.”
Before Lawson could reply, an old lady in full old lady rig popped out of the throng and began jabbing her finger in my chest. “Is this what it takes for the police to finally come? A murder? I call and call and youse take half the night to get here. It’s a disgrace. The kids racing up and down the street, joyriding. Drinking at all hours. Smoking them funny cigarettes. Bad manners to the old folks. The whole country is going to the dogs.”
“I quite agree, madam. What’s your name?”