Chapter 17
The door plate read ‘Detective Inspector’. Beyond it, an unremarkable office. The usual desk and cabinets, two casual chairs, a coat stand and waste bin. Several certificates adorned the wall; a framed photograph of a much younger incumbent, in uniform, receiving a Chief Constable’s commendation from a former Chief and a seated portrait wearing academic dress. He was impressed. Closer inspection revealed the subject was holding a scroll and two black and yellow handled screwdrivers.
Andy Rylance, his once good looks now tarnished by worry and weariness, wandered in and they shook hands.
“Has Vic made you a cuppa yet?” the DI said, then closed the door behind him on seeing the mug Thurstan raised. “You might find it’s a bit stewed. He used to be a bricky.”
“It’ll do,” Thurstan smiled. “Interesting photo, Andy. Had me fooled for a while.”
“Oh, that. It was taken during a search at paddy’s wigwam years ago. I put it up as a piss-take. A boss of mine made a point about his having a degree. Mentioned it whenever he could. Turned out it was in sports science. I mean.... a fucking PE teacher!” He laughed as he opened his top drawer and dropped his mobile into it.
“Right, the Buchanan job? What’s your interest?” He hoped he sounded unconcerned.
Thurstan wasn’t fooled. “Look, Andy, I’m not here to make an issue of anything. It’s just a DC of mine made a rash promise and, well, things are a bit quiet so I said I’d take a look at it for him.”
Andy smiled. “Ah! Mister Chapel. Been on the phone, has he? He’s rung here a few times. I’ve tried to be helpful but he can’t seem to understand that ‘a feeling it’s not quite right’ isn’t evidence. I know you’ve seen the pathologist and I know what he’s told you. Yes, it’s possible he could have been smothered but there just isn’t anything to back it up. We had the pillows and everything examined. No relevant traces. Fuck all. We had to put it to bed and move on to the next thing, mate. It’s pressure from above. They’re not looking for quality. They want quantity, figures, that’s what they’re interested in, that’s what gets them promotion. You know the score.”
Thurstan nodded. “I know, and that’s why I’ve no axe to grind on this one. I just want to confirm a few things, stuff that’s missing from the Niche file.” He sipped his tea. “I take it the reason why the full forensics weren’t done was because of the other job coming up and Brendan’s post mortem report.”
“That’s right. Why waste time and resources.”
“And the fact that there’s no statement from the guy who lived above him?”
He shrugged. “We were told he was out of the country at the time so, what was the point?”
“Ok, but apparently Mister Buchanan had an old friend that used to visit. There’s no mention of it in the file.”
Andy smiled. “Maybe not in the Niche file, though it should be, but it’s definitely in the hard copy. I saw it myself before I went on leave.” He paused.
“I didn’t sign the job off, Thurstan, that was done by my boss, who’s moved on to greener pastures, wouldn’t you know. I oversaw the job but once the post mortem results came in I left it to my new DS. We discussed all the issues and she did try to make contact with the guy, at least four times, but he never seemed to be in even though she made a telephone appointment. We put it down to the possible onset of dementia in the end. As I said, we had to move on, stuff was stacking up. I take it you’re working from a file printed off the system?”
A knock on the door and Thurstan’s tea maker stepped in carrying a folder. “Here’s that file you wanted, Boss.”
The DI leaned over the desk and took it from him. “Thanks, Vic. Oh, and see me later. I want to take a look at that Errol Street job.” Vic nodded and left.
He flicked deftly through the file then passed a piece of paper across his desk.
“There you go. Polish fella. His name’s Hirek Kamiński.”