I will.’
‘Superintendent, can you confirm the identity of the latest victim?’ the question was shouted across the sea of journalists’ heads.
‘Emily Balcaskie was found dead this morning. As you all know by now, her body was found in Valleyfield Street. She was a primary school teacher at Bonaly. Last night, in her capacity as a scout leader, she attended a meeting and failed to return home afterwards. We believe, although the investigation is in its most preliminary stages, that she was walking through The Meadows towards her car when she was approached. It seems likely that she was killed in the park and then her body was returned to Valleyfield Street.’
‘Are all four killings the work of one serial killer, Superintendent?’ a different voice yelled. Overbeck didn’t even blink, Callanach had to give her credit for that. Nor did she pause before answering in a silky smooth voice that wouldn’t have been amiss in a chocolate advert.
‘The methods used in the murders of Sim Thorburn, Helen Lott, Michael Swan and Emily Balcaskie have all been wildly varying, as have the places and times of death. We see no pattern between the four cases currently under investigation. Please do not disturb your readers with talk of serial killers. There are a number of possible explanations for these murders occurring so closely in time. As you know, drugs often play a part in violent murders and the variety of parties, celebrations and festivals throughout the city in the summer necessarily attracts some less wanted elements. We have yet to rule out whether or not any of the victims knew their attackers, as statistics tell us is the most likely scenario in cases of this sort.’
‘Why hasn’t Police Scotland released the details of how Michael Swan was killed yet?’ a man near the front asked. Callanach recognised him from an online search as Lance Proudfoot. He was balding, tall and sporting a T-shirt that proclaimed him an avid Rolling Stones fan.
‘We’re still liaising with Mr Swan’s family and there are some highly technical forensic issues. We hope to have a statement with you in the next forty-eight hours,’ Overbeck replied.
‘Was the police raid on a warehouse in Newington linked to the murders?’ a woman near the front asked. Callanach wondered how much more successful the investigation might be if all the journalists worked for the police instead of the media. They certainly knew more than he did about what was going on around the city at the moment.
‘Whilst I can’t give you any specific information about that, I can tell you that the raid you’re referring to was part of an ongoing investigation by a specialist team from Scotland Yard and nothing to do with any of the murders.’ That would be DCI Edgar’s hacker then, Callanach thought. That case didn’t seem to be progressing at any great pace either. He needed DCI Tripp back. Callanach would have to talk to Edgar about when that was likely to be possible. ‘And now I’m afraid I’m required elsewhere,’ Overbeck went on. ‘Any other questions should be directed through the media liaison office and you all have the crime-line numbers to encourage the public to come forward with information. Please do remember to add them to your releases. Many thanks for your patience and your efforts to assist us.’
She stood up, pausing almost imperceptibly whilst the cameras caught her best side, then nodded to Callanach who followed her out, wondering why he’d been paraded through such a time-wasting farce.
‘Well done,’ she said, once they’d cleared the public area. ‘Always good to present a united front and let them see us working as a team.’
‘Talking of teams, we’re going to need more officers. Could you lift the restrictions on overtime? I suspect we’ll have to outsource some of the forensics to other areas. Ailsa Lambert’s team is flooded. We’ll get a bottleneck on return of crucial evidence if there aren’t more resources available.’
‘Submit requests in writing via email,’ Overbeck said, drifting away. ‘And I want a written update every twelve hours. Arrest someone, Callanach, or get on a plane back to Paris. And find a reason to delay releasing the details of Michael Swan’s murder, or there won’t be a hotel room in the city that’s not full of gutter press trying to turn Edinburgh into the horror capital of the world.’
Callanach returned to his desk. It was chaos. Not the physical wood and metal structure before him, but the random pieces of information he was pushing around. He grabbed a clean sheet of paper and a pen, and wrote the names of the four victims currently in limbo at the city mortuary. Death by strangulation, facial skinning, stabbing and crushing. The Meadows was the only location any of the killings had in common, but even that was different areas of the park. He added each victim’s age, job and address next to their name. Save for the use of related blades on Thorburn and Swan, there were no obvious links. It seemed to be a dead end. If forensics couldn’t bring them a lead through the national database then he’d have to find a different way.
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