went up the additional flight of stairs to Detective Superintendent’s Overbeck’s office, neither of them saying a word. Overbeck’s reaction to them asking for more money was always the same. Keep it below budget. Finish it yesterday.
As Ava knocked on Overbeck’s door, it opened. Lively’s face appeared from within.
‘Ma’am,’ he said to Ava.
‘What have you done now, Lively?’ Ava asked. ‘You need to learn to watch your mouth. I don’t want any members of my squad in trouble at the moment. Get everyone together for a briefing. DI Callanach and I will be down in five minutes.’
Lively gave a small nod, didn’t even bother insulting Callanach, and made for the stairs.
‘What do you need, DCI Turner?’ Overbeck called through the open door.
‘Is there an issue with DS Lively?’ Ava asked.
‘Nothing that a period of suspension and a diet wouldn’t cure,’ Overbeck snarled. ‘I see you brought DI Looks Over Substance with you. This doesn’t bode well.’
Ava carried on in spite of Overbeck’s jibe at Callanach. She’d never liked him, but then she’d never liked anyone, as far as Ava was aware. ‘Zoey Cole’s killer is a religious extremist, or at the very least is using that as an excuse to kill. He or she left us a note inside the doll that was found in the pram with Lorna Shaw’s baby. There’s also the possibility that the Mikey Parsons assault is linked. It’s all twisted vigilante behaviour – cleaning up the city, exacting retribution for poor life choices or whatever the offender is telling himself. I’m also concerned that this may turn out to be a serial killer, and I believe it’s going to get even nastier.’
‘Three, Detective Chief Inspector. That’s the magic number. You wait until you have three linked dead bodies before you get to use the S-word.’ She sighed. ‘You’re here for me to lift the overtime limit, extend your funding and give you a uniformed squad as backup, right?’ Ava didn’t bother to answer. Overbeck checked her watch and flicked through a couple of pieces of paper on her desk. ‘Fine. Off you go then. I’ll see to the paperwork for the funding. Keep me updated and phone me next time you need something. It’s quicker than taking the stairs.’
Ava risked a look at Callanach, who was staring open-mouthed at Overbeck.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Ava said. ‘We’ll need to say something to the press, but I’d like to keep quiet about the doll for now.’
‘Agreed. Work out a statement with the media team. You can put my name on the bottom of it if that keeps the communications pressure off you during the investigation.’
‘I will, thank you,’ Ava said.
‘I don’t want the number three to be reached. You understand that, right? Edinburgh has had enough death to last it a while. See to it that the funding I’m extending is an effective pre-emptive strike, Turner.’
‘Yes, ma’am. I understand,’ Ava said. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘I know you will,’ Overbeck said.
Ava and Callanach walked slowly out of the office without speaking. They were on the stairs down to the next floor when they both stopped at the same time.
‘What just happened?’ Callanach asked.
‘I have no idea,’ Ava said. ‘But honestly, at the moment, I don’t care. We need extra officers working with MIT if we’re going to stand any chance of finding Lorna Shaw in time. I’m sure there’ll be a price to pay later, and I, for one, plan on staying out of Overbeck’s way until she’s back to her normal foul-mouthed self.’
‘Maybe she’s really changed,’ Callanach said.
‘Maybe a prince on a white horse is about to ride through the station, throw me on the back of his trusty steed and whisk me away to a world where birds land on my hand and sing to me, and I never have to see another dead body again,’ Ava said.
‘Ma’am,’ Salter called up the stairs to them. ‘We’ve got another slashing victim in the city centre. Worse than before. The paramedics called us. They’re not sure the victim will make it. The sergeant and I are going straight to the hospital. Everyone else is waiting for you in the briefing room.’
‘All right, Salter,’ Ava called back, raising her eyebrows at Callanach. ‘Then again, maybe not.’
The Meadows recreation area in the city, due west of Arthur’s Seat, provided a vast green space for city dwellers’ use, with long paths to jog or walk, tree cover providing shade for summer picnics and tennis courts for the more adventurous.
‘Were you always told not to walk through the Meadows at night?’ Salter asked Lively as they parked the car and headed for the area where the victim, now lying in a hospital bed, had been found.
‘You’re joking. If I’d been attacked and killed, my parents might have got a few quid from the local rag for the story. They’d have been delighted,’ Lively laughed.
‘Don’t joke about it,’ Salter said. ‘No parent wants to lose a child.’
Lively’s footsteps stalled. ‘Christie, I’m sorry, that was stupid of me, I didn’t mean …’
‘I know you didn’t,’ Salter said. ‘I just think about what happened more when we’re at crime scenes like this. Somehow it seems worse when the victims are homeless or prostitutes. Imagine dying and thinking no one really cares.’
‘That’s what we’re here for,’ Lively said. ‘We pick up the pieces and make sure justice is served, even for people the rest of society has dumped. We’re the last-ditch family, or something like that.’
‘I suppose so.’ Salter smiled. ‘That’s a good way of looking at it. Right. The victim, Paddy Yates, will lose his left eye, the surgeon said. The nerves on the side of his mouth aren’t expected to recover either.’
‘How long until he’ll be out of surgery and able to talk to us?’ Lively asked.
‘Tomorrow lunchtime before they’ll let us in the same room as him,’ Salter said. ‘Not that it’ll do any good. The paramedics I spoke to found an empty Spice packet in Paddy’s pocket. He was completely incomprehensible but still on his feet. It’s amazing how Spice users stay upright with all the crap they’ve got in their systems.’
‘Aye, should call them Weebles, not zombies,’ Lively said. Salted looked at him blankly. ‘Never mind, girl, you’ve to be a certain age to remember that one.’
The tennis courts were a stone’s throw from the children’s play area. Huddled at the base of the climbing equipment was a bundle of cardboard boxes, a shopping trolley, and bin bags overflowing with clothes and tatty old sleeping bags.
‘How’re we doing over here?’ Lively called out cheerily as he approached.
‘Fuckin’ polis,’ was the response.
‘Did
