He sucked on his teeth for a bit. Then, ‘We can’t justleavehim there. He’s the local MP, it’s undignified.’
‘Aye...’ PC McKinnon pulled a face. ‘But the crime-scene management handbook clearly states that “all remains are to be examined in situ by the appropriate professionals and all efforts taken to preserve the scene.”’
‘Hiswilly’shanging out, Mikey.’
‘I didn’t write the manual.’
Sergeant Moore threw his hands out. ‘And we can’t keep people confined to their rooms forever! Going to have a riot on our hands if it goes past lunchtime. They’ll all need fed and watered.’
Which was true, but then again, they were all Tories, so sod them.
Roberta shook her head. ‘The wee loon’s right: no mucking about with the crime scene.’
That didn’t stop Moore whinging on about it, though. ‘What’s the temperature meant to hit today, Mikey? Twenty-three, twenty-four degrees?’
McKinnon checked his phone. Frowned at the lack of signal, because he wasn’t the sharpest. A shrug. ‘Twenty-seven?’
‘Aye, and that’s with sky-high humidity as well. We leave Sir Reginald up there in that heat and you can cut the flies with a spoon. Whole place will be thick with them.’
‘Aye, but the manual—’
‘Heat and insects are gonna degrade our forensic evidence, till—’
‘Hoy!’ Roberta gave them both a good hard stare. ‘No onetouches that body till the pathologist gets here. And that’s final. We’re no’ screwing this one up before the investigation’s even started, understand?’
No reply, so she gave Sergeant Moore a good hard poke, too. ‘Understand?’
He sighed. Nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Good boy. Start drawing up a list of everyone in the place. We’ll need to interrogate the whole sodding lot when I get back.’ She snapped her fingers and marched for the front doors. ‘Constable: heel!’
McKinnon did what he was told, leaving Sergeant Moore standing beneath their half-naked knight of the realm.
‘But...’ Moore shuffled his feet, ‘where are you going?’
She hauled the door open. ‘Me and your wee loon need to see a man about some backup.’
Which would have been a really cool line to exit on, if McKinnon hadn’t got tangled up in his own feet and stumbled into the door, thumping it closed again before she could escape.
Idiot.
‘Sorry...’ He pulled it open and held it for her.
She stepped out, under that big portico. Its soggy red-white-and-blue bunting flapped in the wind as rain battered down, sparking in the fountain’s bowl. Strafing the puddles that stretched across the gravel driveway. Hissing and growling in the trees.
No sign of the gold balloons. Maybe—
A flicker of white forced back the gloom, followed by a thunderous roar.
Oh yeah, this was going to be lovely.
Roberta nipped inside again and grabbed an umbrella from the stand beside the door.
By the time she got back outside, PC McKinnon was standing at the edge of the portico – grimacing out at the rain. ‘We’re going to get absolutely soaked, aren’t we?’
‘Speak for yourself.’ She popped the brolly open, revealing a large blue canopy with ‘SKIRIVOURCASTLEHOTEL’ in gold letters.
The cheeky wee sod eased himself up next to her, snuggling in under the umbrella. ‘I’m in the overflow car park.’
