Dark Circles by Derek Fee Read Free Book Online Page A

‘He wasn’t hung, he was asphyxiated.’
    ‘Same difference,’ Taylor said.
    Moira brought up the images one after another. They were not the kind of images she would like those who loved David Grant to see. She wondered how they were going to keep them from his family. She would leave that one to Wilson. ‘Obviously not, the Boss wants us to look into it.’
    ‘What about upstairs?’ Graham asked.
    ‘The Boss will handle that,’ Moira replied. ‘We need to get the scene taped up. It’s more than likely that the attending officer, and the ambulance crew, and even Reid compromised the scene. But we may as well see what we can preserve.’ She turned to Graham. ‘Harry, the Boss wants you to run up a profile on Grant. He was a Belfast City Councillor and a leading lawyer, so there’s probably a lot of Press on him. Don’t approach the newspapers. Most of what you need is probably on the Internet. Peter, the Boss reserved the best job for you. You’ve still got contacts in the BDSM scene?’
    Davidson nodded and his two male colleagues stared at him.
    Moira ignored their looks and continued. ‘The Boss wants you to check around and see whether Grant is known on the scene. Eric, check into Grant’s movements over the few days before his death. Keep it low-key. We don’t want anyone going off on a flier and reporting to the Press that we’re looking into the death. One thing I want to emphasise, nobody, and I mean nobody, outside this office is to see these photos. I’m going to print off one set for the whiteboard. It’ll mean someone’s job if the Press get their hands on them.’
    ‘What will you be doing while Peter is putting his life on the line in an SM club?’ Graham laughed.
    ‘I’m going to be interviewing the officers who discovered the body.’ Moira pulled the USB from the computer and switched it off.

CHAPTER 10
     
     
     
    Wilson was a regular performer at the Police College. The fact that he was a former Irish international rugby player, and a senior officer, went down well with the young cadets. Over the years, he had got his patter, and the jokes that seemed so natural, off pat. He had expected his overall negative mood to influence his performance, but once he started he was on autopilot, and he had received the more or less obligatory standing ovation at the end of his speech. The Principal of the College invited him for a drink, but he declined citing tiredness and the need for a decent night’s sleep. The Principal was a big rugby man himself and displayed mild annoyance at being denied a good chat and several rounds of drinks on the College’s expenses. When Wilson arrived at the apartment, he parked the car. At first, it took him some time to turn off the ignition and when he did, he sat silently watching other occupants of the building return for the evening. It was the first time that he didn’t want to enter the apartment. The arguments with Kate had been increasing and the last thing he wanted was to launch into another one. Eventually, he opened the car door and rode the lift to the penthouse. He slowly entered the key in the lock and quietly entered the apartment.
    ‘How did the autopsy go?’ Helen McCann asked as soon as he entered the living room.
    Wilson was a little taken aback by the question. ‘Usual autopsy,’ he said moving to the bar. He poured himself a large Jameson. ‘Anything for you?’ he asked Helen.
    ‘Gin and tonic and heavy on the gin.’
    He poured the drink as requested and handed it to Helen. ‘Sláinte,’ he said touching his glass to hers.
    ‘I don’t hold with Gaelic,’ she said not drinking. She touched her glass to his. ‘Ulster,’ she said.
    Wilson didn’t care much for what people said when they toasted, so he answered with the same.
    They both drank, and Wilson moved to the picture window. Helen followed and stood beside him.
    ‘You were telling me about the autopsy,’ she said.
    ‘Was I?’ Wilson thought back to the