Ramsay 04 - Killjoy Read Free Page B

own accord.
    The murder of a teenage girl, which in other circumstances might have been seen as a welcome break from routine, an excitement to see them through until Christmas, was only an added complication, a distraction from the important issues. Ramsay was welcome to it. Besides, they soon found that the girl had lived in Otterbridge, the Northumberland market town twenty miles away where Ramsay was based, and that was excuse enough to pass it on to him.
    Ramsay arrived at the Grace Darling car park at the same time as the pathologist, a man of ridiculously youthful appearance, consultant at one of the Newcastle teaching hospitals. He was a clean-shaven athletic Scot who spent his spare time climbing mountains and playing rugby.
    ‘What did you think of the game at Murrayfield on Saturday?’ he whispered with barely concealed delight as they walked together to the car, managing just to maintain an air of appropriate solemnity. He had Ramsay down as an ardent English fan, perhaps mistaking him for some other colleague met in similar circumstances and always made some comment on the latest Rugby International. Ramsay, who had no interest at all in sport, was never sure what to say.
    ‘She would have been a pretty young thing,’ the pathologist muttered appreciatively, peering into the boot of the car. Ramsay resisted the temptation to say that he could tell that, without a medical qualification. The pathologist straightened. ‘I can’t give you much,’ he said cheerfully, ‘until I examine her. It looks like asphyxiation. No scratch marks on the neck but I’d say she was strangled. And moved of course after death.’
    ‘Time of death?’ Ramsay asked, more in hope than in expectation.
    But the pathologist shook his head and refused to commit himself.
    One of the attractions for Ramsay of taking responsibility for the Hallowgate murder was the chance to work with a new team. He thought he was getting stale. He hoped, perhaps to find a new enthusiasm for the job. In Otterbridge his sergeant was Gordon Hunter, brash, over confident, with the sensitivity of a cart horse. Ramsay thought that in Hallowgate he would find a more sympathetic colleague, someone less abrasive. There was Evan Powell, for example; he would find out if Evan was available to join him on the enquiry. They would work well together. He felt a jolt of disappointment then, when he saw Hunter sauntering across the car park towards him. The sergeant wore his usual uniform of designer trainers, jeans, and leather jacket and greeted colleagues from North Tyneside with easy frivolity, using nicknames, making jokes.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ Ramsay demanded, then regretted his abruptness. Hunter was a good policeman in his way. There was no point in putting his back up. But Hunter was too insensitive to take offence.
    ‘Knew you couldn’t manage without me,’ he said. ‘Besides, it’s as quiet as the grave in Otterbridge. All our bad lads are on this patch joining in the fun.’
    Ramsay thought that riot and ram raiding and the death of a child was hardly his idea of fun but he did not want to provoke an argument, especially here in front of strangers. He knew he already had a reputation for being pompous and humourless.
    Hunter sensed nothing of Ramsay’s disapproval. ‘Think of the overtime,’ he said. ‘It’ll come in handy just before Christmas. And it doesn’t hurt to volunteer for something occasionally. Makes them think you’re keen.’ He turned to one of the local uniformed officers who had been first on the scene. ‘What’s the score, then? Do we know who she is?’
    ‘Her name’s Gabriella Paston,’ the young man said warily. He was new to the force and unsure of Hunter’s authority. ‘She’s a member of the Youth Theatre but she didn’t turn up for the rehearsal tonight.’
    ‘What is this place?’ Hunter asked of no one in particular. He looked with distaste at the building with its Gothic turrets, at the gloomy