Page 41 of Death at a Highland Wedding
When someone finally does appear, my heart drops—and my annoyance rises—because the guy in charge couldn’t even bother coming himself. He’s sent some rookie who looks like a freshman dropped off at university for the first time, awestruck and overwhelmed. He wanders over to us, looking left and right and all around.
When McCreadie steps out to greet him, the kid nearly bowls him over in his distracted gaping.
“Oh, my apologies, sir. I was called here. Someone has died?”
“Yes, are you with the local police?”
The young man straightens. “I am indeed. Peter Ross, at your service. Er, Constable Ross.” He flashes a grin. “Still getting used to that one.”
McCreadie returns the smile. If he’s pissed off about this rookie’s superiors sending him out, he gives no sign of it.
“New to the business, are you?” McCreadie says.
“Nearly two years now, but I always forget the title. No one calls me Constable in a place so small they’ve all known you since you were in short pants.” He looks around. “I was told there was a murder?”
“There was. Have you ever worked one, Constable Ross?”
“I have not, which means this is very exciting. I don’t know that there’s been a murder in the county since I was born.” He leans past McCreadie. “Is that the fellow there? On the ground?”
I bite my tongue against saying no, that’s just someone taking a rest. Having the patience of a saint, McCreadie says, “That is. But it really was murder, and we ought to wait for your supervisor.”
“That’s me,” Ross says brightly. “First Constable Ross. Head of the local constabulary.”
There’s a long pause, as McCreadie studies the young man, trying to decide whether this is a prank or a misunderstanding.
Gray—not having the patience of a saint—steps forward. “Dr. Duncan Gray. I examined the victim. Are you telling us you are the primary police officer in this county?”
“Yes, sir. It was my grandfather, but he retired last year. I was already working with him, so the other fellows decided I would inherit his position.” He lowers his voice, conspiratorial. “In truth, they did not want the title. It is very little extra pay for a great deal of extra work.”
“I understand,” McCreadie says slowly. “However, as this is a murder, while you would clearly be the primary on the case, you might want one of the more experienced officers helping.”
“They said no.”
McCreadie blinks. “They said…”
“Dougie said they don’t pay him enough to solve murders. That’s what he said, to the word. And Bill is off.”
“Off…? Away?”
“Bill drinks. A great deal, I’m afraid, and sometimes he is on and sometimes he is off. Currently, he is off. He would not be much help, though, even if he were on.”
I stare at McCreadie. He doesn’t look my way, but I do notice sweat beading at his hairline, and his eyes are just a little bit wider than usual, as if there are things he wants to say—so many things—and he’s holding them all back.
Thirteen years. That’s what he said earlier. The act that forces all counties to have a police force is barely more than a dozen years old. Some areas will already have the kind of local forces that will one day inspire thoseBritish crime shows. Others will take the option to use the police services of a larger nearby county. Then there will be those that decide they don’t need much in the way of policing. Just a few guys to keep the peace.
Gray eases forward again. “How much do you know about the situation here?”
“Not a thing,” Ross says brightly. “Oh, except that there is a dead body. Or a body that seems to be dead. I probably should check that first.”
“The victim is quite dead,” Gray says. “I believe proper introductions are in order, as they may resolve this issue.”
Ross frowns as if to say, “What issue?”
“May I introduce Detective Hugh McCreadie,” Gray says. “An Edinburgh criminal officer.”
Ross’s frown grows, and he inches back. “You are a criminal, sir?”
“I am a police officer,” McCreadie says, his tone making me decide the guy deserves a Nobel Prize for patience. “City forces are large enough to divide officers into various specialities. There are constables, of course. Then there are criminal officers, which you might also call detectives or, if you were in England, inspectors.”
