The DCI Warren Jones Series Books 1–3. Paul Gitsham

there were several oversized marker boards on wheels and plenty of chairs. As a concession to the twenty-first century, a ceiling-mounted projector allowed video and computer imagery to be displayed on the back wall. Most importantly, a large urn bubbled away on a corner table, next to a wicker basket filled with packets of tea, coffee, sugar and powdered creamer. A stack of cardboard cups served those without a mug. The old coffee tin now doing double duty as an honesty jar was suspiciously empty, and Jones hid a smile. Human nature was human nature, and coppers were all too human. Before doing anything else, Jones made himself a strong black coffee. After a moment of indecision, he emptied three sachets of sugar into the cup. The resulting brew was far sweeter than he liked, but the caffeine and sugar hit would hopefully chase away the remaining cobwebs. As an afterthought he chucked a fifty-pence piece into the honesty jar — lead by example and all that…

      It was now five to eight and the CID day-shift were starting to file into the room. After two weeks, Warren could put a name and a rank to most of the faces. Some acknowledged him with a nod, one or two with a cautious, “Good morning, sir.” Warren was again reminded of the veiled scrutiny with which he was being viewed. Suspicion was probably too strong a word, but there was still a certain wariness. He was acutely aware that he was on probation with these people and that he had to prove himself to be up to the job.

      By eight, he judged the room to be full, with a couple of dozen detectives of various ranks seated in rows. Grayson and Sutton stood at the back, watching. Calling for quiet, he wished all those assembled a good morning. Taking a deep breath, he launched in.

      “As I am sure that most of you have heard, there has been a murder at the university in the Biology building up on Mills Road. At 22:19 hours last night a call was received from a member of the public and approximately ten minutes later two uniform colleagues on patrol confirmed the finding of the body of a middle-aged white male in a first-floor office within the main research wing. Paramedics confirmed that the victim was dead when they arrived. Preliminary identification is that of a Professor Alan Tunbridge, the occupant of the office. The PM will be held later today, but early indications are that the deceased was bludgeoned, possibly with a souvenir granite rock, before having his throat sliced open. Probable cause of death, exsanguination.”

      A low murmur rippled around the room. Looking around, Warren was relieved to see that he had everyone’s attention. Or almost everyone — Grayson and Sutton had their heads together, quietly talking. Neither of them glanced his way. Forcing away any thoughts about what they might be discussing, Warren continued.

      “The body was found by a Thomas Spencer, one of the professor’s graduate students who happened to be working late that night also. Time of death has been tentatively put at no earlier than about 21:30 hours. Scenes of Crime officers made a preliminary investigation and will resume their work this morning.”

      A hand promptly went up: Detective Sergeant Hutchinson.

      “Do we know who was in the building at that time and does Spencer have an alibi?”

      “Unfortunately, we’re waiting for the head of campus Security to return from up north before we can review the CCTV footage and the building’s swipe-card logs to see who came in and out. The two guards on duty last night were based in the main security building on the other side of the campus and don’t have the know-how or the computer passwords to access that information.”

      A few grumbles went around the room and Jones heard at least one muttered utterance about “bloody rent-a-cops”.

      Ignoring the dissent, Warren continued.

      “The building’s fire-safety log claims that when we arrived there were only two people in the building, although we can’t yet identify them. The system simply counts people in and people out. The two occupants were presumably Spencer and the deceased. None of the building’s fire exits had been opened and all the windows were shut. A search by uniform found no other people in the building. Spencer claims that he was working alone in a small equipment room at the opposite end of the building for about an hour before he discovered the professor’s body. There are no direct eyewitnesses but he says he bumped into two other students on the way over there who were just leaving for the pub. Apparently the room also has a swipe-card entry system to protect the expensive equipment inside. First thing we need to do when the head of Security arrives is check out Spencer’s story.”

      A hand rose at the back. “Where is Spencer at the moment?”

      “Back home. He’s due to come in for another interview this afternoon. Forensics bagged him and tagged him at the scene last night and he accompanied us here for a full trace-evidence exam and to give a preliminary statement. So far he hasn’t called for a lawyer and is co-operating fully, so we haven’t yet arrested him.” This last point was important. The moment that a suspect was arrested the clock started ticking and the police only had a short time to decide whether to release the suspect — on police bail if appropriate — or charge him and get him before a judge. By delaying arresting Spencer, Jones had successfully pushed back that deadline. However, it was a dangerous game and those questioning him would have to be very careful about making sure that he knew and understood his legal rights, lest they incur the wrath of any future defence counsel and scupper any prosecution before it even got off the ground.

      Another hand went up. “What about Tunbridge’s immediate family: wife, partner, kids?”

      “Family Liaison broke the news to his wife last night. His kids live away and are on their way home. Early indications are that the wife was having a meal in a busy restaurant with a half-dozen friends at the time of the murder. We’ll check out her alibi later today.”

      Looking around the room, Jones saw that nobody else had any questions. They seemed to be happy to let him get on at his own pace. Jones decided to paraphrase what the super had said to him before this meeting, figuring he couldn’t really put a foot wrong if he quoted the boss.

      “OK, people. This case is to be treated as our number one priority. I don’t need to remind you that most murders are solved in the first twenty-four to forty-eight hours; the clock is already ticking. I will start assigning roles in a moment. Those of you that aren’t given an immediate task should use the time to lock down any outstanding jobs so that we can turn all of our attention over to solving this case.” Around the room there were a few quiet grumbles, no doubt from those worrying about the impact this temporary shutdown might have on their own caseload, but nobody dissented openly. They all knew the score without being told, Warren realised. Yet another example of the local instincts that he would need to develop if he was to succeed in this posting.

      Warren consulted his notepad.

      “Immediately after this briefing, DI Sutton and I will meet with the lab’s experimental officer, Dr Mark Crawley, and the head of the Biology department, to see what we can find out about the deceased and have a look at what names come up. Head of Security should be on campus in an hour or so. I’ll need somebody to meet him and have a quick look at any CCTV footage and the building’s swipe-card access log.

      “The neighbourhood around the building is mostly non-residential. However, there are a few houses up the north end of the road. DS Khan, I’d like you to organise a few bodies to go door knocking.” A quick nod from the small man. “I’d also like you to go and see if the security guards working the warehouses on the opposite side of the road saw or heard anything. Check if any of their cameras point towards the university — it’s a long shot but they may have picked up something.”

      He looked around the room, searching the assembled faces.

      “DS Richardson, can you liaise with Traffic and see if any of their cameras have spotted anything? Remember, people, the time of death is likely to have been after 21:30 hours and Spencer’s phone call was logged at 22:19 hours. Assuming that there was another person involved, they may have been in the area for several hours before the attack.” A short squat forty-something clutching a bottle of mineral water nodded her agreement.

      “DS Kent, I want you to set up an incident desk to collate incoming information. You’ll be the shift co-ordinator — everybody should report their progress to you. Get