that by using Macadam’s term he might appease him.
The sergeant reached across to his desk to retrieve a slip of paper which he handed to Quinn. ‘Their report, sir.’
Quinn scanned the document, ignoring the complaints about contamination. At last his eye was caught by the very detail he was looking for. ‘Excellent!’
‘Is that the tobacco flake, sir?’
‘Yes, Macadam. This may be just the breakthrough we need.’
‘A single tobacco flake, sir. It’s not much to go on. But I was chatting to Charlie Cale. He’s my friend in the lab, sir. A very clever young man, if I may say so. Well, Charlie Cale has made a bit of a study of tobacco, sir. Got the idea from Sherlock Holmes, I don’t doubt. He’s a great one for reading detective stories.’
‘That’s all we need,’ said Inchball.
‘Yes. But that needn’t concern us. He reckons the tobacco found in that cigarette case, sir, came from an Egyptian cigarette. The tobacco is actually Turkish. But it is a type of Turkish tobacco used by Egyptian cigarette manufacturers.’
‘Can he identify the exact brand?’
‘What he can say, sir, is that the tobacco had been soaked in opium.’
‘And so, we are looking for a killer who smokes opium-soaked Egyptian cigarettes!’
‘With respect and all that, sir, we cannot say that for certain,’ objected Inchball. ‘We may only be able to say that this cigarette case once contained such cigarettes.’
‘Your caution is commendable, Inchball. But what of the letters D.P.? Are we at least able to say that we are looking for a murderer whose initials are D.P.?’
‘Again, sir, I do not know that we are permitted to draw that conclusion. In the first place, why would the killer put his initials on an object which is bound to come into the police’s possession?’
‘To tantalize us? I believe we are dealing with an arrogant individual. It is always the arrogant ones who play these games.’
‘Now there I agree with you, sir . . .’
‘Really, Inchball? I am flattered. And I agree with you. On consideration, I believe they are unlikely to be his initials. Perhaps he means us to assume they are. He is trying to mislead us. But if they are not his initials, what do the letters stand for? I feel they must mean something.’
‘Differential Pressure,’ said Macadam quickly. ‘D.P. – Differential Pressure . . .? No?’ Sensing the scepticism of his colleagues, he had another stab: ‘Or it might be Dramatis Personae. In plays, you know, sir. Then there’s Deceased Person. Oh, and Dreadnought Programme.’
‘It also stands for Detective Prick,’ said Inchball bluntly.
The three men were startled by the ringing of the telephone, a recent addition to the department. Sir Edward had insisted on its installation.
They had all been trained in its use, although Macadam, as the most technologically inclined, viewed it as his preserve. He leapt to answer it now. ‘Special Crimes.’
He listened breathlessly for a moment, before handing the device to Quinn.
‘
The answer’s no, Quinn
.’ The tiny voice sounded like a wasp trapped inside a snare drum. A more absolute buzzing filled the earpiece as the line went dead. Quinn gave the telephone back to Macadam.
‘Bad news, sir?’
‘It was Sir Edward. I put in a request to release the photograph to the newspapers, or rather an artist’s rendition of it, without the wound. He has vetoed it.’
‘So we must find out the queer’s identity the hard way?’ said Inchball.
‘I’ve been through the Rogues’ Gallery, sir, as we discussed.’ Macadam’s voice was again discouraging. ‘Nothing, I’m afraid. I’ve made a start going back through relevant case files now. There may be photographs in there that haven’t found their way into the Rogues’ Gallery, for some reason. You never know. Many a slip twixt cup and lip and all that.’
‘Your thoroughness is commendable, Macadam. Now, where were we? Ah yes, the inscription. Let us go back to the
The sergeant reached across to his desk to retrieve a slip of paper which he handed to Quinn. ‘Their report, sir.’
Quinn scanned the document, ignoring the complaints about contamination. At last his eye was caught by the very detail he was looking for. ‘Excellent!’
‘Is that the tobacco flake, sir?’
‘Yes, Macadam. This may be just the breakthrough we need.’
‘A single tobacco flake, sir. It’s not much to go on. But I was chatting to Charlie Cale. He’s my friend in the lab, sir. A very clever young man, if I may say so. Well, Charlie Cale has made a bit of a study of tobacco, sir. Got the idea from Sherlock Holmes, I don’t doubt. He’s a great one for reading detective stories.’
‘That’s all we need,’ said Inchball.
‘Yes. But that needn’t concern us. He reckons the tobacco found in that cigarette case, sir, came from an Egyptian cigarette. The tobacco is actually Turkish. But it is a type of Turkish tobacco used by Egyptian cigarette manufacturers.’
‘Can he identify the exact brand?’
‘What he can say, sir, is that the tobacco had been soaked in opium.’
‘And so, we are looking for a killer who smokes opium-soaked Egyptian cigarettes!’
‘With respect and all that, sir, we cannot say that for certain,’ objected Inchball. ‘We may only be able to say that this cigarette case once contained such cigarettes.’
‘Your caution is commendable, Inchball. But what of the letters D.P.? Are we at least able to say that we are looking for a murderer whose initials are D.P.?’
‘Again, sir, I do not know that we are permitted to draw that conclusion. In the first place, why would the killer put his initials on an object which is bound to come into the police’s possession?’
‘To tantalize us? I believe we are dealing with an arrogant individual. It is always the arrogant ones who play these games.’
‘Now there I agree with you, sir . . .’
‘Really, Inchball? I am flattered. And I agree with you. On consideration, I believe they are unlikely to be his initials. Perhaps he means us to assume they are. He is trying to mislead us. But if they are not his initials, what do the letters stand for? I feel they must mean something.’
‘Differential Pressure,’ said Macadam quickly. ‘D.P. – Differential Pressure . . .? No?’ Sensing the scepticism of his colleagues, he had another stab: ‘Or it might be Dramatis Personae. In plays, you know, sir. Then there’s Deceased Person. Oh, and Dreadnought Programme.’
‘It also stands for Detective Prick,’ said Inchball bluntly.
The three men were startled by the ringing of the telephone, a recent addition to the department. Sir Edward had insisted on its installation.
They had all been trained in its use, although Macadam, as the most technologically inclined, viewed it as his preserve. He leapt to answer it now. ‘Special Crimes.’
He listened breathlessly for a moment, before handing the device to Quinn.
‘
The answer’s no, Quinn
.’ The tiny voice sounded like a wasp trapped inside a snare drum. A more absolute buzzing filled the earpiece as the line went dead. Quinn gave the telephone back to Macadam.
‘Bad news, sir?’
‘It was Sir Edward. I put in a request to release the photograph to the newspapers, or rather an artist’s rendition of it, without the wound. He has vetoed it.’
‘So we must find out the queer’s identity the hard way?’ said Inchball.
‘I’ve been through the Rogues’ Gallery, sir, as we discussed.’ Macadam’s voice was again discouraging. ‘Nothing, I’m afraid. I’ve made a start going back through relevant case files now. There may be photographs in there that haven’t found their way into the Rogues’ Gallery, for some reason. You never know. Many a slip twixt cup and lip and all that.’
‘Your thoroughness is commendable, Macadam. Now, where were we? Ah yes, the inscription. Let us go back to the
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