“I can’t tell you a lot more than that at present. It’s a nine-millimeter caliber, probably from a handgun. Pathologist commented that it didn’t look shiny new, but I’m not sure what that tells us. Until Ballistics and Forensics get back to us, therefore, I want to concentrate on the victim’s movements from the night he went missing until he ended up in the canal. He must have eaten—most recent intake comprised a cheese and onion sandwich and a packet of ready-salted crisps, plus a bottle of Irn Bru…”

“Sounds like a meal deal,” Olivia Webster interrupted. “Sort of thing a garage or supermarket would sell.”

Clarke sought out Fox. “Any receipts among his possessions?”

Fox shook his head. “We don’t have his clothes, though—I suppose there could be something in one of the pockets.”

“Can you check that?” Clarke asked. Then, to the room at large: “We need door-to-door, starting at the locus and radiating out. The industrial estate will be part of that. They’re bound to have camera footage, or else nighttime security we can talk to. Shops and petrol stations in the vicinity—get photos of Saunders out there.”

“Local media?” someone else asked.

Clarke nodded. “Newspapers and Internet—TV if we can get it. Putting out a plea for anyone to come forward.”

“There might be something on his phone,” Fox said. “Doubtful—we already checked once with his mobile phone provider—but worth taking another look.”

Clarke nodded her agreement. “Inspector Fox here,” she explained to the room, “has been helping the Solicitor General’s office form a case against William Saunders. Thirty years ago, Mr. Saunders was charged with the murder of a man called Douglas Merchant. The case fell apart due to police incompetence…”

“Incompetence or collusion,” Fox corrected her.

“Anyway,” Clarke went on, “those files will be coming here as soon as I’ve cleared it with Elinor Macari. And as Inspector Fox is the expert, he’ll be the one to answer any questions you might have.”

“A good starting point,” Fox added, “might be the detectives who were responsible for the collapse of the case against Saunders. One of them, Stefan Gilmour, contacted Saunders by phone. We’ve questioned him once, but now that a murder has been committed…”

Clarke had been nodding throughout. “We’ll bring him in,” she stated.

“The Stefan Gilmour?” someone asked.

“The only one I know of,” Clarke confirmed.

Fox was impressed.

Clarke had stamped her authority on the group, giving an immediate sense of order and purpose to the inquiry. There had been room for some levity—just enough so that everyone could relax into their given tasks. Afterwards, she squeezed through the throng towards the desk he was sharing.

“You’ll get me those files from the Solicitor General?” she prompted.

“I’ve put in a call. Waiting for her to respond.”

“Or we could just go and fetch them…”