Page 114 of Maybe Tomorrow

‘We should, yes. However, before you get excited, let me tell you that seven years have passed since 1983. I’m guessing these haven’t been stored in a lab.’

‘No. They’ve been in the basement of our station.’

‘OK. I’m not making any promises, but I will take a look. Also, keep in mind that DNA fingerprinting is in its infancy. Just because we don’t find anything today doesn’t mean we won’t find anything in a few years’ time as our understanding of DNA increases and technology advances.’

‘I’m aware of that.’

‘How do you want me to process this?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I can’t simply test something unofficially, or we’d get people walking in off the streets asking us to check their husband’s underpants to see if he’s cheating.’ He smiled again.

‘I see. Ah. I hadn’t thought of that.’ Freya chewed her bottom lip.

Tandy looked at her, taking in her worried expression.

‘Leave it with me. I’ll make up some reference numbers and attribute one sample to one case I’m working on and another to something else. I’ll figure something out.’

‘Caspian, you’re a star.’

‘Please tell my wife that. I missed our anniversary last week.’

Caspian Tandy’s workload was immense. His in-tray was overflowing. He had reports overdue and lectures to write. Add on the physical laboratory work, and it was little wonder that he had missed his wedding anniversary. He left the house before seven every morning and didn’t get home until eight o’clock every evening. How he and his wife had managed to produce four children was anyone’s guess.

After lunch– a pathetic excuse for a turkey sandwich– he rummaged around in the box Freya had given him, snapped on a pair of latex gloves and opened the sealed evidence bag containing a pair of pink underpants.

He took a swab, running cotton buds over various parts of the garment, before sealing them and arranging for them to be tested later. He then put the pants under a microscope and, using a high-powered lens, looked at the individual strands of fibres. At this degree of magnification, it was easy to spot what shouldn’t be there. A few curly hairs, which could have belonged to Alice, were lifted with tweezers and bagged individually. There were also two dark blue fibres which could have come from whatever Alice was wearing over the top of her pants, but perhaps not. Either way, this one item alone was a forensic scientist’s dream.

ChapterFifty

Thursday 21st February 1991

Freya’s day started badly and went downhill from there.

She left the house at eight o’clock as usual and, on the drive to work, she skidded on a patch of black ice and crashed into the back of a Mini. She wasn’t injured and the car could be repaired, but that was beside the point. It was a cost she didn’t need right now.

Arriving at work an hour later than usual, she missed the morning briefing and was given the shitty task of attending a local primary school which had been broken into the night before. Why anyone would want to burgle a primary school was beyond her comprehension. What did they hope to steal? Pots of poster paints and coloured paper?

When Freya arrived at St Thomas’s, she found the headmaster struggling to make sense of why whoever had broken into the school had seen fit to drop a plugged-in toaster into the large fish tank, electrocuting all one hundred guppies.

Freya spent the majority of the day at the school taking statements, writing up reports, and being shown everything else the depraved burglars had done, including using the staff room kettle as a toilet. The attack bore all the hallmarks of disgruntled former pupils, but the level of vandalism required a full investigation.

By the time she arrived home, Chris was already waiting for her and was in the kitchen serving up some cod and homemade chips for tea. They sat down to eat.

‘Guess who we took a booking from today?’ Chris said.

‘Who?’

‘Malcolm Ripley MP.’

‘Really? I know his wife.’

‘I know you do. That’s why I’m telling you,’ Chris rolled his eyes. ‘Apparently he’s got some important people coming up from London next week for a visit and wants a couple of executive cars to drive them around for a few days.’

‘That’s good. Get an MP as a regular customer and people might take notice.’

‘Fingers crossed. How was your fish?’ he asked, taking her plate.