Tony Hill u Carol Jordan 08 - Cross and Burn

loud enough for Fielding to hear. Her boss gave her a quick, raised-eyebrow look. ‘I know DCI Franklin,’ she said more loudly for the PC’s benefit.
    They set off on the short demarcated route leading to the cluster of men round the stone box, stepping with care on the metal trays laid down to protect the ground and any clues it might ultimately yield. ‘Good description,’ Fielding said, nodding towards the craggy man with the pronounced eyebrow ridge and distinctive beak of a nose. ‘I take it there’s some history there?’
    Paula nodded. ‘Mutual antipathy, it would be fair to say. We thought he was a patronising obtuse bastard. He probably thought we were a bunch of smartarses.’
    ‘Some validity on both sides, I suspect.’ Fielding forged ahead and called out, ‘DCI Franklin? I’m DCI Fielding from Bradfield.’
    He swung round, his scowl lifting as he took in Fielding’s trim figure and groomed appearance. Then he saw Paula and his face clouded again. ‘DC McIntyre,’ he said, ignoring Fielding. ‘They split you up, then, you and DCI Jordan?’ He delivered each word in a Yorkshire accent heavy as a paving slab. The other officers around him stopped what they were doing to catch the cabaret.
    ‘It’s DS McIntyre,’ Fielding said, to Paula’s surprise. ‘And you don’t have to bother your pretty little head about the threat from DCI Jordan any more. I’m the person you have to deal with now.’
    Franklin smirked. ‘Is that right?’ He stepped back and made a sweeping bow. ‘Well, be my guest.’
    As he moved aside, they were confronted with what remained of Bev McAndrew. It was as if Nadia Wilkowa had been transplanted from Gartonside to the high moorland of West Yorkshire. Only when she got past first impressions could Paula discern the differences. Bev’s body type was different – she was an apple to Nadia’s pear – and her shoulders were broader, the muscles more defined. But as far as identifying her from her features was concerned, it was a non-starter. Again, the victim’s face was a mash of bloody tissue, the white of bone showing through on cheeks and jaw. Determined though she was to reveal no weakness in front of Franklin, Paula couldn’t help biting her lip.
    ‘She’s the twin of the one we caught on Monday,’ Fielding said, her voice blank of any emotion. ‘I think that makes her ours.’
    ‘Not to mention that this looks more like a body dump than a crime scene,’ Paula added. If this was going to turn into a turf war, better to get all the cards on the table as soon as possible.
    But the response from Franklin was not what she expected. He dug his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. ‘And according to her ID, she’s come from your patch. Be my guest, ladies. You want us to process the scene or do you not trust us?’
    ‘It’s not a question of trust. It’s a question of chain of responsibility.’ Fielding looked around the car park. ‘I’d appreciate the loan of some uniforms to secure the scene till my team gets here.’
    ‘Where’s her possessions?’ Paula asked. ‘The stuff you ID’d her from?’
    ‘Bagged up,’ Franklin said. ‘We’re not fucking turnips. We do know how to handle evidence.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Grimshaw?’
    A chubby detective in a white suit that clung to the contours of his body approached. ‘Sir?’
    ‘The victim’s clothes and bag. You need to hand them over to the nice ladies from Bradfield.’ Grimshaw grinned and rolled off towards the line of vehicles. ‘Anything else I can help you with?’
    ‘Cameras,’ Fielding said. ‘Where’s the nearest coverage?’
    Franklin slowly made a 360-degree scan of the surrounding area. ‘There’s nothing on this road. It’s four miles north to a junction with a main road, five miles south-west, where you came from. There’s a couple of speed cameras on each of those, but I doubt there’s anything much in terms of number recognition till you get to the outskirts of Todmorden, Hebden or Colne. Sorry.’ He turned and walked away, a jerk of his head telling his team to follow.
    Paula watched them cross the car park and reconvene round the nearest car. ‘Nice to see DCI Franklin staying true to himself.’
    ‘Whatever you lot did to piss him off, it worked.’ Fielding sounded less than thrilled.
    ‘His bark is worse than his bite. He won’t obstruct us.’
    ‘He bloody better not.’ Fielding took out her phone and made a call. ‘I need a