He posed for several photographs before ducking under the police tape, which was raised by a female officer with a clipboard. They headed toward him.
White sighed. He loathed the site of a clipboard. If there was a clipboard there was paperwork to be filled out. Even after the paperless system had been introduced a year or two ago he'd filled out more forms than he ever had in the bad old days. He was too young to have served under a police force depicted by the likes of The Sweeney or Life on Mars but the eighties, when he'd first joined, was still a force running on strong tea and dab-cards.
“This has all become a bit of a media circus.” Beamish gestured to the crowd on the other side of the tape. Wasn't there a memo requesting operations be kept low key?”
“I do believe there was, sir.” White glanced at Peters, who managed to remain perfectly expressionless. “One of the neighbours saw the activity and that was that.”
“Unfortunate.” The chief-superintendent looked toward the house. “Killed his wife and kept the body, did he?”
“There has been no evidence of foul play, sir. The victim appears to have died of natural causes. I believe the husband to be in need of psychiatric help, not criminal prosecution.”
“Well that'll be in your report, I'm sure. I'll take all recommendations into account before I decide whether to refer it to the Criminal Prosecution Service.”
“Of course, sir.” White glanced at Peters again. “Will you be taking over as officer in charge?”