He hurried across to
intercept his superior officer but Beamish had already been wooed by
the prospect of appearing on Dorset Today, the local TV news
segment. By the time White got anywhere near, they'd already clipped
a lapel microphone to his uniform and trained a camera on him. White
paused out of view of the camera. There was a reason he'd never risen
further than the rank of detective-inspector, and this was one of
them.
“We expect a swift
arrest and conclusion to a thoroughly distasteful business.”
Beamish smiled directly into the camera, showing off his perfect,
Americanised teeth. He was the son of a diplomat, fast-tracked
through the ranks to make the highest levels of authority before his
thirtieth birthday. Rank might well bring its privileges, but
privilege certainly bought rank. White wondered who'd briefed him
about the case. It certainly wasn't anyone sympathetic to the
victim's widower.
He looked across at the
interviewer. Anna-somebody. He recognised the face but Beryl was the
avid viewer. She'd know. The woman spoke into a microphone, mostly
for show, since White could see she was wearing a lapel mike too.
“What are the police doing to protect local taxpayers from this
happening to them?”
Beamish didn't miss a
beat. “This is an isolated incident and need not concern any of the
other residents. I understand Mr. Cotman to be a personable man but
one who generally kept himself to himself.”
“And what about the
recent trend of youth drug culture?”
“That's being dealt
with by our outreach officers and has no bearing on this case. As
always, we urge the public to report any suspicious behaviour. Thank
you. That will be all for now.”
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