Policeman's Progress by Bernard Knight Page A

the sergeant who dealt with ‘dabs’. So far, he’d had to stand by in frustrated inaction. ‘Any hopes?’ asked MacDonald.
    â€˜Not in the present state, sir. I’ll take those and see what can be done with them overnight.’
    â€˜Those’ were a line of ten little bottles, each containing a carefully labelled fingertip from the body.
    â€˜Useless trying to get prints from them while they’re waterlogged, I’ll try injecting glycerine into them and perhaps formalin if that fails.’
    The chief superintendent nodded at him. ‘Do your best as soon as possible. If you can roll them first thing in the morning, send them down to NECRO 1 by car. If they can’t help, we’ll have to try the Yard, but God knows how long that will take.’
    Potts broke in again. ‘About missing persons, sir … I checked an hour ago – nothing reported on Tyneside in the last week that would remotely resemble this fellow. Mostly young girls, in fact.’
    The CID chief’s face became grimmer still. ‘Let’s pray that he’s got a criminal record then.’
    There was a slow exodus towards the door, but Mac suddenly pulled up. ‘Where’s that sergeant from the Tyne? Ah, Milburn, isn’t it? Look, where do you think a body would have to go into the river to end up where it did’
    The River officer thought for a moment. ‘Not very far away, sir, if he was weighted down. I’d say it would have to have gone in along the quarter-mile stretch between Albert Edward Dock and the ferry landing.’
    MacDonald nodded. ‘But certainly on that side of the river?’
    â€˜Aye, certainly, sir … there’s no cross current to speak of from one bank to t’other.’
    MacDonald looked at Potts. ‘So it looks very likely that he was thrown in on the North side – the Newcastle side.’
    The superintendent agreed. ‘And you think it more likely that his killers came from there, rather than the Gateshead-South Shields side?’
    â€˜Seems more likely,’ said the old Scot, ‘Though they might be extra cunning and come from a hell of a distance off, like Teesside or even one of the big Yorkshire towns. Wouldn’t be the first time that a body’s been brought up to the Tyne for dumping.’
    The drift to the door started again and the theorizing continued as the different groups dispersed, some back to Headquarters and others slipping off for a crafty glass of beer.
    A few minutes later, Alec Bolam heard the latest on the murder as the Headquarters contingent arrived back, but he still had no inkling that it was soon to join up with his own troubles.
    The final scenes of that eventful day were played out in the Rising Sun Club in the Bigg Market.
    Jackie Stott stood with his Danish manager just inside the room on the first floor. The stripper was writhing her last few sequins off on to the floor and four perspiring musicians were hammering out the ‘bumps and grinds’ for her as a hundred pairs of eyes goggled over the brims of tankards and glasses.
    The two men stood at the back of the room while the girl finished her act amid ragged applause. There was no curtain to fall on the climax of her nudity, so she had evolved a routine of having a large red satin cloak flung around her by a helpful Freddie, who leaned over from the dais to settle it around her shoulders. As she ran off to the diminutive dressing room, the two men moved back towards the doors and made their way up to the gaming room above.
    â€˜This new croupier seems good – the one from Sheffield,’ observed the Dane. ‘Losing Geordie Armstrong was inconvenient at the moment, having to send Arthur down to the boat from here.’
    Jackie looked covertly at the speaker. If only you knew, lad , he thought.
    Aloud, he said, ‘Try and get another. Geordie’ll not be back. He’s taken off for good; his digs are