Visiting hours. Got someone to see.
Interview room three was baking hot, the usual pervading odour of cheesy feet and stale digestive biscuits was joined by a thick layer of oniony BO. Its owner shuffled his bum in his seat the one on the wrong side of the scarred Formica table. The one bolted to the floor.
Sammy McCloist, seventeen and a half, squint nose, sideburns like a pedestal mat, hair down to his hunched shoulders. The fibreglass cast on his right wrist reached all the way from the palm of his hand to just before the elbow. Brand new, and it was already filthy.
He opened his mouth, but the git in the suit sitting next to him put a hand on his arm.
My client has nothing to say on that matter. McCloists lawyer smiled. He was huge, broad and tall enough to tower over everyone, even sitting down. Big hands, big chin, big ears, hair cut short trying to disguise the big bald spot.
Really. Logan checked his watch: quarter to three. Well, you know what, Sammy? Thats fine with me. Right now were getting a warrant to search you and your mates houses. Think well find anything interesting?
A sniff. You broke my bloody wrist.
You were resisting arrest. Remember?
My client strenuously denies your interpretation of events. He was visiting a friend when you attacked him.
Do you know weve recovered DNA from the jewellery heist? Nice clear sample. Right now theyre seeing which one of you it matches. Which was a lie. The way things were going, theyd be lucky to get any DNA results back before Christmas.
It cannot possibly match my client, because my client wasnt there. My client-
Was visiting his sick granny. You said.
Then theres really no reason for us to continue this interview, is there? The massive lawyer stood. We have co-operated fully with your investigation, now its time for you to release my client.
Sammy grinned. Going to sue your arse off for breaking my wrist. Police brutality, that is. Im going to own your house, man.
Logan shook his head. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. One: you dont want my house. Even I dont want my house. Two. . He sat forward, lowered his voice to a whisper. Weve got a witness. When you broke into the jewellers, someone outside recognized you. Another lie, but worth a try anyway.
Sammy curled his top lip. Thats bollocks! He thumped his cast on the tabletop. No one couldve recognized us, cos we was wearing masks the whole time. He sat back, folded his arms, nodded. Smiled. Look how clever I am.
The lawyer sank into the chair and buried his face in his hands.
The Procurator Fiscal wandered over to the window and stared out at the view. A hint of grey was creeping in at the temples of her dark-brown hair. Blue tweed Jackie Onassis suit, cherry-blossom nail varnish. Distinguished, in a cougary kind of way. Could you not have found a less. . complicated solution?
Sitting at the boardroom table, Logan shrugged. It wasnt really up to me, maam.
From here, most of central Aberdeen was laid out in a patchwork of slate and flat roofs, bristling with satellite dishes and obsolete aerials. Big fat seagulls spiralled in the pale-blue sky, like bleached vultures, hunting for scraps and any dogs or children small enough to carry off.
Theres no way well get a conviction for murder, not in the circumstances. . Manslaughter, at a stretch, but it wont be popular. She rested her hands on the windowsill. Well have to prosecute him for the jewellery robbery, of course. Thats going to play well in the press. A sigh. Inspector McRae-
I didnt do it on purpose.
No, I suppose not. But still. . She turned, took off her glasses and polished them on a little yellow cloth. Do we have any good news about the necklacing case?
Were-
If youre about to say, pursuing several lines of enquiry, Im going to stab you in the eye with a pencil. And dont think I wont get away with it.
Ah. . The fact he was necklaced out at the Joyriders Graveyard has to be significant. Up a rutted track on a dead-end road past Thainstone Mart its not exactly somewhere you just stumble across on your way to the shops, is it?
So whoever it is has local knowledge.
Theyve probably got form for unlawful removal as well, or know someone who does. Were still waiting on a full DNA work-up; you know what its like these days. Until weve IDd the victim its going to be hard to get anywhere.
She slipped her glasses back on. I dont like this, DI McRae. I dont like this at all.
We could get a forensic anthropologist in? Do a facial reconstruction? He cleared his throat. You know, if we had the budget. .?
Her eyes narrowed. Find the budget. Im authorizing it. This case is now Grampian Polices number one priority.
Steel would love that.
. .no, thats not what Im saying at all. The Assistant Chief Constable waved a finger and twenty flashguns went off, reflecting off his high forehead, catching him in all his chunky glory. He must have shaved right before the briefing, because the lower of his two chins was an angry shade of puce flecked with tiny spots of scarlet. What Im saying is we have to treat these two cases separately. Thats how the law works.
The briefing room was packed with row after row of journalists and TV crews, all sticking their hands up and asking questions at the same time:
Was the surgery a success?
Would you say Guy Ferguson is a hero?
Why did your officers tell his parents he was dead?
Why is Grampian Police persecuting a man who sacrificed his fingers trying to save someone?
The ACC thumped his hand on the table. Were not persecuting anyone, and its irresponsible to suggest otherwise. What Mr Ferguson tried to do for the victim was admirable, breaking into a jewellery store and making off with thirty-four thousand pounds worth of merchandise was not.
Sitting next to him, the Press Liaison Officer put one hand over the microphone, leaned across and whispered in his ear. Probably something along the lines of, Stop antagonizing the bastards. .
Standing at the back of the room, behind a forest of microphone booms, Logan checked his watch. Fifteen minutes in and they were already struggling.
Steel nudged him in the ribs, her ancient-ashtray breath congealing around his head. Youre a jammy bugger. She jabbed him again. See if itd been me? No way Id let you weasel out of it: youd be up there getting your wee pink bum paddled with the rest of them.
Im not weaselling out of anything. The ACC said hed do it on his own not everyones out to cover their own arse, some senior officers actually look after their team.
A snort. More fool him, then.
Logan kept his eyes fixed forwards. PF wants us to get a forensic anthropologist in.
Oh, I see: I told you no, so you ran off and clyped to the Fiscal. Judas.
Up on stage, the ACC ran a hand across his shiny forehead. Im not at liberty to discuss that for operational reasons. Which meant he didnt have a clue.
One of the journalists stood: a scraggy man in an ill-fitting suit, all bones and sharp edges, nose hooked like a beak, Dictaphone pointed like a handgun. Assistant Chief Constable! Michael Larson, Edinburgh Evening Post: how come Grampian Police refuse to mount a proper search for missing teenagers Agnes Garfield and Anthony Chung?
The ACCs mouth fell open for a moment, then a frown crawled across his face. Im not at liberty to discuss that.
Steel elbowed Logan in the ribs again. Did I no tell you to get your bloody finger out and do something on that one?
I havent had time, its-
Now look what youve done. And who do you thinks going to get it in the neck, because youve no bothered your arse? Me. Thats who. Like our delightful ACC needs another excuse. The sweaty chunky wee sod.
Larson, from the Edinburgh Evening Post, shook his head. ACC Irvin, why wont you even listen to the parents concerns? Do you just not care, or what?
The press officer leaned forward until the microphone was inches from her face. OK, were drifting off topic here. I need everyone to restrict themselves to questions about the case at hand.
The journalist turned, looking around at the assembled press. Sounds to me like Grampian Police are doing a cover-up, right?
ACC Irvin thumped his hand on the table again, hard enough to make the microphones wobble. We are not covering anything up!
Then answer the question: how come you lot care so little about Anthony and Agness safety that you cant be bothered looking for them? Eh?
8
. .complete and utter disaster. The pathologists office was empty, so Logan shifted Isobels MUMMY AT WORK mug out of the way, then perched one bum-cheek on her desk. The ACC looked as if he was going to have an aneurysm.
Samantha laughed down the phone at him. So you ran away and hid in the mortuary?
Im not hiding, Im. . He switched his mobile from one ear to the other. I beat a tactical retreat till Steel and the ACC calm down. And yes: my nose still hurts, thanks for asking.
Coward.
What am I supposed to do? Everyones acting like Agnes and Anthony are this pair of lost wee kids, but theyre old enough to get married, join the army and get shot at. . So what if theyve run off to be together? Who are they hurting?
You going to be late again tonight?
Its Agness bloody parents causing all the trouble. Dont like to think about their wee girl out there shagging Anthony Chung.
Moan, whinge, moan. Dont forget to pick up some milk on your way home. And youre all out of Marmite too.
Like theyve not been at it for years already. You know what horny little sods teenagers are, any excuse and. .
He sat up straight, setting Isobels china mug rattling against its saucer: the mortuarys outer door had just slammed shut. Then came the sound of footsteps, echoing down the corridor outside.
He sat up straight, setting Isobels china mug rattling against its saucer: the mortuarys outer door had just slammed shut. Then came the sound of footsteps, echoing down the corridor outside.
Got to go someones coming.
Dont be such a wimp; youre a DI now, take your medicine like a man.
Acting DI, and no thanks. He hung up and jumped down from the desk. The footsteps were getting closer. As long as they kept on going, through to the cutting room, hed be fine. Just have to sneak out once they were in there.