But-
NO! Get it through your thick head: he didnt do this one!
Insch loomed over her desk, voice low and menacing. Who the hell do you think youre talking to?
You! Steel shoved her chair back and stood, leaning in close until her nose was inches from Inschs. Youve been a right miserable cunt for months now! Whatevers eating your fat arse its not my bloody fault! So stop taking it out on the rest of us! Watt raped Laura Shand END OF STORY!
Insch actually went dark purple for a moment, then turned on his heel and stormed off, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make Logans fillings vibrate.
FHQ was eerily silent in the wake of Inschs storming out. There was barely a whisper as Logan left DI Steels office and wandered back to his little cubicle in the CID room. It took him nearly twenty minutes to check his email and make up an identification book for Laura Shand to look at when she came in Iain Watts face hidden amongst pictures of eleven others from the Scottish Criminal Records Office database. It was a formality more than anything else: with Watts confession and the forensic evidence, hed be on the first bus back to Peterhead Prison, whether she could identify him or not.
And then Logan really couldnt put it off any longer: he called the front desk and asked Big Gary where Jackie was.
No idea. Was the reply. She went to ProfessionalStandards first thing, but they cant have fired or suspended her, or theydve had me in there as her Federation rep. There was a faint slurping sound, as if Gary was in the middle of a mug of tea. Probably just a smack on the wrists.
Yeah thanks Gary. Logan hung up and tried her mobile: it rang and rang, then beeped over to voicemail. There was no point asking Professional Standards they wouldnt tell him anything so he went for a walk instead, wandering the corridors and asking if anyone had seen PC Watson.
He found her in the basement records room, where the old files went to die, sorting through the ancient unsolved investigations and swearing under her breath a constant, violent monologue about what would happen if she ever got her hands on that bastard from the Daily Mail. She dumped a dusty box onto the concrete floor and yanked the lid off, glaring at the contents.
Logan closed the door behind him and wandered over. Hey you. She looked up, still glaring and he backed off a couple of paces, hands up in surrender. Whoa, whatever it is, Im sorry!
Jackie went back to scowling at the open box. Can you believe this shite? She hauled out an ancient bundle of files held together by an elastic band so old it was beginning to flake away in brittle brown shards. Half these bloody things dont even match the sodding inventory. Lazy bastards
You OK?
She shrugged and started scribbling down a list of the contents into a large notebook. I mean, look at it. Not like its hard to keep track of whats in a bloody box, is it?
Jackie?
I mean, some of this stuff goes back thirty, forty years! Why the hell couldnt they do it properly in the first place? Throwing the pile of files back in the box, the vitrified rubber band shattering into a thousand pieces. Fucking thing!
Jackie. Its OK.
Get the prehistoric bastards out of retirement and make them come down here and inventory their own bloody case files. She dragged another bundle out and began scribbling in her notebook again. Should have solved them in the first place! Who cares about some daft sod getting beaten up twenty years ago its not like were going to catch whoever did it any time soon, is it? There were angry tears, glinting at the corners of her eyes.
Jackie!
They talked to me like I was a fucking child! OK? Like Id done it on purpose! Like I was just some stupid bloody woman who couldnt keep her big mouth shut!
Come here. Logan helped her to her feet, then wrapped her in his arms.
8
The shit hit the fan, first thing Thursday morning Logan could smell it as soon as his copy of the Press and Journal was delivered at ten past seven. TOLD YOU I DIDNT DO IT! was the headline, above a photo of Rob Macintyres ugly, big-eared head. Logan read the article in the kitchen, his cup of coffee going cold beside him. There was a brief account of how DI Steel and local police hero DS McRae had charged a known sex offender with one of the rapes Macintyre was supposed to have committed, leaving the footballer in the clear. According to the paper, Macintyres legal team were going to the Sheriff Court to have the whole case abandoned. And last, but not least, was a nice big quote from Sandy the Snake telling everyone how this just went to prove that his client had been the victim of a cynical campaign by Grampian Police.
Logan didnt need to look at the by-line to know whod written it: Colin Bloody Miller rides again. He noticed for the first time that the word hero Miller always attached whenever he mentioned Logan in the papers now came in ironic single quotes. Grimacing, he sluiced the last filmy remnants of his morning coffee down the sink and went to work.
DI Steel wasnt there, so Logan had to start the morning briefing without her. Again. She slouched in five minutes before the end, complaining about having to go see the ACC first thing. Logan finished up then looked expectantly at her. Anything youd like to add, Inspector?
Damn right She held up a clenched fist. We are not at home to Mr Fuck-Up! Silence. Come on people, were not leaving here till you do it. We are not at home to Mr Fuck-Up! And this time everyone joined in, Logan trying not to groan as Steel went into her, I cant hear you! routine. Eventually shed had enough and told them all to get their backsides in gear. Logan hung back as they filtered out.
Did you see the paper this morning?
Steel nodded. Why do you think the ACC hauled me into his office? The Fiscal goes off on holiday with a lovely cast-iron case against Macintyre and twenty-four hours later its falling apart.
Theyve still got the other six rapes to do him on.
Phffff She pulled out her cigarettes and stared morosely into the packet. Yeah, but this thing with Watts going to make a jury itchy: we were wrong about Laura Shand, whos to say weve not fucked up the other ones too? And all the time Rob Macintyre will be sitting there like an ugly wee angel with Hissing Sid polishing his halo for him. She shook her head. Tell you, Insch might be a grumpy fat bastard, but Id no wish that case on anyone.
She pulled herself out of her seat and performed an elaborate stretch, ending with a grimace. If anyone asks Im off for a fag. You got anything on this morning?
Laura Shands coming in at ten for the ID. Other than that: nothing. It wasnt until the words were out that he realized his mistake. Steel now had an excuse to give him something to do.
Good, you can go chase up the IB for those results on Watts house, see if the little sod isnt responsible for more of Macintyres victims. And while youre at it, get some more bodies on that e-fit, someone must know who he is! She stopped for a moment and had a thoughtful scratch. And chase up whatever slack bastards going through the dental records; tell them to get a shift on. This is a murder investigation, no a slumber party!
The constable responsible for coordinating the dental records search was sitting behind a small desk in the corner of the incident room, surrounded by piles of paper. PC Rickards, phone clamped to one ear while he scribbled something down on a form. Logan waited till hed hung up. Well, any luck?
Rickards scrunched up his face and sighed. Needle in a haystack. Most of these dentists have about three thousand patients on their books, and the inspector wants me to check every dental practice from Dundee to Peterhead. Its taking forever.
Youll get there. Logan turned to leave, but Rickards grabbed his sleeve.
Er, sir lowering his voice to a whisper, I was wondering about the victim A blush started at the white collar of his police shirt, rapidly turning his face the colour of boiled ham. Does does he have a scar on his backside?
Logan frowned. Hang on. He went and dug the post mortem report out of the filing cabinet, flicking through it to the exterior examination. There were two diagrams of the body: front and back, marked up with the burns, cuts, ligature marks, contusions, and scars.
Well? Rickards asked.
Left or right cheek?
The PC thought about it for a moment. Left.
Got it in one.
Then I think I know who he is.
9
DI Steel had her feet up on the desk, a cup of coffee in one hand, and an unlit cigarette bobbing about between her lips as she spoke. So how come Rickards recognizes this guys arse then? He been there?
Logan shrugged. Says he saw it on one of the DVDs they confiscated from that brothel raid. Hes getting it out of evidence now.
Excellent. Nothing like a spot of hardcore porn in the morning to set you up for the day!
They convened in the board room, Rickards fighting with the DVD player while Steel examined the case. James Bondage? She peered at the small print on the back, holding it at arms length to get it in focus. Hey, this is shot in Aberdeen! Brilliant! Never knew we had our own dirty film industry.
The constable sat back on his haunches and smiled as the TV flickered into life. They do quite a few titles. Not bad actually, once you get past the accents. They He drifted to a halt as he turned and saw the look on DI Steels face. Then he went bright red. I mean, thats what the guys we arrested said. Em He coughed, fidgeted, then said, Were, em ready to go
Ill bet you are. Steel plonked herself down on the end of the conference table as the screen faded to dark blue, then there was a copyright notice, and a warning that this presentation had been rated R18 by the British Board of Film Classification. And then the production company logo appeared and Logan couldnt help laughing: CROCODILDO FILMS LTD! featuring what could only be described as a rampant, battery-operated reptile. And then the titles started, along with a thinly-veiled pastiche of the James Bond music.
Rickards stabbed the buttons on the remote control, and everything whirred into fast forward: sports car, house, what looked like Balmedie beach, people whizzing about at sixty-four times normal speed. Suddenly the screen filled with pink and the inspector shouted, Play! Press play!, but Rickards didnt.