Bob sniffed. You chase up YouTube?
Nothing. They can trace the upload back through to a couple of servers in Bangladesh, but after that? Couldve come from anywhere. Logan picked the forensic report out of his in-tray. Everything: every note, every envelope, every video its like theyve been put together in a vacuum by bloody ghosts.
A gravelly voice came from the CID room outside, ruining a Fifties song, Oh yes, Im the great pudenda; pudendin Im doing well
DI Steel pushed through the door to the Wee Hoose, huge mug of coffee in one hand, chocolate biscuit in the other. Morning, ladies. She stuffed the biscuit in her gob and bumped the door closed with her hip.
Logan scowled at her. Seven AM sharp, you said. Where have you been?
Its your lucky day, Laz. Susan says shes probably up for a wild ride on the orgasm express this weekend, so I shall forgive your rudeness if you tell me youve sent that letter off.
You said youd get Rennie to do it.
No I didnt.
You bloody well did! Bob, tell her.
Now, now, Laz. Bob grinned and turned back to his computer. Its not nice to contradict a lady.
You rotten-
A knock on the door, then PC Guthrie stuck his pasty head into the Wee Hoose. Guv? He nodded at DI Steel. This just came in
Guthrie held up a clear plastic evidence pouch. There was a sheet of A4 in it, creased as if it had been folded into thirds, covered in jagged blue biro.
Steel grabbed it off him, squinted at the note for a bit, then held it out to Logan. Read.
It was all in block capitals, the letters lopsided and sloppy, traced over and over again. Probably disguising their handwriting. Sodding hell
The inspector wrinkled her nose. Well? What does it say?
Its a tip-off. Says Alison and Jenny were snatched by a paedophile ring.
Bob squeaked around in his chair and peered over Logans shoulder. Theyve spelled paedophile wrong. And snatched
Says theyre going to auction Jenny off after theyve all Shite. After theyve all sampled the merchandise. Theyre going to kill her mum soon as they get the ransom.
Guthrie nodded. Arrived in the post today. Finnie said I had to show you, then get it up to the lab.
Steel crunched her way through her biscuit, frowning. Bit risky, isnt it?
Logan read the note again. Could be a hoax?
Dont know. Bob poked the evidence bag. If youre going to lust after wee girls, what could be better than screwing the pretty six-year-old off the telly? Bet theres paedos up and down the country recording Britains Next Big Star and wanking themselves ragged every time she comes on.
Celebrity paedophilia why not, theyd had celebrity everything else Logan handed the note back to Guthrie. Anything on the envelope?
Just the address. Didnt even have a stamp; lucky it got delivered at all.
Right, Steel dumped her mug on Doreens desk. Laz, get onto Bucksburn: I want the Diddymen hauling in every pervert theyve ever dealt with. And no just the ones on the register, the lapsed ones too. Well start with the paedos, then try our luck with the rapists. And dont let them fob you off with-
Why would rapists-
Just because theyve no been done for kiddy-fiddling, doesnt mean theyre no into it. Sometimes youve got to convict the filthy fucks for what you can get.
Logan thumped the wodge of stapled-together paper down on DI Steels desk. Three hundred and thirty-nine sex offenders living in the north-east. Thats them arranged by offence, in order of closeness to Alison McGregors house.
Steel prodded the paperwork with a stained finger. This all of them?
All the ones on the register. Ingram says hell get the rest written up by close of play.
Sodding hell, thats a lot of perverts
Cant drag them all into Bucksburn, or FHQ some-ones bound to notice and call the media, so Ive booked a bunch of rooms at the Munro House Hotel. Told them were interviewing for Special Constables; theyre even doing us a discount on the corporate rate. If we haul three-hundred-odd people in there over a couple of days, no ones going to notice.
She scrunched one eye closed, flipping through the wodge of printouts. Right, get onto Big Gary, I want-
Twelve-man team, all accredited interviewers, six video cameras, and an unmarked minibus. Ready to go whenever you are.
There was a pause. Nobody likes a smart arse.
The hotel was a huge Victorian mock-Scottish-Baronial mansion a forbidding lump of granite with turrets, bay windows, and gable ends shaped like a staircase for crows only a five-minute walk from the Bucksburn police station, where the Offender Management Unit were based.
Steel marched up the sweeping grey steps, past two carved lions. How many we doing?
Logan checked the list. As many as we can get through. DI Ingrams lot are bringing them in from half nine.
All paedos?
A mixture. Ive told him to bring them in based on how close they live to Alison McGregors house.
The unmarked minibus kangarooed into the car park, a grim-faced Rennie wrestling with the steering wheel. It jerked to a halt and a ragged cheer went up from the passengers.
Fair enough. She shoved open the heavy oak door and barged through into the reception, with Logan right behind her.
Fair enough. She shoved open the heavy oak door and barged through into the reception, with Logan right behind her.
The Munros carpet was a muted blue tartan, with a pale groove worn into it leading away into the gloomy interior. Wooden panelling lined the walls, peppered with water-colours of mountains in heavy golden frames. A stags head was stuffed and mounted above the reception desk, glaring out in mild surprise at Logan and the inspector.
Can I help you? A man in a charcoal-coloured suit appeared at the inspectors elbow. He stood slightly hunched and knock-kneed, as if his underwear was doing horrible things to his undercarriage.
Logan flashed his warrant card. I called earlier about running some interviews?
Ah, yes, of course: the Special Constables. The man clasped his hands together in front of his chest. Your twelve rooms should be ready shortly, but Ive taken the liberty of setting up a base of operations in the Crianlarich meeting room as well. There should be complimentary teas, coffees, and some pastries waiting for you.
Steel wrapped an arm around the concierge, smiling up at him. Throw in a couple of steak pies and a bottle of Macallan, and I might never leave.
Frank Baker (24) Indecent Exposure, Lewd and Libidinous Practices and Behaviour
I really dont see how this concerns me, Mr?
Sergeant McRae.
Ah Frank Baker crossed his legs, made sure the crease in his tan chinos was perfectly straight, then did the same with the parting in his floppy brown hair. Well, Sergeant, you see, Ive never actually met-
You live on the same street. Detective Constable Rennie crossed his legs, ran a hand through his own hair. Little flakes of skin were peeling off of his nose and forehead, glowing in the suns rays. You have to see why wed want to talk to you, Frank.
Yes, well He cleared his throat, then glanced at the little video camera mounted on a cheap tripod in the corner. Its really all just a silly mistake, you see, it was a misunderstanding, I really shouldnt be on the register in the first place, I just-
You just happened to expose yourself through the railings of a primary school? Logan checked the notes pinned to his clipboard. Then did it again at the duck pond in Duthie Park.
Well
And then you tried to get a little boy to come into the toilets with you in Hazlehead Park, didnt you Mr Baker?
Frank Bakers cheeks turned a fiery shade of pink. Then his chin came up. I dont see how that makes me a kidnapper!
Rennie leaned forward and patted Baker on the knee. Its OK, Frank, no ones saying you kidnapped anyone, we-
They dragged me out of work to come here, you know! Two hairy constables, where I work!
Logan checked his notes. Says here youre a welder?
They came to my work. He uncrossed his legs, then crossed them the other way around. Went through the same routine with all his creases. No one there knows about my mis understanding. And Id like to keep it that way.
A welder? Somehow it was difficult to imagine the prissy floppy-haired neat-freak sitting in front of them doing anything as messy as that.
They had no business bundling me into a patrol car like some sort of criminal. Baker brushed imaginary lint from his sleeve. I know what youre thinking, and youre wrong. I would never ever touch a little girl. Theyre not He shuddered slightly. I never even spoke to her. Or her mother. I wouldnt know them if I passed them on the street.
Rennie uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again. Brushed something from his trouser leg. Not even when they got on the TV? Hed been doing this since the start of the interview: every time Baker did anything, Rennie copied it. Like a sunburnt reflection.
Dear God, it was a nightmare. Soon as they made it through the first two stages there were reporters everywhere. I couldnt go out my front door without a half dozen of the grubby little swines pointing cameras in my face. Do you know Alison and Jenny?, What do they like to eat for breakfast?, Does Alison have a man in her life? On and on, every single day. He took a deep breath, and Logan watched Rennie do exactly the same thing.
Baker looked out of the window. Its very inconvenient for someone in my position to be harassed by the media. It makes me uncomfortable.
Logan tapped his pen against the clipboard. So youre saying you never spoke to, interacted with, or had anything to do with Alison and Jenny McGregor?
Baker closed his eyes, pursed his lips. I dont know them. Ive never known them. I dont want to know them.
Do you watch a lot of television, Mr Baker?
Sometimes.
Documentaries, the news, or are you an X-Factor and Britains Next Big Star kinda guy?
Baker gave an exaggerated sigh. OK, OK I watched them. Every week, up there singing and dancing and getting famous. For what? What the hell was so special about Alison Bloody McGregor and her little girl? Oh, Jennys daddy died in Afghanistan, boo bloody hoo.
Iraq, Mr Baker. James McGregor died in Iraq.
Same difference. He scowled at the floor. I never touched them. I didnt kidnap them. I didnt kill her, or her horrible little child. I wouldnt dirty my hands