Where? Rennie bounced up and down. God, it is! Wow. How cool is that? Look, hes got Melanie from Corrie with him! MELANIE! MELANIE, YOURE BRILLIANT!
Oh for Gods sake. Logan slapped him on the arm. Will you grow up? Supposed to be a police officer.
Rennie grinned. Think well get to meet them after the service?
Steel stuck a finger in her ear, back on the phone again. Aye, sorry sir, bit noisy here got the telly on for the memorial service Whos looking into where the toe came from? Oh. She drooped slightly. No, no, Im sure you know what youre doing She snapped her phone shut.
Surprised theyre still going through with it. Logan leant back against a lichen-covered headstone, the name barely legible on the weather-beaten granite. Whats the point of having a memorial service when shes not even dead?
Too late to back out now. Look at it Steel waved a hand, indicated the milling throng packing the graveyard, the TV crews, the huge screens and speakers. Celebration of a wee girls life and all these famous buggers actually setting foot in Aberdeen for a change. Theyre here anyway, what else they going to do, go down Codonas and play on the dodgems?
Ooh, ooh! Look, its Robbie Williams! The only thing Rennie didnt do was clap his hands as he jumped up and down. ROBBIE!
Next time, Im not going to thump you, Im going to knee you in the balls.
Rennies face fell. Inspector?
Dont be such a jobbie, Laz. Rennie, you scurry off and wet your wee star-struck panties if you like.
Thanks, Guv! Rennie pushed his way through the crowd, making for the progression of VIPs. God, theres the bloke off Cash In The Attic!
Logan watched him go. Next time were at the vet, Im getting him fixed.
Let the wee loon have some fun. She pulled out her fake cigarette, switched it on, and took a puff. Finnies got a team going through all the missing kid reports, see if we can get a match on the toe. Bastards mustve got it from somewhere.
Logan shifted, the tombstones cold leaching through his suit jacket. If it is a paedophile ring they mightve had her for years There was a comforting thought. Might not even be local they couldve bought her off the Eastern Europeans. In which case theyd probably never know who she was. Whos SIO?
Steel pulled her mouth down at the edges and took a long hard sook on the plastic cigarette. McPherson.
Youre kidding they made McPherson Senior Investigating Officer? DI Disaster?
All hes got to do is go through the misper reports and get DNA samples. No even McPherson can screw that up. Another sook. I hope
Rennie had shoved his way to the front of the crowd lining the path, waving his hands at someone Logan vaguely recognized from the TV.
I cant believe they put McPherson in charge of a murder inquiry.
Give it a rest, eh? DI Steel went for a dig in her armpit. With any luck well catch the bugger long before McPherson ruins She pursed her lips. There he is.
Who?
She pointed at a bald bloke with ridiculous sideburns and a pedestal-matt-style soul patch. Gordon Maguire MD of Blue-Fish-Two-Fish Productions. Fancy black suit and expensive-looking T-shirt with a skull and crossbones on it. Sunglasses. Big cheesy grin.
He was waving to people as he strolled towards the church. Signing the occasional autograph.
You want to question him?
Alternative line of enquiry, Laz. Watch and learn.
You think he Logan stared. Someone had ducked under the blue-and-white tape and out onto the path: a rumpled, chinless sack of skin with a big hooked nose. Michael Larson. The git from the Edinburgh Evening Post.
A photographer stumbled onto the path behind him. Click, flash, whirr, click
Mr Maguire, is it true you obtained a dead girls toe in order to con people into buying your so-called charity record, when-
Complete rubbish, were here to celebrate the fact that Jennys still alive. Maguire turned and pumped his fists in the air. JENNYS STILL ALIVE!
A huge cheer.
Mr Maguire, your company-
I think its disgusting that youre exploiting this terrible tragedy to sell your sleazy newspaper. You should be ashamed of yourself. THE REST OF US ARE GOING TO FOCUS ON GETTING JENNY AND HER MUM BACK ALIVE! ARENT WE?
Another huge cheer.
The reporter glanced at his photographer still snapping away and back. I put it to you, that youre a heartless-
NOTHING MATTERS MORE TO ME THAN JENNY AND ALISONS SAFETY!
Cheer.
Someone reached out and shoved Michael Larson, sending him lurching to the other side of the walkway, knocking over a traffic cone, where someone else shoved him back.
Get off me!
Gordon Maguire stuck a hand in the middle of the reporters chest and pushed past. WE DONT HAVE TIME FOR SLEAZY JOURNALISTS, DO WE?
A resounding NO! echoed back from the headstones. Logan shifted his feet, feeling for the little canister of pepper-spray in his pocket. Inspector?
Meh, not like Larson needs all his teeth anyway. A wee spanking might do the boy some good.
The reporter was shoved again, this time hard enough to make him clatter to the ground. Then a grunt, as someones boot thumping into his ribs. Then another. Then a blister of people burst out onto the path, buckling the line of tape, hauling the reporter back between the graves, punches raining down onto his head and chest.
BASTARD!
PEOPLE LIKE YOU MAKE ME SICK!
FUCKIN HIT HIM!
Steel sighed, then twisted the filter on her e-cigarette. Suppose we better go do something. Stuck her hands in her pockets. Stared up at the clouds.
Fine Logan dragged out his pepper-spray and shoved his way through the crowd. POLICE! MOVE IT!
By the time hed fought his way to the path, Gordon Maguire was on his way again, smiling and waving at the crowd.
Logan pushed into the crowd on the other side. BREAK IT UP!
Feet thumped down on the reporters chest and head. He was curled on his side, arms covering his face, shrieking. HELP ME!
I SAID BREAK IT UP! People parted in front of Logan. Black suits, jeans, skirts, cargo-pants, forming a little ring around the groaning, bloody figure on the ground. Blood trickled from Larsons ear, poured from his nose. His face was already beginning to swell.
Bunch of bastards Logan squatted over the reporter. You OK?
A groan. A cough. A spatter of blood on trampled grass, a tooth glistening pink in a puddle of dark red.
That would be a no then. Youre all under arrest He looked up, but the faces around him had changed. Theyd melted away into the crowd, blending in with everyone else dressed in funereal black. All right, who did this? Logan stared at the wall of people surrounding Michael Larson. They stared at the ground, or the big display screens. Shuffled their feet. Not one of them looking at him or the battered reporter.
A clatter of heavy boots on paving stones and a uniformed officer appeared at Logans shoulder. Jesus, he all right?
Dont just stand there call a bloody ambulance.
Oh my GOD! An oversized woman in a black miniskirt, clutched her chest. Is that Ewan McGregor? EWAN! WE LOVE YOU! Jumping up and down like an ecstatic Labrador, while a man lay bleeding at her Doc-Martined feet.
By the time Larson was wheeled away on a stretcher the service was well underway.
The organizers had set up four huge screens in the St Nicholas Kirkyard, each one showing the action inside: a nondescript man in full Church of Scotland regalia, going on about peace and understanding, when all anyone outside seemed interested in was ogling the celebrity guests.
Logan elbowed his way through the crowds, back to the monument where hed left DI Steel. She was leaning against the lichened granite, smoking her fake cigarette.
Aye, aye, save the day did you?
Logan looked back over his shoulder. Paramedics say hell probably be OK: concussion, fractured jaw, broken ribs. Maybe a dislocated shoulder.
Couldnt happen to a nicer guy. She blew a little puff of vapour towards the heavens where grey clouds were spreading across the sky, like ink dropped on wet paper.
Wheres Rennie?
She waved a hand in the general direction of the church. Off worshipping at the altar of whatsherface from Girls Aloud.
Skiving little-
Oh, lighten up. She turned to face the nearest screen, where the minister was giving up the stage. How often you get this in Aberdeen, eh?
Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Robbie Williams, and Ms Katie Melua are going to sing for us
The speakers crackled and the church organ rang out through the speakers: the opening bars to Wind Beneath My Wings.
Oh Christ, not again!
Close-up on Mr Williams and Ms Melua, microphones in hand.
Everyone in the graveyard was silent. The crowd seemed to be holding its breath for the first two verses, but as soon as the chorus started, they joined in.
Logan watched the woman whod bellowed her love to Ewan McGregor, hands clutched over her massive bosom in full opera singer pose, warbling along with tears streaming down her cheeks. She wasnt the only one. Half the crowd seemed to be wetting itself with emotion.
Then someone started in on the alternative lyrics and it spread like a cancer through the throng.
Can you believe Logan turned to Steel, but she was singing along too.
What the hell was wrong with everyone?
When the service was over, Steel shoved her way to the front, warrant card out. Come on, shift it: police business.
As soon as Gordon Maguire appeared from the church, she dug Logan in the ribs. Heads up.
The producer was swaggering down the path, arms up over his head, giving everyone the victory Vs. Like a bald Richard Nixon. YEAH! COME ON ABERDEEN!
Cheers.
Logan pulled up the POLICE tape and Steel ducked under, right in front of Maguire. He raised his hands. Sorry, love, I cant-
Wed like a word. She stuck her warrant card under his nose. Ah, right He backed off a couple of paces. Can it wait? Im kinda in the middle of-
Now, Mr Maguire.
But Ive got a plane to catch, it-
Shall we? Logan took hold of Maguires elbow and steered him back inside, commandeering a small room just off the main entrance, lined with dark wood. It smelled of old wax and older cigarettes, light coming from a bare strip-light in the ceiling. Cardboard boxes were stacked in one corner, a display cabinet full of spider webs and dusty silver things opposite the door.
Look, is this going to take long? Only, like I said, Ive got a plane-
Youre no going anywhere till I say you are. Steel smiled at him. You must be raking it in: all this publicity?