Our beloved leader, Acting DI MacDonald, thinks someone needs to keep this bloody departments head above the sewage-line while you bunch of poofs are off being media hoors.
Youre just jealous.
Bloody right I am. He turned back to his desk. See when its my turn to be DI? You bastards are going to know the wrath of Bob.
Logan settled behind his desk and powered up his computer. You got that new pathologist, Hudsons number?
Ask Ms Dalrymple.
Logan shuddered. No chance.
Hmm, Bob narrowed his eyes. She still playing the creepy morgue attendant?
Three weeks straight. Started doing this weird thing with her fingers too, like shes got spiders for hands.
Bob nodded. Like it. Dedication. He scooted his chair forward. Did I ever tell you about the time-
The door clunked open, letting in the sounds of barely-controlled chaos. Samantha stood in the doorway, the SOC oversuit gone, revealing a Green Day t-shirt, black jeans, and a mop of scarlet hair, fringe plastered to her forehead. Face all pink and shiny. The metal bar shed been dusting for prints was slung over one shoulder, wrapped in a swathe of evidence bags and silver duct tape. Anyone in for a DNA result?
Bob grinned. If youre looking for a sample, Ive got some body fluids in a handy pump dispenser?
Logan, tell Biohazard I wouldnt touch his knob with a cheese grater.
Aw, come on youre not still sulking are you?
She turned and dumped a small sheaf of papers on Logans desk. The bloods Jennys. Ninety-nine point nine eight certainty.
Logan flipped through to the conclusions page. Sod
Sorry. Samantha draped a warm arm around his shoulders. You going to be late tonight? Big day tomorrow, remember?
Aye, well, Bob rubbed a finger across his single hairy eyebrow, look on the bright side: imagine if itd been someone elses? Then youd have two kiddies missing.
Yeah, probably Logan put the report down on his desk. Jennys DNA. Sod and bugger. Did you tell Finnie?
Samantha backed off, hands up. Oh no you dont.
Please?
Your names on the chain of evidence, tell him yourself. She gave the length of pipe a little shake. Anyway, Ive got to get down the store before that idiot Downie comes on. Wouldnt trust the rotten sod to file his toenails, never mind physical evidence Samantha blushed. Cleared her throat. Sorry.
Bob pursed his lips and tutted. See thats the trouble with support staff these days: always putting their foot in it. Making jokes about toenails when theres a wee girls severed-
Screw you, Bob.
He grinned. See: youre talking to me again!
She planted a kiss on Logans forehead then marched out, giving Bob the finger.
Bob pointed at his crotch. So you want a rain-check on that DNA sample?
Samantha slammed the door.
The main CID room was broken up into a cattle-pen of chest-high partition walls, all covered in memos, phone lists, and cartoons cut out of the Aberdeen Examiner. Someone had vandalized the TERRORISM: ITS EVERYONES PROBLEM! poster on the wall by the little recess where the tea and coffee making facilities lurked the word TERRORISM scored out and BOBS ARSE written in its place.
Logan paused in front of the huge whiteboards at the front of the room, scanning the scrawled boxes of case updates. Apparently Jenny and her mum had been spotted in a Peterhead post office, a pub in Methlick, Elgin Library, the Inverurie swimming pool, Cults church All utter bollocks.
Someone had updated the countdown, now it read, 8 DAYS TO DEADLINE!!!
Sarge?
Logan glanced to his left. PC Guthrie was standing beside him, clutching a steaming mug of coffee that curled the smell of bitter burnt-toast into the room. Logan turned back to the board. If youve got bad news, you can sod off and share it with someone else.
Guthrie handed him the mug, a wee pout pulling his pale face out of shape. With his semi-skimmed skin, faint ginger hair, and blond eyebrows he looked like a ghost that had been at the pies. Milk, two sugars.
Oh sorry. Logan took the offered mug.
The constable nodded. But while Ive got you, Sarge, any chance you can take a look at tomorrows drug bust? McPhersons SIO and you know what that means
Logan did. When you going in?
Half-three.
Well, at least its an early morning shout. The buggers will still be He could see Guthries face pulling itself into an ugly grimace. What?
Not AM, Sarge, PM.
Youre going in at half-three in the afternoon? Are you mad?
Any chance you could, you know, have a word with him?
Theyll all be wide awake and ready for a fight, resisting arrest, doing a runner, destroying evidence-
Setting their sodding huge dogs on us, yeah, I know: Shuggie Websters just got himself a Rottweiler the size of a minibus. Guthrie sidled closer. Maybe you could talk to Finnie? Tell him McPhersons being a dick?
Logan took a sip of coffee. Gah He handed it back. Not that you deserve it, making coffee like that.
Guthrie grinned. Thanks, Sarge.
Logan pushed through the doors and out into the corridor. He paused outside Detective Chief Inspector Finnies office, took a deep breath and knocked just as the door swung open.
Acting DI MacDonald froze on the threshold, flinching as Logans knuckles jerked to a halt just short of his nose. Jesus
Logan smiled. Sorry Mark, I mean Guv.
MacDonald nodded, a blush turning the skin pink around his little goatee beard. Yes, well, if youll excuse me, Sergeant. Then he pushed past, limped back up the corridor to his new office and disappeared inside, slamming the door behind him.
Sergeant? Two weeks in the job and Acting DI MacDonald was already acting like a tosser.
Logan peered into Finnies office. The head of CID was behind his desk, face creased into a scowl. Colin Miller, the Aberdeen Examiners star reporter sat in one of the leather visitors chairs, smoothing the crease on his immaculate trousers. A pile of dirty laundry slumped in the other chair, mouth thrown open in a jaw-cracking yawn.
Detective Inspector Steel finished with a little burp and a shudder, then sagged even further. Her greying hair stuck up in random directions like a malformed Einstein wig. She ran a hand across her face, pulling the deep-blue-grey bags under her eyes all out of shape. Then let go and the wrinkles took over again. She sniffed. We going to be much longer? Only Ive got a wean with a temperature to go home to.
Finnie drummed his fingers on the desk. The note lay beside his keyboard in a clear plastic envelope, the paper pristine white and shining. He stared at Logan. Yes?
Logan held up the report Samantha had delivered. DNA result.
Collin Miller sat up straight. Oh aye?
Logan looked at Finnie, the reporter, then back to Finnie again. Sir?
Some time today would be good, Sergeant, before we all lose the will to live.
Some time today would be good, Sergeant, before we all lose the will to live.
Ah, right. He cleared his throat. Its positive. DNA matches Jenny McGregor.
Finnie nodded, his thick rubbery lips pressed into a downturned line. Theres no need to sound so dramatic, Sergeant. Where do you think the kidnappers got the thing from, Toes R Us? Of course its Jennys. He sat back in his seat. What about the envelope and note?
Steel held up a hand. Let me guess, sod all.
Logan ignored her. Same as all the others: no fingerprints, no DNA, no fibre, no hairs, no dust no trace of any kind. Nothing.
She shoots, she scores!
Inspector, thats enough. Finnie peered down at the note on his desk. We gave them simple, clear, instructions, but they still was late. So we got no other choice: we had to cut off the wee girls toe. He pinched his lips together. Mr Miller, I take it were going to be seeing this in tomorrows paper.
Aye, got it all set up for the front page: Jenny Tortured Kidnappers Hack Off Toe.
I see Finnie steepled his fingers. And you sure its wise to print something like that? The public are already very upset, and-
Naw, you know the deal here: I have to print it. Just like I had to read it out at that bloody press conference. You think I wanted to do that? Jesus, man, Idve kept it secret till the paper came out tomorrow mornin. Now Ive got no exclusive and every bastard tabloid and broadsheet in the countrys goin to run it. No to mention its probably already on the bloody telly. The reporter shrugged. Got no choice, but. I publish, or Jenny and her mum die.
Finnie ran a hand through his floppy brown hair. Then the least you can do is put our side of things. We werent given enough time to respond to the call, given the conditions. And the toe was severed long before we got there. He looked up. Wasnt it, Sergeant?
Logan nodded. We were set up.
The reporter had his notepad out. That a quote?
Finnie coughed. Call it, sources close to the investigation.
Gonnae give us details?
DS McRae can fill you in on the way out the usual restrictions apply. Now unless theres anything else? The DCI turned back to his computer.
Actually, sir, Logan nodded towards the CID room, I need to have a quick word with you. About another operation?
Steel hauled herself out of her chair, then stood there, bent almost double for a moment, before straightening up with a sigh. Come on, Weegie Boy, you can walk us to the front door while the lovers here have their wee tryst. She lowered her voice to a theatrical whisper. That means theyre going to have a shag.
Thank you, Inspector, that will be all.
Logan waited until the door clunked shut. No offence, sir, but Id rather keep our relationship platonic.
Finnie glowered at him. I allow Steel a little latitude because, despite everything, shes an effective detective inspector. You however
Sorry, sir. He sank into the chair Colin Miller had just vacated. Its about DI McPherson you know hes got a drug bust on tomorrow? Hes planned it for the middle of the afternoon. There was a silent pause. When the targets are going to be-
Yes, Sergeant, Im well aware of what drug dealers do in the afternoon. Finnie sat back, tapped the flat tips of his fingers against his rubbery lips. And what do you propose to do about it?
Well, you could speak to McPherson, let him know Logan blinked. Licked his lips. Shifted in his seat. Sorry, what do I propose to do?
Well, clearly you know better than a DI with nine years experience. What are you going to do with your drug bust?