Bob nodded. Theyll be all over us like Gary Glitter in an orphanage.
Dont be disgusting. She dropped the foil ball in his empty mug. And theyve no intention of taking over. I heard Green talking on his mobile last night they wont touch this case with a bargepole. Weve got nothing to go on: no leads, no witnesses, no forensics. If they move in theyll be just as stuck as we are.
Ah Logan stuck his mug back on the table. Winced slightly. His right arm ached one huge mess of blue and purple and green where Shuggie Webster had pounded his fist into it. So when the deadline comes round on Thursday morning, and weve got no choice but to hand over the ransom money, they dont want to be the ones in charge.
Doreen slumped over her coffee. Exactly: they point the finger at us for messing everything up, we get the blame, and they take over as soon as we get Alison and Jenny back.
Dirty bastards. Bob stabbed the table with a finger. We do all the sodding about, and they swoop in and interview the only witnesses were likely to get. He raised one cheek off his seat, squinted an eye shut, then sighed. Right, Im off.
Bob disappeared, giggling.
The smell, when it hit, was like being battered around the head with a mouldy colostomy bag.
Rennie was waiting for Logan in the little makeshift office, sitting at the borrowed desk peering at the laptops screen, his fingers rattling across the keys.
You better not be messing about on some porn chat site. Logan placed a wax-paper cup next to the mouse. Coffee. For not dumping me in it with Professional Standards.
Ooh, thanks, Sarge. He creaked the plastic lid off and nodded at a small stack of paper. Been looking up kidnappings got seven years worth so far.
Logan picked up the PNC printouts and leafed through them. Anything?
Nothing even vaguely like the McGregors. Theres not as many legit kidnappings as youd think with proper ransom notes and stuff most are drug dealers getting nabbed by rivals, a couple of silly sods kidnapping themselves for the attention, and about a dozen tigers. He raised an eyebrow. Probably waiting to be asked what a tiger was.
Tough.
Logan dumped the pile on the desk. What about older cases?
You know: when you abduct someones family, cos you want them to help you rob their bank or something?
You want me to take that coffee back?
Just trying to-
Rennie!
A sigh. Ive got an appointment with the force historian at ten. Shes got a bunch of stuff booked out for an exhibition shes putting on.
Good. While youre there, see if you cant go back another ten years, just to be on the safe side. Whatever shite-storm Napier was whipping up with SOCA, no one was going to accuse Logan of not being thorough.
The constable groaned. Can we not stick this stuff on the back burner for a bit? I mean, I could help you interview Alisons student mates instead? Maybe we can crack the case: get Alison and Jenny back before Superintendent Soapy-Tit-Wank takes it off us? He struck a pose, one hand on his chest, the other reaching out towards the manky ceiling tiles. Rennie and McRae save the day! A grin. Hey, that rhymes.
Logan chewed on the inside of his lip. You want to help interview everyone on Alison McGregors course?
Nod. OK, you can.
Woot! Rennnie punched the air. Thanks, Sarge!
Just as soon as youve finished digging stuff out of the archives.
Nope. Sergeant Eric Mitchell looked up from his computer screen, then ran a finger through his oversized moustache, sunlight glinting off his bald head. Everythings booked out.
How can everything be booked out? Logan tried to peer at the screen, but Eric twisted it away.
Finnies got everyone off interviewing doctors and vets again, thats why. Take a bus like normal people. Or get a taxi.
Right. A taxi. You ever tried to claim one of those back on expenses?
So walk.
To Hillhead?
Ahem The voice came from just over Logans shoulder. Perchance I can be of assistance, young Logie? I happen to be going that way myself.
Logan closed his eyes. Im not sharing a car with you, Bob.
Ill let you drive? Bob jangled a set of keys at him. Come on, whats the worst that could happen?
Logan climbed out into the cool morning and slammed the pool cars door shut. Hauled in a lungful of clean air.
Bob got out of the other side. What? I opened the window, didnt I?
You need medical help. Or a bloody cork.
Better out than in, as my granny always said. He stood and stared up at the soulless collection of Stalin-style concrete apartment blocks, then bit at his top lip. Dont fancy coming in with me, do you? I fucking hate suicides.
Thought you took the body in yesterday?
Yeah, but He shuffled his shoulders beneath his shiny grey suit jacket. Murders different: something horrible happened and we catch whatever sick bastard did it. Make sure the victim gets justice. With suicide, theyre the same person. He sniffed. Dont tell me its not creepy. Bloody depressing too.
The room wasnt huge, just enough space for a single bed, a built-in wardrobe, a little table and one chair. A pair of bookshelves sat above the desk, full of dog-eared medical textbooks. The obligatory Monet, Klimt, and Star Wars posters. A copy of FHM lay on the floor by the bed. KAREN GETS THEM OUT! IS THERE A DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE?
The little window looked out onto yet another block of student accommodation. Pale and drab and lifeless.
Bruce Sangster, twenty-one. Got pissed on Highland Park, then shot himself full of morphine, tied a plastic bag over his head, never woke up again. Bob tucked his hands into his armpits. Twenty-one and you go do that to yourself. What a fucking waste.
Whisky, opiates, and suffocation. It wasnt a cry for help: whatever Bruce Sangster was running away from hed made bloody sure it wasnt going to catch him. How could anyones life be so bad theyd just throw it all away?
Bob shuddered. Was going to be a doctor
Medical textbooks and lads mags werent the only reading material in the place. There was a little pile of Heat, Hello!, Now and OK!: ALISONS SECRET SCHOOLGIRL SHAME: I WAS A TEENAGE TEARAWAY, ADMITS BNBS SEMI-FINALIST.
DI Steel had got it word perfect. Which was worrying.
Logan picked the magazine up and skimmed through all the cheesy smiles, fake tan, flock wallpaper and chandeliers, until he got to Alison McGregors photo. She was sitting in her living room, looking off into the middle distance, holding that framed portrait of Doddy in his uniform. Hair: immaculate, make-up: perfect, dressed in a silky top that managed to be respectable and revealing at the same time.
No doubt about it, she was a very attractive woman. Very, very attractive.
The article seemed to be about her admitting shed done everything Vicious Vikki accused her of. And more. Acting out because her foster parents couldnt relate to her on an emotional level, whatever the hell that meant. Then shed met Doddy and discovered she wasnt a horrible person after all and there was more to life than drinking, smoking, and vandalizing bus shelters. Along came the little miracle that was Jenny growing inside her, then the tragedy of losing Doddys parents, a fairytale wedding, the birth
Tearaway turns her life around, becomes a loving wife and a devoted mum, Doddy dies in Iraq, Alison gets on
Britains Next Big Star to honour his memory, and the rest is history.
More shots of Alison and Jenny at home, then Logan frowned. The next two pages were stuck together. They came apart with a ripping sound, and there was a photo of Alison at the beach, wearing a yellow bikini, smiling at the camera, one hand behind her head, Jenny building a sandcastle at her feet. There were bits of the opposite page stuck to Alisons stomach chest and face.
Bob appeared at his shoulder. Someone got a bit excited Logan dumped the magazine in the bin. What the hells wrong with people?
Give the kid a break. Like youve never entertained a fivefingered shuffle over a photo of some half-naked bird.
There was a wee girl in the pic, Bob.
He curled his top lip. Aye, Ill give you that.
Maybe thats what hed been running away from? Sangster leave a note?
Yeah, the usual. Im sorry, I couldnt take it any more, Ive let everyone down Bob shook his head, then settled on the edge of the bed. Do you have any idea how often people write exactly the same thing? Their last words on earth, and theyre sorry they let everyone down. How fucked up is that? He ran a hand through his hair, until he got to the bald patch at the back. At least Im not doing the death notice this time, some poor sod in York can tell Bruces parents he couldnt live up to their expectations I fucking hate suicides.
Logan looked around the room. So, come on then why are you here? Weve got no suspicious circumstances: why arent the GED dealing with it?
They are. Im not here because Bruces dead apparently Finnie doesnt care about that. What Finnie does care about is where Bruce got the morphine from. Controlled substance. Must be someone dealing on campus. Bob raised his chin. So now Ive got to go tell all of Bruces mates hes dead, and ask them, Are you a drug dealer? He pulled a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and passed it over. Got them off his phone and laptop contacts. Dont fancy helping do you?
Fat chance.
Logan skimmed the names. Think I did Liam Christie for stealing shop mannequins last year. Silly sod said he was building a plastic army to overthrow our reptilian overlords. Bloody medical students are always the worst He stopped, then pulled a list from his own pocket. Double checked the names and addresses. Youre in luck, Bob Im speaking to some of these guys today anyway.
Do us a favour: ask them if theyre doing a bit of dealing to pay their way through university, eh?
Logan threw Bobs list back at him. We can sort out what its going to cost you later.
Chapter 31
Its just, like, can the world get any worse? Another poky little room this time plastered with Twilight posters and featuring a life-sized cardboard cut-out of the vampire bloke with the greasy hair. Tanya Marsden dabbed at her pink eyes, sniffed, then worried the paper hanky into tiny scraps with bony fingers. I mean, first Alison, and now poor Bruce. Its like, the whole universitys been placed under some evil curse She stared at Logan from the depths of a dark, floppy fringe.