No, its no from them. Look, weve been gettin in dozens of fake ransom demands every day since this kicked off, right? All fuckin mentalists wantin us tae drop off a few hundred thou in a bin bag in Torry, that kinda shite. Well today we got one that wasnae all about Jenny and Alison.
Silence. Are you waiting for me to guess what it says, Colin?
OK, OK. It says, Trisha Brown has a little boy called Ricky. If you ever want him to see his mummy alive, youll start raisin money
now. If you can do it for that showbiz bitch, you can do it for me. That last bits in italics, with three exclamation points, but.
Oh fuck. Did they say how much and where?
Aye: I want a hundred and fi fty thousand. Pocket money compared to how much that bitch is gettin take it out of her pot if you like. I dont care. Five days. Or she dies. Notes got blood on it.
Logan tapped his knuckles against the car window. You still there?
What are you doing about it? You printing it?
Thats kinda where you come in. The Examiner doesnae want tarred with that encouraging copycat crimes brush your guvnor likes slappin about. Last thing we needs another run-in with them pricks on the Press Complaints Commission after the whole Bondage-gate fiasco.
Consequences.
Shuggie Webster, you silly, silly bastard. Did he actually think they were going to fall for that one? Kidnap his own girlfriend, send a note to the papers, ransom her for enough to pay off their drug debt and set the pair of them up on the Costa del Sol for the next couple of years.
Laz?
Ill get someone over to pick up the note.
Aye, but should we print-
Logan hung up.
Boss?
Logan looked up from the stack of interview forms. PC Guthrie was standing in the doorway of the little office, one hand behind his back, the other stroking his trouser leg as if it was nervous and needed comforting. Logan went back to his paperwork. Youll go blind if you dont stop doing that.
Got that note from the Aberdeen Examiner, you want it? Guthrie held up a clear evidence bag.
Logan closed his eyes. No, I dont want it. I want you to take it up to the third floor and get the IB to-
Already done it. They lifted prints off the envelope and the note: Bills running them now. Bloods off to the lab, for analysis.
Already?
A nod. Rennie said you needed it urgently, so?
They got prints?
Three partials and one beauty from the note, Bill says its a near-perfect right thumb.
See, that was the difference between professionals like the ones who snatched Alison and Jenny and idiot copycats like Shuggie Webster and Trisha Brown.
Good, thanks Allan. Do me a favour, go chase up the GSM trace on Shuggie Websters phone. Who knows, we might actually get a result for a change.
Soon as Guthrie waddled off like a happy penguin, Logan finished typing up his interview notes. Then checked them against the ones DI McPherson had done. From the look of things McPherson had taken over the campus canteen and arranged for a team of DCs to go through all of Alisons classmates in alphabetical order. Which meant whoever interviewed Beatrice Single White Female Eastbrook had no idea about the stalkers shrine on her bedroom wall.
The one thing McPhersons team had done well was to get information from the university on each of the students performance, along with some comment from the department head and a couple of the lecturers. Apparently Beatrice was reasonably dedicated, if a little prone to daydreaming, and not the most original thinker in the world. A mediocre student who could perhaps scrape a 2.2 if she really applied herself.
Logan read to the end, then flipped the form over again. McPhersons team didnt seem to have checked for criminal records.
Logan logged onto the PNC and ran a search against her name. Just in case.
Three warnings for vandalism, one for sending threatening letters. According to West Midlands Police, Beatrice had taken exception to a mother of two asking her to stop bothering her family. There was talk of a restraining order and that seemed to put an end to it. So Beatrice wasnt new to the creepy stalker game.
Maybe shed decided it would be a lot less effort to kidnap Alison and Jenny than follow them about the whole time? And Alison was going to be more famous than ever when she finally got released Maybe it was all some twisted attempt to help her?
Beatrice Eastbrook wasnt really the gang-leader-criminal-mastermind type, but Logan picked up the phone and got a patrol car organized to bring her in to help with their enquiries anyway. Maybe get Goulding to sit in on the questioning? A bit of steamy psychologist-on-psychologist action.
Then he went back to the list of Alison McGregors classmates.
The PNC check on Tanya Tiggy Marsden came back clean, even if she had lied about being Bruces girlfriend.
According to his lecturers, Stephen Clayton was a straight A student, but his name returned a list of petty crimes from when he was eight all the way up to the age of fourteen. Nothing serious, probably just enough to give mummy and daddy look-at-me! palpitations. Which would explain the carefully-crafted rebellious cliche appearance and attitude.
Logan ran PNC checks on everyone in Alisons class, then added the results to his interview notes.
Rennie grunted and dumped a file box on top of the pile. And thats the lot Frown. Oh poo. He wiped at the dust greying his shirt and trousers. Emmas going to kill me.
Their little makeshift office was starting to look a lot more professional if you ignored the dusty plastic sheeting covering the bare walls, pipes, and conduits. They now had three desks and a trestle table, the latter beginning to sag under the weight of Rennies file boxes. Three phones, two laptops, and a printer that sounded like a creaky floorboard every time they sent a file to it.
Logan swivelled his seat around. Kidnappings?
Five years ago. He pointed at a small stack of pristine files. Ten years ago, fifteen, and these dirty old sods are twenty. But thats just the north-east be months before we get stuff that old from everywhere else.
Probably more than we need anyway. Now go see if theyve got that GSM trace done yet.
The constable flounced over to his desk, sank into his chair, and grabbed the phone.
Sergeant?
Logan looked up from his screen. Finnie was standing in the open doorway, his rubbery lips turned down at the edges, eyes narrowed. He looked like a constipated frog.
Green must have been moaning again. Afternoon, sir I was just about to go looking for you, we-
I understand theres another ransom note come in.
Trisha Brown, shes the one involved with Shuggie Webster. Looks like-
And may I enquire why you didnt see fit to inform me?
I did.
Finnie frowned. I think I wouldve noticed if-
Emailed you as soon as we got back to the station. I think you were in with Superintendent Green at the time. The kidnappings probably a hoax Shuggie and Trishas way of wriggling out of a drug debt.
Oh. Finnie swapped the folder under his arm from one side to the other. Yes, well, in that case, he held the folder out. I was going to give the investigation to Acting DI MacDonald, but you can keep it.
Thank you, sir. Logan took the folder and peered inside.
It was the fingerprint report. Ive requested a firearms team. If you can approve it, well get Shuggie Webster picked up as soon as the GSM trace comes in. He isnt exactly-
Just make sure I have a complete risk analysis on my desk before you do anything. And by the book, understand? The last thing we need is Green getting the idea we cant do anything right.
Already working on it, sir.
And speaking of Superintendent Green
Here we go.
Finnie pursed his lips, looking over Logans left shoulder. Professional Standards tell me Greens been throwing his weight around with some sex offenders? That youre thinking of putting in an official complaint.
I am? Logan backed away a step. Sir, I didnt-
I think it would be wise to put it all in writing, Sergeant.
Actually, sir, I was going to drop-
I think it would be wise to put it all in writing, Sergeant. He cleared his throat. Yes, sir.
A smile. Now, how are you getting on with your due diligence?
Actually, it-
And the sooner you put it in writing the better.
Rennie took the phone from his ear and clamped a hand over the mouthpiece. Sarge? Got a result on the GSM trace. Websters in Tillydrone.
Excellent. Finnie headed for the door. Tell you what: this time, Sergeant, just for fun, lets try not to let him escape. OK?
Oh ha-bloody-ha.
Logan waited till the door shut before pulling the report from the folder: whorls, deltas, points of correlation, right thumb
That wasnt right.
He turned the sheet over, then back over again. This is definitely the print off the ransom note?
Rennie shrugged.
According to the database the thumb didnt belong to Shuggie Webster, it belonged to someone called Edward Buchan.
Chapter 33
Any questions? Sweat trickled down Logans ribs. The unmarked van was unbelievably warm inside, packed full of firearms-trained officers dressed in the traditional ninja ensemble of black trousers, boots, jackets, bulletproof vests, helmets, goggles, gloves, and scarves.
Rennie stuck his hand up. Are we allowed to shoot him?
No. Youre not. Logan pointed a finger, swept it around the muggy van. No shooting anyone, understand? This is going to be a clean operation we go in, we subdue Edward Buchan, we rescue Trisha Brown, and we go home. Got it?
Everyone nodded.
Good. Teams one and two: in the front. Teams three and four: back door. One and three stay downstairs, two and four take the first floor. Weapons check.
The harsh click and clack of slides being drawn back and released filled the vans interior. Logan ejected the magazine of his Heckler amp; Koch MP5, checked that all the rounds hed signed for were still there, stuck it back in, then did the same with the small chunky Glock.
He looked up. We good to go?
More nods.
Doors.
The two ninjas sitting at the back popped them open and they all swarmed out into the evening sunlight. Half-five and the sky was delicate sapphire blue, a white slash of cloud following an aeroplane on its way west.
A little kid on a scooter stopped at the end of the pavement, mouth hanging open, watching as the firearms team scurried into position. Edward Buchans house was in the middle of a terrace of six two-storey buildings: grey harling on the ground floor, weatherboard cladding above that. The roof and first floor stretched from one end of the tenement to the other, but little passageways punched through between every other building, leading to the back gardens.