A newsagents lurked on one side of the Mercat Cross, the windows dulled by a thin film of dust. One of those redand-white sandwich boards was parked out on the cobbled pedestrian area in front of the shop: TORTURED JENNY LOSES TOE POLICE POWERLESS printed in thick black lettering above the Aberdeen Examiner logo.
Logan hesitated for a moment, then went in. Every tabloid newspaper in the place had something similar screaming from the front page. The Sport had gone for TOE HORRIBLE FOR WORDS, the Press and Journal KIDNAP HORROR FIND, Evening Express I CAN FIND JENNY SAYS NE PSYCHIC He bought an
Examiner and a P amp;J, then nipped next door to the bakers for a couple of bacon butties and something for himself.
Steel could get the damn coffees for once.
He dragged his phone out as he trudged along the pavement and made a quick call.
What the bloody hell are you eating? DI Steel had her feet up on the desk, one hand wrapped around a white floury roll with slivers of deep-fried pig sticking out the edges.
Fish finger buttie. And Im only here till twelve, understand?
Youre no right in the head, Laz: butties are all about the bacon. She took a huge bite, getting a smear of tomato sauce on her cheek. So, come on then what did you get out of Shaky Jake? He still on the crutches?
I mean it: twelve oclock on the dot. Ive got a thing on and I cant be late, or-
Focus for five minutes, will you? Shaky Jake.
Logan frowned at her. Its McPhersons case.
Humour me.
Yeah, hes still on the crutches. They had to fuse his ankle-bones into one big lump after Wee Hamishs lads took a pickaxe to them. Walks like a penguin now. Lucky the hospital didnt just amputate his feet.
Silly sod shouldnt have helped himself to the merchandise then, should he? How much gear did you get?
Three bricks of heroin, two of cannabis resin, some E, a big suitcase full of mephedrone, two replica handguns, and some dodgy porno DVDs.
Oh aye? Steel sat upright. Anything I should be reviewing?
Already sent them over to Trading Standards.
She slumped back again. Sod. Another bite of buttie. And which one of your daft buggers let Shuggie Webster escape?
Logan squirted another sachet of tartar sauce onto his fish fingers, not looking the inspector in the eye. Its all in the report.
Operational difficulties my sharny arse it was that useless bum-crack Ferguson, wasnt it?
We had to get the social out to-
Aye, Trisha Browns wee lad. I do read these things, you know. How was her mum?
How do you think?
Pished, rancid, and racist? Steel nodded. Her granny was the same. Trishas your genuine third-generation drug user. Really makes you hold out hope for her wee boy, doesnt it? Other kidsll be showing each other their knickers behind the bike sheds: hell be doing crack. She sooked a greasy fingertip clean. What else you got on for McPherson?
Not till you tell me why you-
Laz, it always pays to keep an eye on what DI Disasters up to: you never know when hes going to get himself bashed over the head, break a limb, fall down the stairs, be hit by a car, punched in the nose She wrinkled her forehead. Am I missing anything?
He got rabies once.
Exactly. And while hes off on the sick, who do you think gets lumbered with his caseload? Muggins. Like I dont have enough on my plate. Steel puffed out her cheeks and slumped even further. Im knackered the whole time; Jasmine wont stop screaming; Susans nerves are in tatters so shes getting on mine; nobodys sleeping Sigh. Dont get me wrong: Jasmines a wee darling, but Jesus. Now I know why some animals eat their young.
Logan yawned again. At least you didnt get dragged out of your bed after an hour, by a grumpy-
Oh boo bloody hoo. For your own good, remember? The inspector polished off the last of her buttie, swilling it down with another mouthful of coffee. Dying for a shag too. Bloody Susans still no up for it they had to stitch her bits back together, and you know it-
Logan held up a hand. Im eating.
-like a doner kebab. If I dont get my end away soon Im going to Morning, Guv.
Logan scrunched around in his seat. DCI Finnie was standing in the doorway, his face crumpled down at the edges. As if it needed a good iron.
Inspector, the head of CID held up a manila folder, why are there still no suspects in the Douglas Ewan case?
Steel sniffed. You told me the McGregors took precedence. Remember?
I see Finnies rubbery mouth became a thin-lipped line. Well, Im sorry if I gave you the impression that you could drop everything and sit in here having a wee tea party instead. But perhaps, if its not too much trouble, you wouldnt mind solving something?
She put her mug down. Its no that I havent got any suspects for the Ewan case: Ive got too bloody many. Dougy Ewan is a nasty raping wee bastard: half that bloody estates got reason to kick the shite out of him. Interviewed fifty-two people so far, and they all think whoever did it deserves a knighthood. So coming in here motivating mes no as helpful as you think.
Finnie stiffened. I dont appreciate your-
Fucks sake, Andy, I know youve got SOCA dancing on your bollocks with clogs on, but its no my fault, OK? Were doing our best here.
Silence.
And you The DCI turned on Logan. Tell me, Sergeant, did I imagine it, or did you swear to me that you could do a much better job on that drug bust than DI McPherson? Yet what do I find when I get in this morning? A matching set of signed confessions? A stack of seized drugs in the evidence stores?
Logan shifted in his seat. Actually, sir-
Logan shifted in his seat. Actually, sir-
No: I find half the evidence has been fl ushed down some junkies toilet, and you let the ringleader get away!
It was erm we were-
Operational difficulties, Guv. Steel tapped a fingernail against her mug. McRae was just debriefing me on the incident. Nothing he couldve done without a firearms team: dirty big dog like that. Its remarkable he got the result he did, really. McPherson wouldve come back with half the team dead.
Finnies scowl slipped a bit. I see. He looked at Logan in silence for a moment, raised an eyebrow, then back to Steel. We need to have a briefing for Superintendent Green.
Oh aye, and how is our friendly neighbourhood clog dancer?
Make sure the core team is in the boardroom at half eleven. And for Gods sake send the no-hopers off somewhere. It might be nice if the Serious Organized Crime Agency didnt get the impression Grampian Police was entirely populated with morons, dont you think? He turned back to Logan. And you can go chase up Lothian and Borders. I want that pathologist on the first flight to Aberdeen, not when they think its convenient. Understand?
Actually, sir-
No: I dont want excuses, I want a bloody pathologist, and I want him here now!
But I-
Now!
Someone out in the corridor cleared their throat.
Logan peered over Finnies shoulder to see a bald man in a threadbare cardigan. The newcomer blinked watery grey eyes, then grinned: making the tufts of hair growing out of his bulbous nose bristle. Morning all. Sergeant McRae tells me youve got a wee girls remains that need examining?
Chapter 8
Doc Fraser pulled a tartan hanky from his cardigan pocket, polished a pair of half-moon spectacles and slipped them on. The mortuary was cool and dark, the overhead lights blinking and buzzing as they warmed up. Something classical oozed out from the speakers of a new stereo unit, a black iPhone plugged into it. Violins and cellos casting dark and sombre sounds to echo back from the pristine white tiles.
The Anatomical Pathology Technician handed Logan a set of white Tyvec coveralls, then waved her creepy-spider fingers in the direction of a box of purple nitrile gloves. Please avail yourself of our facilities.
Doc Fraser slipped his feet out of his shoes, dropped his trousers, took off his cardigan and shirt, then clambered into his own SOC suit, getting the APT to help him with the zip. Hiding his baggy grey Y-fronts and string vest. Thanks, Sheila.
A small bow. Shall I fetch the remains?
Might as well, its not He glanced down at the grey socks poking out from the legs of his SOC suit. There was a hole in one. You havent still got my PM slippers, have you?
She nodded, let her fingers creep through the air for a moment, picked up his discarded clothes, then turned and stalked from the room.
Doc Fraser waited until the door clunked shut. Is it just me, or has Ms Dalrymple gone a bit strange since I retired?
Steel hauled up the hood of her oversuit. Shes got a bet on with Biohazard.
The pathologist shook his head, then looked around the low room. Can we get started, or are we expecting an audience?
Logan snapped on a pair of gloves. Just Finnie.
Well, hell have to get a shift on: Ive got a three oclock tee-time at Meldrum House and if Im late therell be trouble. He picked a facemask from a box in the corner, stretched the elastic over his head, and let the mask dangle just under his chin. Can someone get the lights, please? And do something about the music, its like a bloody funeral parlour in here.
The spotlights above the cutting table blazed into life, glaring back from the stainless steel cutting table. The whole place reeked of disinfectant, bleach, and formaldehyde. The bowl of potpourri sitting next to the stereo didnt even make a dent in it. Logan flicked through the iPod, replacing Barbers Adagio for Strings with Deacon Blues Move Away Jimmy Blue.
Thats better. The pathologist pulled at a roll of green plastic mounted on the wall, tearing off a length like a bin-bag and unfurling it into an apron. Putting it on as the door banged open. Ah, about time.
Finnie bustled into the room and snatched up an SOC suit for himself, and another for the younger man who followed him in. Everyone, this is Superintendent Green from SOCA. Hell be observing.
Superintendent Green wavy blond hair, chiselled jaw, serious blue eyes, broad shoulders, narrow waist. Like something off the television. He gave a tight-lipped smile, a little tilt of the head. Ill try not to get in the way. He even sounded as if he belonged on a cop show a rich baritone voice with a faint London accent.
Steel leaned over and whispered in Logans ear, Sodding hell: I would, wouldnt you?