You taking over?
Got enough on my plate running the division as it is. Wendy can hold the fort here till her shift ends. Wanted to make sure Im up to speed before she heads home.
Logans phone vibrated in his pocket. Sorry. He pulled it out an email from the support officer in Elgin, listing all the young girls reported missing in the UK for the last two years, filtered for hair colour. None of the photographs worked on his phone. Bloody typical.
Problem?
Someones emailed through photos of all the missing girls on file, but they wont display. He gave the side of the phone a slap. It didnt help.
Of course, the photos only mattered if shed actually been reported missing
Inspector Fettes sniffed. Dabbed at his nose with a hanky. Still, I suppose its not really our problem any more, is it?
Like theyd trust us with a murder. Logan put his useless phone away again. No: the Major Investigation Team turns up an hour ago, in a blaze of flashing lights and sirens, and takes it off our hands. Thanks for your help, now sod off and go guard the scene for the rest of the night.
Tossers.
Exactly what I was thinking, Guv.
Another sniff. Speak of the devil
A battered Vauxhall grumbled up the hill from the swimming pool, and rattled to a halt next to the patrol car. Sat there with its engine running.
Probably expected him to abandon his post and rush over to see what they wanted.
Well, tough.
Inspector Fettes popped his hat on his head. Suppose Id better go make myself useful. He headed over to the Vauxhall. Leaned on the roof and spoke to someone through the open window. Pointed at Logan. Then stood back up and marched off down the road towards Tarlair Outdoor Swimming Pool.
Nicholson reappeared, hauling on a big fluorescent jacket with reflective strips. Nodded at the idling Vauxhall. Something happen?
Logan faced front again. Doubt it.
She checked her watch. Soon be time for tenses. Nice cuppa and a chocolate éclair.
No tenses for us tonight.
No tenses for us tonight.
Oh Her face drooped. Elevenses?
We should be so lucky.
The Vauxhalls passenger door opened and a dishevelled head poked out. Hair like an angry weasel had rampaged through a haystack. The creases deepened around her mouth. Voice like sandpaper on a rusty pipe. Laz! Stop dicking about.
Nicholson raised an eyebrow. Laz?
Dont ask.
Detective Chief Inspector Steel clambered out of the car. Slightly hunched in her wrinkled grey trouser suit. Black overcoat. Blue silk shirt. She waved at him. Get your arse over here.
Pause.
Sarge?
Sigh. OK. You stay here. No one-
Yeah, None shall pass, I get it.
He turned and walked over to the Vauxhall.
About sodding time. Steel hooked a thumb over her shoulder. Come on, you and mes going for a walk.
8
They stopped at the top of the hill, overlooking the bay and the abandoned outdoor swimming pool. Steel waded into the knee-deep grass, then settled onto the park bench someone had erected years ago to make a viewing point. Back when councils still had money for things like that. She produced an electronic cigarette and took a deep puff, setting the tip glowing blue. Trickled out a stream of vapour from her nose. Well this is a bloody mess.
Logan sat next to her, engulfed in the throat-catching smell of perfume and mints. He pointed down to the pools, where a phalanx of bodies in white SOC suits picked their way around the far side. Two marquees sat beside the old building, both glowing with their internal lights. Three patrol cars. Two police vans. A big Range Rover. And a scruffy Transit van. Any idea who she is yet?
Steel jammed the e-cigarette into the corner of her mouth and took an envelope out of her pocket. Came today. Havent dared look yet. Susans terrified.
Going from the look of her, she cant have been dead long. Maybe a day? Possibly two? Were lucky the seagulls didnt find her first.
Right. Steel ran a finger along the envelopes seal, ripping it open. Then ferreted out the sheet inside. Stuck the whole lot on her lap. I cant look.
Put on your glasses then.
She stared at him. I dont need glasses. Its important, OK? She poked the sheet of paper. This is a big deal.
And a dead wee girl isnt?
Another long drag on the fake cigarette. Got a point.
Look He cleared his throat. Took off his peaked cap and held it in his lap. I know it means a lot to Susan. But maybe she needs to
Steel just stared, mouth hanging open.
What?
What the hell did you do to your head? She reached out and scrubbed her hand across the back of it. Its like a velour egg.
Get off. He scooted away to the edge of the bench.
Who cut your hair? You tell me and well go round right now and beat the crap out of them. You look like an angry scrotum!
I cut it. He slapped her hand away as she went in for seconds. Got a set of clippers off the internet.
One born every minute. She took another puff on her e-cigarette. Glanced down at the paperwork in her lap. Pathologists examining the wee girl now. Quick once-over then off to Aberdeen. Post mortem tomorrow.
You got any idea how much a haircut costs these days? Dont get anything like the same overtime I did in CID. And with the pension contribution going up
Right now it looks like a blow to the head. Something solid and cylindrical. Best guess: he bashed her head in with a metal pipe. Find out more tomorrow when they cut her open.
Logan screwed his hands together, knotting the fingers tight. When I saw her lying there, all twisted in her school uniform For a heartbeat, I thought it was Jasmine.
Steel draped an arm along the back of the bench. Gave Logan a little squeeze. Dont be such a big girls blouse. Shes home with her mum.
Whos SIO?
Officially, our beloved Detective Superintendent Young is the all-powerful Senior Investigating Officer. But itll be Finnies face on the TV. Dead wee girl. Paedo on the run. Got to bring out the big guns for something like that. A sniff. Then she poked herself in the chest a couple of times with her thumb. No prizes for guessing wholl be doing all the work though.
Id put my money on whatever poor sod youve got running around after you.
Damn straight. She blew out a breath. Pulled her shoulders back. Right. Picked up the sheet of paper from her lap. Paused. Then thrust it at Logan. I cant. You read it.
He smoothed out the crumpled sheet. Dear Mrs Wallace-Steel, I write to inform you of the combined test results from your first-trimester nuchal translucency scan and bloodwork, taken on the-
Get to the point!
Fine. Logan skimmed the page with his finger. Blah, blah, blah HCG is normal, but the PAPP-dash-A is elevated. Given Susans age, theyre going for a one in five hundred chance of the foetus having Downs syndrome.
Oh thank God. Steel let her head fall back and covered her face with her hands. Then sat up again, frowning. One in five hundred. Thats good, isnt it?
No idea.
He manufactured a smile. Course it is.
Ha! She slapped him on the back. Youre going to be a daddy again! The smile froze and Steel checked over her shoulder, as if someone might be lurking in the long grass. Her voice dropped to a raspy whisper. But if your mum asks, it wasnt you, OK? Someone else did the squirt-in-a-cup thing. Dont want her going all stalkery over this one like she did with Jasmine. Ive had verrucas easier to shake off than that woman.
Tell me about it. Logan stood. Look, any monkey in uniform could guard the cordon. And youve got heaps of bodies here.
Want me to release you from your servitude?
The whole team. Got a division to look after.
The tip of Steels artificial cigarette glowed. One in five hundred. She grinned. Ah, go on then. Im feeling generous.
He marched back up the road. Tapped Nicholson on the shoulder. Lowered his voice to a whisper. Looks like tenses are on again.
Logan swivelled his chair left and right, phone in one hand, mouse in the other. Scrolling through his teams actions on STORM. Waiting for the Sergeant at Fraserburgh station to pick up.
The sound of telephones and stomping feet came from overhead. Like elephants in cheap machine-washable suits. A pair of them thundered past the open door to the Sergeants Office, trumpeting about getting a HOLMES suite set up and which of the bunnets was going to have to make the tea.
Logan stretched the phone cord to its full length and reached out with his leg. Caught the edge of the door with his foot and shoved. It banged shut.
A not-quite big enough room: two cupboards locked away behind white panelled doors; a pair of desks, back to back so the occupants could face each other over creaky black computers; some metal cabinets and overflowing in-trays. A line of body-worn video units winking their green lights at him as the mouse moved onto the next set of action.
Click.
Click.
Deano was all up to date. As was Nicholson. But Tufty
Gods sake. It was like having a five-year-old. Three assaults, two burglaries, and a purse-snatching, all needing following up.
He clicked on the first assault, wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, and battered a remark into the system, fingers sparking across the keyboard.
Follow this up ASAP this action has been open too long. I want it updated!
Finally, someone picked up in Fraserburgh and a rough male voice echoed out of the phone: Billy Brochs House of Horrors, how may I direct your call?
Sergeant Smith, is that any way to answer the station telephone?
Knew it was you by the number. Whats this I hear about you and your numpties turning up a body?
Dead child.
Aw, no Sorry. No one said.
What are you and your hired thugs up to the night?
They inflict you with an MIT yet?
More footsteps, stomping overhead. Theyve commandeered most of upstairs. And the night shift. Can you get a couple of bodies down Fraserburgh harbour? I need a door-to-door on the boats looking for any intel you can get on Charles Craggie Anderson. Went missing a week ago. No sign of him or the Copper-Tun Wanderer.
You coming to see our cashline-machine-shaped hole later?
Planning on it. Anything else?
The sound of air being sucked between teeth. Lets see. New today: two potential bail violations, three domestics, couple of complaints about that traveller camp outside Rosehearty, handful of break-ins, and were looking for a druggie whos been snatching handbags. Otherwise its same old, same old. What about your drugs raid? You still needing Constable King-Kong McMahon?