Thanks. Rub it in. Im stuck here till Im sixty-five.
On the TV, the seamen were replaced by Ford Kiernan buying a pie and a Paris bun.
Got a big farewell bash planned: thirty years of keeping Grampian Police on the straight and narrow.
Logan sucked in a breath. Better watch that kind of rebellious talk. There is no Grampian Police, there is only Police Scotland. All bow to our conquering overlords.
Ah, screw them. What they going to do, fire me?
There wasnt much to see at Broch Braw Buys at five to midnight on a Monday night.
It was wedged between the Coral betting shop and a chip shop. Both closed for the evening. The Kenya Bar and Lounge on the corner had its door shut, the metal gate locked over the top. The sound of hoovering rattled out from somewhere inside.
Logan closed the pool cars door and crunched his way through little cubes of broken glass.
Theyd obviously used the same tactics to get into the place and steal its cash machine, because the shops front window was now boarded up with chipboard. Someone had stapled a poster right in the middle of the raw wood: £1,000.00 REWARD FOR ANY INFORMATION LEADING TO THE BASTARDS WHO DID THIS GETTING THEIR LEGS BROKEN!!!
Logan reached out and tore it down. While a nice sentiment, it wasnt exactly legal. And besides, that misplaced apostrophe grated.
He stood on the pavement and did a slow three-sixty.
Fraserburgh was quiet: no sound but the far-off burr of the occasional vehicle cruising some distant street. Not cold, but not exactly warm either. The roads washed in anaemic sodium light.
When did the call to the Duty Inspector come through? Couldnt have been much more than half three. So whoever it was going round nicking cash machines, they were either getting bolder, or stupider. Or maybe they simply had a schedule to keep?
Four cash machines in three days. If there wasnt a Major Investigation Team set loose on the case already, there would be by tomorrow morning. Earnest-faced plainclothes officers stomping about the countryside with their hobnail boots and fighting suits. Getting on everyones nerves and lording it over the poor sods in uniform whod have to clear up the mess they left behind.
Divisional policing, thats where all the cool kids were
10
The countryside swept past, dark and blurred, the road ahead picked out by the patrol cars headlights. Glinting back from the cats eyes. A pulsing off-and-on glow as Logan tore down the dotted white line.
A sea of stars stretched from horizon to horizon. The water an expanse of slate grey to the left, bordered by cliffs. The distant glimmer of house lights.
Logan battered to the end of Started Out With Nothin, drove in silence for a minute, then launched into Living Is a Problem Because Everything Dies. Making up half of the words as he went along.
Sooner the Big Car was back with its working radio, the better. Honestly, it-
His Airwave gave the point-to-point quadruple bleep. Shire Uniform Seven, safe to talk?
Go ahead, Deano.
Got a couple of guys in Gardenstown who think they saw Charles Anderson, Sunday last. Said he was off his face with the drink and spewing his hoop over the side of his boat.
Anything else?
Been talking in the pub earlier about going up to Papa Bank or Foula Waters, hunting haddies.
Better than nothing.
Logan tapped his fingertips against the stubbly hair above his ear. So, maybe hes not missing at all. Maybe hes gone fishing?
Still should be answering his radio, unless the powers gone. Could be adrift, middle of the North Sea?
Pretty certain the radio has to have batteries. Health and Safety.
True.
Round the next bend, and the bright lights of Macduff twinkled in the distance. Tell Tufty to get the kettle on. Ill be home in five.
More dark fields. More cloudy silhouettes of trees. Then WELCOME TO MACDUFF. Someone had hung a white sheet, with HAPPY 40TH BIRTHDAY CAZ!!!!! splodged across it in black paint, under the limits sign. A couple of gaily coloured balloons were tied to the posts, sagging like a miserable clowns testes.
Logan took a quick detour down Moray Street, with its blocky grey buildings. Then stopped at the bottom the junction with High Shore. Two choices. Right: back to the station, or left: towards the Tarlair Outdoor Swimming Pool?
The dashboard clock glowed 00:30 at him.
Wasnt as if he could contribute anything. Much more likely hed get roped into doing something that could probably be accomplished by half a dozen traffic cones.
Right it was. Past the quaint wee houses, following the curving road, their dormer windows staring out across the sea as it hissed against the pebble beach.
Bleep. Anyone in the vicinity of Rosehearty? Weve got a report of an assault ongoing outside the traveller camp
Pause. Two. Three
Then someone caved. Sergeant Smith to Control, on my way. Tell McMahon and Barrow to get their fingers out and join me there.
Past the aquarium closed for refurbishment. A caravan sat in front of the temporary mesh fence encircling the oversized barnacle-shaped building, surrounded by orange traffic cones. A scruffy scarecrow in a filthy tracksuit sat on the caravans top step, smoking. Hand cupped around the cigarette, trying to hide its light from snipers.
As if anyone would waste a bullet on Sammy Wilson.
Logan pulled into the entrance, drifting slowly past the big red buoy that decorated the middle of the car park.
His Airwave gave its point-to-point bleeps again, and DCI Steels voice growled out into the car. How come youve no called me back yet?
Im busy. Logan slowed. Poked the button marked LEFT ALLEY and a spotlight lanced out and caught Sammy Wilson full in the face.
All bones and angles and taut sallow skin. Flecked with stubble, dirt and bruises.
Sammy shrank back against the caravan, one arm up, covering his eyes.
Logan wound down the window. Evening, Sammy.
A wince. Then a sniff. And Sammy Wilson peered out from behind his grim sleeve. Not doing nothing.
Sure youre not.
Hoy! You still there?
No. This is a recording. Leave a message after the beep. He let go of the talk button and pointed at the temporary fencing with its warning notices. Youre not planning on doing something Id disapprove of, are you, Sammy? Bit of breaking and entering, maybe? Wheeching bits of kit off the building site?
Nah, Id never. Nope. Not me. Not a thief and that.
Logan stared at him.
He shrugged one shoulder. Stared down at his feet. Suppose I could sod off.
Probably for the best. Dont want someone getting the wrong idea.
He hauled himself to his feet and scuffed away up Market Street, leaving a coil of cigarette smoke behind.
You can be a right dick, you know that, dont you? Steel cleared her throat. Anyway, its no like Im asking for much: a wee hand to talk to your local sex offenders, thats all.
Im not the one being a dick. He put the car in gear again, heading down Laing Street and along the front. Youve got the biggest team in the division. Use it.
You want the murdering pervert who did this to get away? That what you want?
To the left, a hodgepodge of old-fashioned Scottish buildings faced out over the railing to the harbour walls and the still, grey mass of the North Sea. Some of them wore grey harling, some dressed granite, some painted white.
Shift finishes in half an hour.
Youre no telling me that sodding off home for a Pot Noodle and a spot of onanism is more important than catching a wee girls murderer, are you?
And Im in court tomorrow.
Past the Macduff Arms, all shuttered and quiet.
Oh, dont be such a big Jessie. Its just a couple of sex offenders. No like well be that long at it.
The Bayview Hotel had some sort of wedding reception going on a knot of wobbly blokes in kilts smoking cigarettes and laughing on the pavement in front.
Youre authorizing the overtime, are you?
Ah
No one outside Berts. A couple of women getting money from the Bank of Scotland cash machine. Nothing doing at the Highland Haven Hotel.
Nice and peaceful. Quiet. Like his Airwaves speaker.
Then the harbour gave way to industrial units and the bus depot.
He thumbed the button again. Well, are you?
Its no as easy as-
This isnt CID. We get sod all for the first half-hour of unplanned overtime, after that its on the clock. Im not running a charity here.
The buildings faded in the pool cars rear-view mirror. Banff twinkled on the other side of the bay.
More silence from Steel. Then, finally, OK, OK, overtime. Youre a greedy-
Im not greedy, Im skint. You got any idea how much of a pay-cut came with the development opportunity you lumbered me with? Im living on bargain-basement soup and pappy sliced white.
Thats no my fault! How was I supposed to know Big Tony Campbell would stick you in a bunnet in the arse-end of nowhere? Her voice dropped to what was probably meant to be a sultry purr. Come on: you and me, questioning sex offenders like the good old days.
Yeah, well Too late to do anything about it tonight anyway. Up and over the bridge into Banff.
Laz, Laz, Laz. Did you learn nothing from our time together? Its never too late to rattle a nonce.
Nicholson leaned forward from the back seat. I want to say thank you, again, for the opportunity to work on the Tarlair Major Investigation Team.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Steel took a long draw on her e-cigarette, setting the tip glowing blue. Calm down, eh? No one likes a brown-noser. Then poked Logan in the shoulder. Are we there yet?
For the last time: well get there when we get there.
A shrug. No my fault you drive like an old lady, Laz.
Nicholson tapped Steel on the arm. Erm Why do you call him Laz?
Short for Lazarus. You remember the Mastrick Monster? Laz here caught him. Got into a knife fight on top of a tower block.
It wasnt a knife fight.
Whos telling this story, you or me? Another puff. Knife fight.
Nicholson frowned. But why Lazarus?
Cause our wee boy here got himself killed stone dead.
Her eyes went wide in the rear-view mirror. What happened?
Logan shifted his grip on the steering wheel. Took the turning onto Duff Street. I got better.
Steel sniffed. Are we there yet?
Shut up.
The short man blinked back at them from behind thick-framed spectacles. Im sorry? He clutched his dressing gown tight shut across his chest, hiding the patchwork of scars and shiny cigarette burns. Ran his other hand across the shiny top of his shiny head.