Ah
Logan loomed over him. Now I dont normally approve of workplace bullying, but Im going to start giving you a clip round the ear for every action youve done sod all about.
But-
No. No buts. He jabbed a finger at Tuftys monitor. Get your backside in gear before I skelp the ears right off you!
Yes, Sarge. Sorry, Sarge. Tufty spun the chair around and logged in. Fingers clattering across the keyboard.
Better. Logan pinned the ID sheet for Stevie Moran up on the corkboard by the radiator, adding his ugly face to the collection of druggies, dealers, burglars, and other dodgy sods currently at liberty in Banff and Macduff. Inspector McGregor says Stevie Morans back in the area. Keep your eyes peeled: theres a fancy piece for whoever nabs him.
Nicholson stared at the photograph for a bit. Then held up a biscuit tin. We doing presumptive testing, or just sending it off?
A frown. Biscuit tin ? Ah, OK: the one hidden under a sofa seat cushion in Kirstin Rattrays fleapit flat. Do me a favour and mark it as pending till were done with Klingon and Gerbil. Might want to put her on the books if the dunt goes well.
Janet put the tin to one side. Sarge, about yesterday, she glanced at Deano and Tufty, we want you to know that were behind you. If theres anything you need us to do? You know, like-
The door opened and she clicked her mouth shut.
But it wasnt Steel, or one of DS Dawsons team of tossers, it was PC Syd Fraser. Leather dog leads draped around his neck and fastened behind his back. Fleece all tatty and worn. Checked POLICE baseball cap on his head. Afternoon, strange people. We knocking on someones door today, then?
Waiting for the OSU.
Theyre outside, in the van, having a singsong. Syd clapped his hands together. Time for a cup of tea?
Nicholson jumped to her feet. Ill get it, Syd. Sarge? Deano? Tufty?
OK No way that was suspicious.
Logan shook his head. Im good, thanks. And Constable Quirrel is far too busy to drink tea. Arent you, Constable Quirrel?
Yes, Sarge.
Right. She squeezed past Syd and out of the room.
Deanos Airwave bleeped. All units be on the lookout for a blue BMW driving erratically on the A97 near Aberchirder. Possible drink driver He turned it down. Pointed at his screen. Sarge, got another misper. Linda Andrews, eighty-two, dementia sufferer. Gardenstown. Husband says he got back from the shops half an hour ago and she was gone.
Logan drummed his fingers on the worktop. Couldnt cancel the drugs bust twice. No way theyd let him have the extra bodies again. Not after yesterday. And he needed this.
So what was he supposed to do, ignore a vulnerable adult wandering lost somewhere on his patch? No thanks.
He stood, thumped a hand down on Tuftys shoulder, making the little sod flinch. Constable Quirrel. You are hereby granted a temporary reprieve. Get out there and find Mrs Andrews before something happens to her.
Tufty scrambled out of his seat. But, Sarge, I want to go on the dunt, cant someone else He must have finally recognized the look on Logans face, because he swallowed. Cleared his throat. I mean, Yes, Sarge.
Damn right you do. And soon as youve found her, I want those actions completed.
Right, Sarge. He grabbed his peaked cap and his equipment belt and legged it, nearly colliding with Nicholson on her way back in.
Hoy, watch it! She jerked to a halt, Syds tea swinging in one hand, the milky contents tidal-waving from one side of the mug to the other as he scrambled past. Idiot. She handed it to Syd as a barrage of excuse mes came from the corridor behind her.
The Operational Support Unit lumbered into the room. Four of them, all dressed in black, all looking as if theyd been carved from granite. One even had to stoop to get through the door.
He peered at Logan for a beat then stuck his paw out. Youll be McRae, then?
It was like shaking a bench vice the thick fingers dwarfed Logans hand, crushing it. Sergeant Mitchell?
Rob. He nodded at his fellow mountains. Baz, Davy, and Carole. They waved. Sorry were late Bohemian Rhapsody came on as we were pulling up. Cant pass up something like that, can you?
Logan pulled the briefing sheets from the folder and handed them out. Front page: a photo of Gerbil and one of Klingon, along with a potted bio of each. Gerbils red hair was cut in some weird 1920s throwback style a number one at the sides, bowl haircut with extra fringe on top. Wide face. Little eyes. Klingons dirty blond mop of curly hair hung in spaniel curls around thin, suspicious features. A wet, pouty mouth. Thick-rimmed glasses. We have a warrant to enter and search the residence of one Colin Spinney. He and his associate, Kevin McEwan, have a lot of form for dealing. Youll find the list of recent intel on page two.
Everyone dutifully turned the page.
Property is number thirty-six Fairholme Place. Page three has a photo of the house and a map. Any comments, questions, or concerns?
Silence. Then Carole put her hand up. What kind of door we looking at?
Logan went back into his folder and came out with the Method of Entry form. Brown UPVC with glazed panels. He passed it over.
She skimmed the form, a crease between her eyebrows. Then nodded. You want to snap the lock, Rob, or pop the whole thing in with the Big Red Door Key?
Hmm A frown creased Sergeant Mitchells slab of a face. Any chance theyve barricaded the door?
Logan shook his head. Doubt it. Its Spinneys mums house.
Oh. Those huge shoulders dipped a bit. Shame. Been ages since weve used the chainsaw. OK, we go with popping.
Caroles hand was up again. What about dogs? Kids? Firearms?
None that we know of.
Sweet.
Logan produced the last bit of paperwork. Now, I need everyone to read the warrant and sign it on the back. Then well go do this dunt.
Right, stop here. Logan hauled a baggy red hoodie on over his stabproof vest. The bulky padding made it look as if hed put on two stone. Like the cuddly chunky-monkey Steel claimed to miss so much. A green baseball cap completed the look.
The OSU van pulled in to the side of the road. The thing was all big and white, with POLICE down the side in reflective lettering. Riot grille raised. Not exactly subtle.
Sitting opposite, Deano buttoned up an oversized checked shirt. Then pulled a pair of grey joggy bottoms on over his black trousers.
Nicholson sniffed. You both look ridiculous.
Thanks. Logan hauled the vans side door open and hopped out onto the pavement. His fold-down seat snapped back up like a shot going off. OK, I need everyone to set their Airwaves channel to Shire Event Two. No chatter on open comms. Soon as we know someones home, well give you the shout.
Deano climbed out after him, then thumped the door shut and waved as the van pulled away. He followed Logan up the narrow alley joining Harvey Place and Victoria Place. Sarge?
You should have gone before we left the station.
The sun pounded the tarmac and the houses all around. The smell of freshly cut grass sharp and green on the warm air.
No, Sarge. We need to talk about Tufty.
Out onto Victoria. Quick check left and right, then across the road. Whats he done now?
The STORM actions. Hes done the actual work, hes just a bit lackadaisical when it comes to updating the system.
Lackadaisical? Hark at you with your big words.
They headed right, keeping on up the hill. The wee traditional houses on the other side of the road petered out, exposing a straight run of grass down to the cliffs and the sea beyond. This side of the road, a shoulder-high wall kept a swathe of raised lawns in place. Big Eighties-style bungalows sitting well above street level.
Maybe, you could cut him a little slack? I know youre pissed off about the Graham Stirling case, but thats not Tuftys fault.
True. But still
The 35A bus grumbled past, heading for the hedonistic delights of Elgin.
Logan tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. A boss once told me, there are two kinds of people in this world carrot people, and stick people. To the left, a set of steps were cut into the wall between two of the properties. He took them. You and Janet are carrot people. Tufty couldnt be more of a stick if he tried.
Probably Up the stairs, along the path, up another set of stairs. Deano was beginning to look a bit puffed. Not surprising. It was baking hot, and the silly sod was wearing two pairs of trousers. But try slipping Tufty the carrot every now and then, eh? If all he ever gets is stick, hell end up one big lump of gristle and bruises.
Thought you were his tutor, not his mum.
You want him thinking, Sod this, I could go work offshore instead?
Fair point.
Another set of steps.
OK next time he does something right, Ill give it a go. The stairs came to an end and they emerged onto Provost Gordon Terrace. Talking of carrots, Janet wants to know why shes not got a nickname. Thinks its because shes a girl.
This bit of the street was a line of semidetached houses down one side, and the strange front/back gardens of the houses with the raised lawns theyd walked past on Victoria Place. Parking areas and garages and caravans and wheelie bins.
A nice area. Blighted by the presence of two drug-dealing tossers in the next street.
Down to the end of the road, then through a little alley and onto Fairholme Place.
Deano tipped his head at one of the semidetacheds. That it?
Yup. To be honest, they all looked alike: two storeys of grey harling with grey pantile roofs. Two windows upstairs. Two down one belonging to a built-out porch. The only distinguishing feature being that Klingons mum had painted her garage door a revolting day-glo purple.
Logan and Deano wandered down the street, hands in pockets. Not a care in the world. Two mates out for an afternoon stroll. Nothing to see here. All nice and innocent.
Deano sniffed. Janet say what kind of nickname she wanted?
I think its meant to be up to us.
Clock the car parked outside Klingons house. That not Gerbils?
A shabby Honda Civic hatchback with alloy wheels and a red go-faster stripe running across the white paintwork. The passenger door had obviously come from another car it was a rusty orange colour. A buckled bumper on the rear drivers side.
Yup. Weve got movement inside too. Top floor, left.