Wafts of bitter onion stink came off him like hungry tendrils. Burrowing their way into Logans sinuses.
Mitchell was pulling a second pair of nitrile gloves on over the ones he was already wearing. Not taking any chances. Now, have you banked anything, Colin? Am I going to have to go spelunking here?
Definitely not planning on hanging around for that. Logan pointed at the kitchen. When youre done here, try around the cooker. Got a hit from the dog.
Then out again before the saggy grey pants came off.
Upstairs.
A greasy smear ran along the wallpaper at shoulder height.
Logan kept his hands away from the banister and picked his way down the middle of the landing, staying away from the manky wall. With most crime scenes, no one touched anything in case they contaminated the evidence. Here it was more about not wanting to catch anything.
The master-bedroom door lay open Syd stood on the threshold and Enzos tail was just visible on the other side of the bed. No sheet on the mattress, no cover on the squashed pillow. Both were covered in yellow-brown stains, saggy, threadbare. Mounds of dirty clothes surrounded the bed. A framed picture of Jesus had pride of place on the wall above the headboard.
Syd looked over his shoulder. Im saving the bathroom till last.
Yes, because that was going to be such a treat.
They gave Enzo a couple of minutes, then held the wardrobe doors open for him.
Nothing.
The second, smaller bedroom was the same, only messier. A single mattress lay on the floor, a large brown stain covering one side, complete with its own collection of spiralling bluebottles. A windowsill laden with dead flies and wasps.
Other than a bong and a little drift of burnt tinfoil on the windowsill, Enzo didnt find anything there either.
A stepladder leaned up against the wall, in the corner of the room. Free of dirty socks, pants, T-shirts, or trousers.
Logan nodded at it. Does that look a bit suspicious to you?
Back onto the landing. Staring up at the ceiling.
A hatch led up into the attic, right outside the single bedroom. The hatchs edges were filthy with layers and layers of dirty fingerprints.
He pointed. You think we can get Enzo up there?
Not without giving us both a hernia.
Logan grabbed the stepladder and carried it through. Popped it open beneath the hatch. Climbed up the first couple of steps. Looked down over the side of the banister to the bottom of the stairs. Long way down. Do me a favour and hold the ladder for a minute?
Better safe than sorry.
He climbed, pushed the hatch up and slid it to the side. Blackness. Logans torch sent a beam of white LED light scorching across the roof beams. Another couple of steps and his head popped over the threshold into the loft space. Warm up here. Stuffy too. Partially floored.
He played the torch beam around him: boxes and boxes and shadows and boxes, and
Oh, ho. What have we here?
It was a baseball bat, duct tape wrapped around the handle, the wooden end scraped and scarred. Smeared with what looked like dark-red jam but had the coppery smell of raw meat. It wasnt the only smell up here. There was something rank and sewage-like too.
Another couple of steps up, till his whole torso was in the attic.
Boxes and boxes. He popped one open. Grinned.
Syds voice came up from below. Anything?
Either Klingon and Gerbil are stockpiling bags of cornflower up here, or weve hit the jackpot. Its
What was that?
A hand tugged at his trouser leg. You OK up there?
Shhh
He moved his foot to the top rung of the stepladder. Wobbled for a moment. Then a bit of a struggle and he was in the attic, kneeling on the edge of the hatch. One hand on the nearest roof beam, the torch clutched in the other. Swinging the beam slowly left and right, causing the shadows to dance. Catching motes of dust in the stuffy space and making them glow.
There it was again. A sort of scratching snuffling sound.
Rats?
Theyd have to be bloody huge if it was.
Police. Is somebody there?
Rats?
Theyd have to be bloody huge if it was.
Police. Is somebody there?
He shuffled forwards. Let go of the roof beam. Reached out and pushed one of the boxes to the side. It fell over with a crash, spilling dusty crockery shrapnel over the chipboard flooring.
A man lay on his side, arms behind his back, ankles held together with a thick binding of duct tape. Gag over his mouth. Dried blood streaked the side of his face nearest the ground. One eye stuck closed with dried gore, the other slitted, only the white showing. Prominent cheekbones, pierced ears and nose. Jagged tribal tattoos on his neck.
In real life he was missing the Hitler moustache, glasses, and bolts out the side of his neck, but there was no mistaking everyones favourite drug-dealing scumbag. Only reported missing because he owed his granny money.
Jack Simpson.
So thats where hed been all this time
17
Logan hunched over the disposable tester, rubbing the tips of his gloved fingers together. Come on, you can do it
Silence filled the Sergeants Office, only broken by the occasional creak and murmured cough from the gathered hordes. They packed the room Syd, Sergeant Mitchell and two of his team. Nicholson, Tufty, and Deano were off doing things, but most of the dayshift were squeezed in around the edges, killing the last ten minutes before they could clock off.
Maggie appeared in the doorway. Well?
Dirty pink spread along the thin display strip that took up one side of the flat, black, pen-sized bit of plastic. Red line, red line, red line
And there it was. Right where it was supposed to be, alongside the notch in the tester.
Logan straightened up. Held out the test, so everyone could see it. Its a boy!
Mitchell let out a whistle. Stared down at the cardboard box theyd removed from Klingons attic. Got to be, what: eighty, a hundred grands worth there?
Syd grinned. More if its not been cut yet.
Logan popped the tester into an evidence bag. Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby declare Operation Schofield a massive sodding success.
Thank God.
Cue smiles. Laughter. Slapping of backs.
He stripped off his stabproof vest and propped it in the corner. Maggie, I need you to get everything bagged up, labelled, in the system, then into the productions store.
My pleasure.
Logan headed out to the main office and up the stairs to the first floor, taking them two at a time. Whistling Were in the Money all the way.
The sound of phones and voices filtered down from the top floor. That would be the MIT, going through whatever motions they thought would make it look as if they were actually doing something other than generating paperwork and excuses.
Unlike Logans team.
The Duty Inspectors door was open, so he knocked on the frame and stepped inside.
Inspector McGregor was behind her desk, faint purple bags lurking beneath her eyes. She took her glasses off and waved them at the man sitting opposite. Ah, Sergeant McRae. I believe you know Detective Superintendent Young?
Crap
Young wouldnt have looked out of place on Sergeant Mitchells Operational Support Unit. Broad shouldered with huge hands the knuckles a map of scar tissue. Grey hair shorn close to the scalp. A crisp white shirt and dark-blue tie. Black suit jacket draped over the back of his chair. He nodded. Sergeant.
Sir.
A smile. Its all right, Im not with Professional Standards any more, you dont have to stand at attention.
Force of habit. Warmth spread across Logans cheeks. Back to the Inspector. Sorry to bother you, Guv, but thought youd like to know: weve recovered at least eighty grands worth of heroin from Klingons house. Wont know for sure till the labs get through with it, but if its uncut
Wed be looking at two, maybe three hundred thousand. She nodded. Excellent. Glad to hear you took my advice to heart about getting a big win.
Plus half a brick of cannabis resin hidden in the oven. And best of all, weve finally found Jack Simpson: battered, gagged, and tied up in Klingons attic.
Still alive?
Just. Constable Scotts keeping an eye on him in case he regains consciousness and says something coherent.
First time for everything. She rubbed her hands together. Excellent result, dont you think, Superintendent? Shows what divisional policing can achieve with the right people.
Young stretched his neck to one side, as if working out a line of knots. And whos interviewing this Klingon, is it?
Colin Klingon Spinney local dealer. Logan pointed at the map of Banff and Macduff on the Inspectors wall, where a cluster of red thumbtacks measled the streets. He and his mate Kevin Gerbil McEwan have been trying to move up to the premier league for a long time. Ive sent them both straight off to Fraserburgh for processing. Soon as the Broch have booked them in, and the usual lawyer nonsense is out of the way, Ill head over and-
Actually, Im afraid thats not really going to be possible.
Logan straightened his shoulders. Thanks for your concern, sir, but I think my team are more than capable of-
I know, I know. Young held up one of those huge, scarred hands. But if this pair had eighty grands worth of gear stashed in the house, theyve obviously got links to some serious players. Which means were going to have to assign a Major Investigation Team. Get the Divisional Intelligence Office involved and see where this fits into the drug web. Liaise with whichever area of the country it all came from. Probably coordinate a cross-border operation
Inspector McGregor slipped her glasses back on. Scanned the intel section of the Operation Schofield briefing sheet. Her face soured. All we have at the moment is, the delivery was from somewhere down south.
Guv, I think we-
Logan. Please. Young pinched the bridge of his nose. Its not a case of someone else taking credit for your work. You and your team will still get the mention in dispatches and all the pats on the back you deserve, but this much heroin? A half-shrug. Its too big to be handled at a divisional level. Im sorry, but thats the way things work these days.
I see.
Inspector McGregor sighed. Pulled a thick manila folder from her in-tray. And while weve got the Detective Superintendent in the house, I thought we should consult him on this. She opened the folder and pulled out a wodge of A4 stapled in one corner. We got a call from Aberdeen City Division: the case against Graham Stirling collapsed half an hour ago. Its over.
Logan closed his eyes and swore. Curled his hands into fists. But he did it. They cant let him walk!