The Inspector sat behind her desk, black T-shirt complete with two shiny pips on each of the attached epaulettes. Hair swept back from her heart-shaped face, greying at the temples. She took her glasses off and pointed at one of the visitors chairs. You actually turned up? Are you sure youre feeling all right? Couldnt come up with an excuse to wriggle out of it?
Warmth spread between his shoulder blades, tickled the tips of his ears. Operational priorities
Sit. Sit. She pulled out a notepad and a silver pen. So, four months back in uniform.
He sank into the chair and plonked his folder on the desk. How did you get on at Broch Braw Buys?
Definitely our friends the Cashline Ram-Raiders. In and out in less than two minutes. If youre in Fraserburgh tonight, do me a favour and pop past. Its about time we caught these idiots.
I can go now, if you like?
No you dont. Appraisals.
Worth a try. He poked the folder. All up to date. A couple of the probationers could do with a bit more supervision, and Greeny in Peterhead needs a boot up the backside, but other than that everyones getting on well.
What about you?
I want to get Constable Scott on the diploma course. Its about time he got promoted to sergeant.
She smiled at him. No: what about your performance?
Ah. He sat forward, hands clasped in his lap. Im doing OK.
Inspector McGregor pulled a sheet of paper from her in-tray, stuck her glasses on again, and peered at it. As Duty Sergeant, Logan McRae continues to integrate well with the various sections of B Division. He manages two teams of constables, in addition to his own team of four, and provides appropriate support to the resident sergeants at both Fraserburgh and Peterhead stations. Sergeant McRae assists with managing service delivery to the Local Policing Area and regularly engages with service partners to deal with local challenges. He has excellent interpersonal skills and responds well to direction.
Logan didnt move. Direction?
A shrug. Well, I had to put something. She gave the paper a shoogle and went back to reading. Since he arrived in Banff, clear-up rates have improved in B Division with particular success being seen in tackling the problems associated with drug usage, such as housebreaking, antisocial behaviour, and dealing. She put the form down again. Anything else I should add?
Maggie wants a pay rise. Five percent.
Five percent? Inspector McGregor curled her top lip. Has she been helping herself to that cannabis we seized last week?
Can you imagine what would happen if she left? Who else is going to fill in all Maggies forms, update STORM, manage the productions and the office. Order pens when Hector nicks them all. And shes the only one who can work the station CCTV.
The Inspector took off her glasses and huffed a breath onto the lenses. Polished them on the hem of her black T-shirt. Logan, the rest of the support staff will be lucky if they get one percent, never mind five.
He held up his hands. I promised Id ask. She-
The Inspectors Airwave bleeped. Bravo India, safe to talk?
She sighed. Sagged a little. Then pressed the button. Go ahead.
Aye, the SEB have turned up at last from Aberdeen. Theyre all talking overtime to deal with the ram-raid at Broch Braw Buys. Say its going to take at least six hours. You OK to approve?
Inspector McGregor stared at the ceiling for a moment. Fine. But tell them theyve got four hours, not six. Theyre not dragging this out, twiddling their thumbs on my budget.
Will do.
She dumped the handset into a drawer and thumped it shut. A bit of career advice, Logan: never, ever, volunteer to be Duty Inspector. There was a brief pause as she clattered something out on her computer keyboard. Then sat back again. Right: what about your development actions for the next four months?
War on drugs. I want Frankie Ferris in the cells before summers out.
Something painful crawled across the Inspectors face. Frankie Ferris. Again.
Shrug. Hes got two strikes for Class A drug-trafficking. One more and he wins a giant stuffed panda and a mandatory seven-stretch. Whats not to like?
Youre obsessed. She shook her head and scribbled it down in her notepad. Any chance you can have something a bit more cuddly too? An increase in community engagement? How about her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth then she read out what she was writing: I aim to build stronger ties with the residents of Banff, Macduff, and Portsoy. I feel that leveraging community-liaison opportunities will add value to Police Scotlands offerings through the exploitation of soft intelligence.
Logan stared at her. Leveraging added value?
Youre never going to get past sergeant if you dont learn management speak. Soon as you hit inspector its like waking up in a foreign country where everyones got catch-phrase Tourettes. Last divisional meeting I was at, someone came out with, How do we incentivize our stakeholders to embrace three-sixty-degree thinking a hundred and ten percent of the time. Honest to God, not even the hint of a smile.
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. Someone had set a rat loose behind his eyes. Clawing and biting.
Nicholson patted him on the arm. Never mind, Sarge, only seven hours to go.
Kirstin Rattrays flat sat on the top floor of a lumpen block of grey on Saint Catherine Street. It was to one end of a row of soulless buildings that loomed over the smaller, traditional, Scottish houses on the other side of the road. Threatening to beat them up and steal their lunch money.
It wasnt so much furnished as manky. Peeling wallpaper in the kitchen. Cracked tiles in a bathroom that looked as if it hadnt seen a bottle of bleach in years. A smell of damp and sweat and dirty washing in the bedroom. The view from the lounge was terrific, down the hill, over the surrounding rooftops and out to sea. The view inside the lounge was a different matter.
Kirstin slumped down on a tatty brown corduroy couch. A fake oil painting the kind you could order from a photo at Tesco or Argos was mounted in a gaudy gilt frame above the fireplace. A mousy-haired little girl of two or three grinned from the canvas with a gap-toothed mouth. Button nose. Shiny eyes. A teddy bear and a couple of dinosaurs were arranged along the mantelpiece beneath her picture. Like a shrine.
It was the only clean bit of the flat.
It was the only clean bit of the flat.
Nicholson pulled a laptop out from behind the bookcase. Anything else?
A bony shrug.
The pile on the coffee table had grown to a decent size. Phones, MP3 players, a bit of jewellery, two hundred quid in cash, and assorted perfumes and makeup.
Logan picked up a new-ish smartphone, the case squeaking in his blue-gloved fingers as he turned it over. Lot of this doesnt look shoplifty, Kirstin. It looks breakey-and-entery. When did you turn to burglary?
She kept her eyes on the dark brown stain on the cushion next to her. Told you: didnt nick anything. Found it.
Ill bet we can match most of this stuff to crime reports.
Its not mine!
Nicholson put the laptop down then pulled the stained seat cushion from the sofa. A biscuit tin nestled amongst the rusting springs and torn support fabric. The picture on the lid had Jammie Dodgers and those weird pink ring things. Well, well, well
On the couch, Kirstin glanced at the biscuit tin and away again. Squirmed. Thats nothing to do with me
Nicholson picked up the tin and opened it. Stared for a moment. Sarge? She held it out. A handful of tinfoil wrappers sat inside, along with a tiny Ziploc bag of white powder; a thumbnail-sized nub of brown, wrapped in clingfilm; and a pack of Rizla rolling papers.
Kirstin folded forwards till her chest rested against her knees, arms wrapped around her head. Its not mine
Logan dumped the phone back on the pile of found electronics, then had a wee poke about in the biscuit tin. Definitely enough for possession. Maybe even possession with intent. So, Kirstin. Looks like youre a bit screwed.
Its not mine. Voice muffled by her knees.
Right. You found it. He handed the tin back to Nicholson.
She put the top on again. What do you think Kirstins looking at, Sarge? Four years? Maybe five?
Logan bared his teeth and sooked a breath in. Grimaced. Depends who the Sheriff is. Hardings got a bee in his bunnet about drugs right now; might go as high as seven, if he thinks shes dealing.
I see Nicholson frowned off into the middle distance. Stroked her chin. Then snapped her fingers. I know! What if Kirstin here tried to cut a deal? You know, if she decided to scratch our backs?
He folded his arms. Well, I suppose that would depend. Im pretty itchy.
Kirstin groaned. Sat up. Slumped backwards. Covered her face with her hands. You didnt hear it from me, OK?
Silence.
Didnt hear what, Kirstin?
Klingon and Gerbil got a shipment in from down south today.
Nicholson slipped the biscuit tin into a large evidence bag. Coke? Heroin? Hash? Crack? Smack? Jellies? Strepsils? What?
A shrug.
Logan frowned. Outside, the sound of a car droned past. This delivery: was it an ugly bloke in a shiny blue Fiesta? Birmingham accent? Then ran a finger along his own jaw. Big line of plukes here? Calls himself Martyn-with-a-Y, or Paul, or Dave?
Dont know. Never met him. But Gerbils all excited cause he thinks hes in with the big boys now. Shooting his mouth off round here last night. She dropped her hands away from her face. Stared up at the fake painting of the wee girl. You cant tell him I told you. Hell kill me.
Kevin the Gerbil McEwan? Got more chance of being gored by a sheep. Logan jerked a thumb at the ceiling. On your feet.
Youve got to promise! So my Amy doesnt grow up an orphan.
Nicholson had her notebook out. Where are they keeping the stuff?
Kirstin stared up at Logan. I only get to see my Amy on the weekends, with supervised visits from the social. Im trying to change, I really am. One hand scratching away at the crook of her arm. Picking the scabs off the needle marks. Please
Not till you tell us where it is.
Klingons place. His mums away to Australia for a month.
Right. Logan unhooked his Airwave and made for the door. Pointed back towards the pile of stuff on the coffee table. Nicholson you get that lot bagged and tagged. Ill be outside. He punched in Inspector McGregors shoulder number on the way down the stairs. Bravo India from Shire Uniform Seven, safe to talk?