The room looked even smaller than it had when Faulds had claimed it for his own yesterday, marking his territory with a laminated sheet of A4 taped to the door: FLESHER HISTORY ROOM. Someone kept sticking Post-it notes on it with, ABANDON HOPE ALLYE WHO ENTERHERE scrawled on them it looked like DI Steels handwriting. The walls were lined with stacks of file boxes going back twenty-five years, each one representing another Flesher victim. Newcastle, Glasgow, London, Dublin, Manchester, Birmingham: theyd all sent up everything they had, and now Logan, Faulds and Rennie were sifting through the lot, looking for anything that might help catch Ken Wiseman.
Rennie parked his backside on one of the three desks squeezed in between the case histories, and munched his way through his rowie, staring at the death board as Logan pinned up another victim in chronological order.
So, said the constable, pausing to sook his fingers clean of grease, Wisemans a chubby chaser then?
Logan pulled out the crime scene photo that went with the face another kitchen splattered with blood and stuck it on the board. What?
Rennie pointed at the photos. All the women: chunky. Most of the blokes too. Not wanting to speak ill of the dead and that, but the whole lot look like they could have done with a few less pies.
Logan opened a box file from Northumbria Police and dug about for the next victim. If hes killing them for meat, hell want a reasonable covering of flesh, wont he?
Rennie shook his head. Fat people got the same amount of muscle as thin ones, its just buried under lots of lard. I saw a programme on it. Mind you, my mum always says that when youre cooking stuff, fats where all the flavour is.
Thank you for that startling insight.
Logan looked at the Chief Constable, but he was still on the phone, laying on the calm and reasonable with a trowel: Arthur, youre perfectly capable of making the decision on your own... No... Arthur, if I didnt think you were the best man for the job I wouldnt have picked you...
Do you think he roasts or fries them?
Youre supposed to be going through the door-to-doors.
Yeah, but its all twenty years out of date.
Dont whinge.
But Im bored. Rennie struck a pose. Shouldnt be in here, pawing through ancient history, I should be out there: fighting crime! Im a lean, mean, detecting machine!
Youre an idiot. Logan went back to the box and pulled out the coroners report. A small stack of glossy eight-by-tens slithered out, scattering across the grubby carpet tiles. Logan swore and started picking them up each one showed a joint of meat, photographed from various angles as it defrosted.
The victims picture was paper-clipped onto the scene of crime report. Logan put it up on the board with the others. Rennie was right twice in one day, something of a record every one of Wisemans victims was overweight. Not obese, but not skinny either.
He worked his way through all the case files until the wall of death was complete. A collage of blood and pain that stretched all the way from a Glasgow shopkeeper in 1983 to Valerie Leith yesterday. All overweight. Other than that, Wisemans victims had nothing in common. They werent all blonde or brunette, nearly fifty per cent were men, some were Asian, one couple in Newcastle were from Trinidad, and yet something had brought them all into contact with Ken Wiseman. Something that meant the difference between a long and happy life, and a chunk of flesh in a morgue photograph.
The crime scenes were a lot more regular soaked bright red, or just signs of a struggle. A joint of meat left in the freezer as a parting gift.
The crime scenes were a lot more regular soaked bright red, or just signs of a struggle. A joint of meat left in the freezer as a parting gift.
Logan stopped at the photo of the Leiths kitchen, remembering the hot copper smell. How could one person contain so much blood?
Bloody hell... Faulds flipped his mobile phone shut and stuck it back in his pocket. Never become a Chief Constable, Logan. Yes, it sounds like a bundle of laughs: fancy uniform, people saluting, dancing girls, but its a royal pain in the backside. He covered his face with his hands and slumped back in his chair. I have to go back to Birmingham. Tonight.
But Wisemans
I know, I know: hes going to call the BBC back and set up that interview, and well come down on him like a ton of bricks. And I wont be there, because no one wants to be responsible for policing bonfire night. He pulled his hands away, swore, and put them back again. I am a lily, floating on a cool pond... Faulds sat up. Its no good; Im going to have to go. The buck stops here, after all. Can you get someone to run me over to the airport?
Rennie nearly exploded out of his seat. Ill take you! Anything to get out of going through mounds of dusty paperwork.
Logan went back to his post mortem report.
The incident room door nearly banged off its hinges as DI Insch barged into the room. Glaring. Where the hells that useless bastard Rennie?
Logan closed his eyes and counted to three, but Insch was still there when he opened them again. So much for wishful thinking. Hes taking Faulds to the airport.
Hes supposed to be reviewing case files!
The Chief Constable pulled rank. Not strictly true, but it might save Rennie an ear-bashing when he got back. You want me to pass on a message?
Tell him Im running this investigation, not Faulds. Remind him that Ill rip his balls off and stuff them down his throat if he ever disappears without my say so again! Understand?
Logan held up his hands. Nothing to do with
In the meantime I want a rundown of all sex offenders over forty with a history of serious assault.
Logan checked the clock on the wall. Twenty past four, forty minutes to go till he was off duty. Actually, sir, Im in the middle of something for
Did that sound like a request to you, Sergeant?
Getting together a list of sex offenders over forty years old was only the start of it: Insch wanted them all cross-referenced to see whod done time in prison since 1990 when the first batch of murders stopped and he didnt just want them for Aberdeen either, Logan had to do it for the whole of the UK.
He sent another query running on the computer, then pasted the results into a spreadsheet. Now he had data from every police force in the nation with electronic records going back far enough to be of any use; the others would take days, if not weeks to respond to the inspectors request. But right now it was twenty past five.
Logan sent the list of names to the CID office printer. Hed dump them on Inschs desk and slope off before anyone noticed.
Chance would be a fine thing.
DI Steel stopped him on the stairs. He was going down: clutching his folder full of sex offenders, she was going up: clutching her left breast through her charcoal-grey blouse. Wheres your boyfriend, Faulds then?
He... er... Trying not to watch what she was doing.
Got this new bra from Markies, its all weird bits of plastic. Feels like a ballistic missile.
Er... hes off back to Birmingham. Rennies taking him to the airport.
Oh aye? She stopped fiddling with herself. So how come youve no sloped off early then?
Logan held up his folder. Going through the sex offenders list for Insch, trying to find an alternative suspect.
Bloody hell, said Steel, faking a swoon, Fatty McFatfats considering other suspects? Did a herd of pigs just fly by the station window? She helped herself to the folder and riffled through the printouts, then tossed the lot back at him. Waste of sodding time, but I suppose itll keep Chief Constable Knobjob happy.
She turned and started back down the stairs again. Well, come on then after you slap your pervy bastards on Insch, you and me are going on a little field trip.
Logan followed her, trying to get his list back in some sort of order. Is it to the pub? Because if it isnt
Have I ever steered you wrong?
He didnt answer that.
Insch was in the main incident room, surrounded by a blizzard of paperwork. The phones were going non-stop, harassed support personnel answering them, taking details, and moving onto the next caller.
DI Steel skulked in the doorway while Logan snuck in, slipped the file into Inschs in-tray, and turned to leave.
A deep bass rumble caught him before hed gone more than a couple of feet: And where do you think youre going?
Damn. My shift finished twenty minutes ago, sir.
Ah, I see, Insch opened the folder and pulled out the list of names. You are remembering that theres a madman out there, arent you, Sergeant?
Oh for Gods sake. Yes, sir. I am remembering. But this
Good, then you can get onto INTERPOLI want the search widened to include other countries. Were looking for anything that matches the MO between 1990 and 2006. And while youre at it
Steel settled herself on the edge of Inschs desk. Nice to see youre taking Faulds suggestion to heart. All that fixation on Wisemans no healthy.
The inspector scowled. Wiseman is still my chief suspect. Im just
Doing what youre told. Good for you.
Insch was starting to go scarlet. This investigation
Nice to see you taking guidance for a change. Doesnt make you any less of a man. She stood. Youll no mind if I borrow McRae here, will you?
You... Scarlet was turning to purple. Thought no. A saucy wink. When Faulds gets back well put in a good word for you. She dragged Logan away, before Insch could do anything more than splutter.
13
DI Steel waited till theyd got all the way down the stairs before hooting with laughter. Did you see the look on his face? Thought he was going to have an aneurism.
But... Logan looked back over his shoulder. What did you have to go winding him up for? Hes bad enough as it is.
Ah, relax. She hauled one of the double doors open and made for reception. I like to see how fast I can get him to change colour. Hes like a really angry chameleon. Besides... the inspector paused at the end of the corridor, peering through the glass at a crowd of people in the front lobby, all looking very, very upset. Second thoughts... She turned round and headed back towards the stairs. You got any money on the sweepie?
Tenner on him punching someone Saturday.
She nodded. Ive got Monday. Its no easy keeping him at just the right level of pissed-off-ishness. Too much and he snaps early no dosh for Auntie Roberta. Too little and the bugger wont lamp anyone.