Isobel pulled over another cardboard box, sliced through the plastic strapping, and started picking her way through the contents. You can tell Inspector Insch itll take at least two weeks.
Logan groaned. Hes not going to like that.
Thats not my problem, Sergeant.
Oh, when she wanted someone to babysit her kid, or suffer through her endless digital camera slideshows of the sticky-fingered, dribbly little monster, he was Logan, but when she was pissed off at work he was Sergeant.
Look, he said, its not my fault Insch had a go at you, OK? You think hes bad tonight? I get him all bloody day Clunk. Logan froze, eyes sweeping the shelves of frozen goods, hoping it wasnt Alec with his camera. Things were bad enough without being caught complaining about Insch on national television. Hello?
Sergeant McRae? Mr Thompson peered around a stack of boxes marked FISH FINGERS. Ive found the dockets... he trailed off and stared at the pile of meat as Isobel added another chunk to the crate, the frozen pieces clattering against one another like ceramic tiles. Is... is that all...?
We wont know till we test it. Logan held out his hand, and the rumpled man looked puzzled for a moment, then tried to shake it. No, Logan took a step back, leaving him hanging, the dockets?
Oh, right. Right. Of course. He handed over a crumpled sheet of yellow A4, covered with biro scribbles. Sorry.
Thompson fidgeted nervously as Logan read. Whats going to happen? I mean if that... He swallowed. What am I going to tell my customers?
Logan pulled out his mobile phone and scrolled through the contacts list. Were going to need names and addresses for everyone who has access to this freezer. I want staff records, customers, suppliers, the lot. An electronic voice on the other end of the line told him the number he was dialling was busy, please try again later.
The man in the crumpled suit shivered, wrapped his arms around himself and looked as if he was about to cry. Were a family firm, been here thirty years...
Yes, well, Logan tried for a reassuring smile, you never know: the tests might come up negative.
I wouldnt go getting Mr Thompsons hopes up, said Isobel. She sat back on her haunches, breath a cloud of white around her head as she lifted something out of the box at her feet. From where Logan was standing it looked just like another chunk of pork, and he said so.
Thats true... she turned the joint of meat over, but pigs dont usually have tattoos of unicorns on their backsides.
2
Insch was in the sweetie section, surrounded by catering-sized packs of Crunchies, Rolos, Sports Mixture, and fizzy flying saucers eyeing them up as he spoke on the phone, Yeah, Im sure. The inspector listened for a moment, chewing on the side of his thumb, No... no... if the bastard sets foot outside his house I want him picked up.... What?... I dont care what you arrest him for, just bloody arrest him!... No, I dont have a warrant...
Inschs face was starting its all too familiar slide from florid pink to angry scarlet. Because I bloody well told you to, thats why! He snapped his phone shut and glowered at it.
Logan cleared his throat, and the glower turned his way. Sorry to interrupt, sir, but Iso... Dr McAllisters found at least one piece of human remains in the freezer. And about another forty possibles.
The inspectors face lit up. About time.
Only trouble is, some of those are catering packs of diced meat. She says theyll have to defrost and DNA-test every chunk, otherwise theres no way of telling if a packs got bits of one, two or a dozen people in it. Deep breath. Its going to take at least a fortnight.
And Insch went straight from angry scarlet to furious purple. WHAT?
She... its what she said, OK? Logan backed off, hands up. Insch gritted his teeth and seethed for a moment. Then, You tell her I want those remains analysed and I want them analysed now. I dont care how many favours she has to call in, this takes top priority.
Ah... maybe thatd sound better coming from you, sir? I The look on Inschs face was enough to stop Logan right there. Fine, Ill tell her. Isobel was going to kill him. If the inspector didnt do it first. The big man looked like an unexploded bomb.
Logan had a bash at defusing him. According to the cash and carrys records the meat in the container came from a butchers shop in Holburn Street: McFarlanes.
McFarlanes? A nasty smile twisted Inschs face.
Logan pulled out the docket. Two sirloins, half a dozen sides of bacon, a pack of veal...
But the inspector was already marching towards the exit, uniformed constables and IB technicians scurrying to get out of his way. I want a search warrant for that butchers shop. Get everyone over there soon as its organized.
What? But we havent finished here yet.
The remains came from McFarlanes.
But we dont know that. This place isnt exactly difficult to get into. Anyone could have
And I want an arrest warrant for Kenneth Wiseman.
Who the hell is
And tell the press office to get their backsides in gear: briefing at ten am sharp.
An hour and a half later Logan and Insch were sitting in a pool car outside McFarlanes butchers shop, GOOD EATS GOOD MEATS according to the sign above the big dark window.
Holburn Street was virtually deserted, lonely traffic lights changing from red to green and back again with no one to watch them but a couple of unmarked CID Vauxhalls, a police van full of search-trained officers, a once-white transit van belonging to the Identification Bureau, and two patrol cars. All waiting for the Procurator Fiscal to turn up with the search and arrest warrants.
Insch scowled at his watch. What the hell is taking so long?
Logan watched him fight his way into a small jar of pills thick, sausage-like fingers struggling with the child-proof lid then throw a couple of the small white tablets down. Are you OK, sir?
Insch grimaced and swallowed. How longs it going to take you to get to the airport from here?
Depends if the Drives busy: hour, hour and a half?
Theres a Chief Constable Faulds coming in on the BMI redeye. I want you to pick him up and bring him back here.
Can we not just send one of the uniforms? Im
No, I want you to do it.
I should be helping organize the search, not playing taxi driver!
I said NO! Insch turned on him, voice loud enough to make the car windows rattle. Faulds is a slimy tosser a two-faced, backstabbing bastard but hes a Chief Constable, so everyone scurries round after him like hes the bloody Messiah. I do not want some idiot PC in the car with him telling tales out of school.
But
No. No buts. You go pick him up and you dont tell him any more than he needs to know. And with any luck well have this whole thing wrapped up before he even gets here.
Anderson Drive stretched across the city: from a horrible roundabout at Garthdee to an even more horrible one at the other end. Half past seven and Logan was stuck in the middle of a snaking ribbon of scarlet tail-lights shuffling their way towards the Haudagain roundabout. Dawn was little more than a pale yellow smear, its faint light making no difference to the thick pall of grey cloud that loomed over the city.
Some halfwit had broken the cars stereo, so all he had to listen to was the clack and yammer of the police radio mostly people hustling to and fro, trying to keep out of DI Inschs way as Operation Cleaver was thrown together. The fat git had been a pain in the backside ever since hed started on that stupid diet. Eighteen months of tiptoeing about, trying not to set the man off on one of his legendary rants.
This is Alpha Nine One, we are in position, over.
It sounded as if they were ready to go.
Alpha Three Two, in position.
Aye, is is Alpha Mike Seven, were a set tae go too. Just gie the word.
Logan should have been with them, kicking down doors and taking names, not babysitting some tosser from Birmingham.
By the time he was leaving the city limits a light drizzle had started to fall, speckling the windscreen with a thin, wet fog, making the tail-lights of the taxi in front glow like volcanic embers as DI Insch gave his motivational speech.
Listen up: I want this done by the numbers, understand? Anyone steps out of line, Ill tear their balls off and shove them up their arse do I make myself clear?
No one was daft enough to answer that one.
Right. All units, in five, four, three, two... GO! GO! GO!
And then there was shouting. The sound of a door being battered off its hinges. Bangs. Thumps...
Logan turned the radio off, sat in the long line of traffic waiting to turn towards Aberdeen airport, and sulked.
The airport was busy this morning: the queue for security backed up the length of the building nearly out the front door business commuters and holidaymakers nervously checking their watches; clutching their boarding passes; worrying about missing their planes while the tannoy droned on about not leaving baggage unattended.
The BD672 was supposed to have landed eight minutes ago, but there was still no sign of anyone getting off the thing. Logan stood on the concourse, next to the twee tartan gift shop, holding up a sheet of paper with CC FAULDS scribbled on it in big biro capitals.
Finally the doors at the far end opened and the passengers on the 07:05 flight from London Heathrow staggered out.
Logan didnt think Faulds would be too hard to spot, he was a Chief Constable after all. Hed be in full dress uniform hoping it would let him cut through security and get extra packets of peanuts on the plane with some obsequious Chief Superintendent in tow to carry his bags and tell him how clever and witty he was.
So it came as something of a surprise when a gangly man in jeans, fingertip, length black leather jacket, Hawaiian shirt, sharks tooth necklace, and a little salt-and-pepper goatee beard stopped, tapped the sign in Logans hands and said, Im Faulds. You must be...?
Er... DS MCRAE, sir.
Was that an earring? It was: Chief Constable Faulds had a diamond earring twinkling away in his left ear.
Faulds stuck out his hand. I take it DI Insch sent you? The accent wasnt marked, just a hint of Brummie under the received pronunciation.
Yes, sir.
So let me guess: youre not to tell me anything, and basically keep me out of the way. Yeah?
No, sir. Im just to give you a lift into town.