It means, rumbled Insch, that Wiseman is up to his old tricks again. We found a package of human meat in the Inglises freezer for Gods sake!
Thats exactly the kind of thinking that scuppered the original investigation people leapt to conclusions, didnt keep an open mind, didnt follow procedure. Wiseman would still be in jail if the case had been airtight. I agree that its highly unlikely this is a copycat, but I want every possibility investigated. She took one of Logans coffees. What do we know about the Inglises?
Duncan Inglis works for the Councils Finance Department. Hes twenty eight. Got admitted to hospital last year when his wife cracked the toaster off his head. Shes twenty five; diagnosed with postnatal depression after the birth of their son, been on medication ever since.
Interesting. The PF took a sip of coffee, shuddered, then put her mug back on the tray. So we have a history of violence.
Were looking into it.
And the butcher, McFarlane?
Went up before the Sheriff this morning: remanded in custody, no bail. Hes sticking to his story: no idea how all those bits of dead body ended up in his shop, and were all a bunch of bastards for picking on Wiseman again.
My heart bleeds. How many search teams?
Three, and roadblocks on all major routes out of Aberdeen. Weve got posters up at the train station, harbour, airport, and nearly every bus stop in the city.
Logan chimed in with a report on the Automatic Number Plate Recognition System: No sign of any vehicle hes got access to leaving Aberdeen. And weve warned all the rental places.
The PF nodded. CCTV?
Nothing. All the cameras down the beach were pointing the wrong way big fight outside that new nightclub.
Right. She stood, hoisted her handbag over her shoulder, and made for the door. Make sure you catch Wiseman, and soon. I dont want anyone else turning up in bite-size chunks.
Half past eight and Logan was slumped at his desk in the pigsty masquerading as a CID office, trying to work up some enthusiasm for DI Steels vandalism report. And failing. Somehow it was difficult to care about a bunch of keyed cars and some graffiti in Rosemount when Ken Wiseman was out there turning people into joints of meat.
Stifling a yawn, he printed out all the crime reports and started sticking figures into a spreadsheet. God knew when hed actually get home tonight. Bloody DI Bloody Steel and her Bloody Report.
All on your lonesome?
Logan turned, and there was Doc Fraser looking more like someones granddad than a pathologist beige cardigan, glasses, bald head, and hairy ears.
You want some coffee?
The pathologist held up a manila folder. I wont come in, Ive got shingles. Give this to Insch when he gets in tomorrow, will you?
Uh-huh. Logan took the folder and flipped through the contents sheet after sheet of forms and ID numbers.
Tell him its the preliminaries on all those chunks of meat you dug out of the butchers, cash and carry, and that container.
Logan was impressed. Already? Thats
I wouldnt go getting your hopes up this is just the indexing. Itll be weeks before we get the proper results in. The pathologist sighed. And dont look at me like that, weve got five hundred and thirty-two individual lumps of meat and they all need to be DNA-tested. Like the bloody EU corpse mountain down there.
The pathologist reached in under his cardigan and started scratching. Were farming out samples to Tayside, Strathclyde, Lothian and Borders, Highlands, you name it. If theyve got DNA-testing facilities theyre getting bits... He trailed off, looking out of the CID window at the bleak, spotlit square of car park. We never used to get stuff like this. Back in the good old days it was one or two murders a year, all nice and neat. Another sigh. Anyway... better get back to it. The Ice Queen may rule the day, but I command the children of the night! He pulled up one corner of his cardigan, pretending it was a cape, then stalked from the room like a hunched, beige Dracula. Whod really let himself go.
The pathologist reached in under his cardigan and started scratching. Were farming out samples to Tayside, Strathclyde, Lothian and Borders, Highlands, you name it. If theyve got DNA-testing facilities theyre getting bits... He trailed off, looking out of the CID window at the bleak, spotlit square of car park. We never used to get stuff like this. Back in the good old days it was one or two murders a year, all nice and neat. Another sigh. Anyway... better get back to it. The Ice Queen may rule the day, but I command the children of the night! He pulled up one corner of his cardigan, pretending it was a cape, then stalked from the room like a hunched, beige Dracula. Whod really let himself go.
7
Hot white blobs of light picked their way through the trees in the background, then the camera panned round to an overweight reporter as he told the nation that this was the second night Ken Wiseman remained at large.... increased manpower, combing through woods and industrial units all over Aberdeen. Halloween is traditionally a time for trick or treating
Guising! Logan shouted at the television. In Scotland we go guising, not trick or treating! He snatched his second tin of beer off the coffee table and drank deep.
but this year the streets of the city are empty, left to the cold and the mist. Because this year, there really is a monster out there
Oh for Gods sake! Logan excavated the remote control from the sofas cushions and stabbed the button, hunting through the channels for something decent to watch and coming up empty.
Nothing to help him ignore the little red light on the answering machine.
Another mouthful of beer and the tin was empty. Logan stifled a belch and got to his feet. Should probably get something to eat... The little red light blinked at him.
He walked over, and pressed the button.
MESSAGE ONE: Hi Logan, its me... Jackie, the words alcohol-slurred and fuzzy. I miss you, OK?I do. I miss you... He could hear raised voices in the background, a jukebox, a bandit pinging and bleeping to itself. Just thought you should know. Beeeeeeep. And the tape rewound itself.
He pressed the button again.
MESSAGE ONE: Hi Logan, its me... I miss you, OK? I do. miss you... Pub noises. Just thought you should know. Beeeeeeep.
RRRRRRRRRRingggggggggggggg the flats doorbell.
MESSAGE ONE: Hi Logan, its me... I miss you, OK? I
RRRRRRRRRRingggggggggggggg.
Oh... bloody hell. OK, Im coming.
There was a short, stocky Glaswegian waiting outside, clutching a couple of plastic bags as a thin drizzle oozed down out of a dirty orange sky. Laz, my man! Trick or treat?
Logan scowled at him. Dont you bloody start.
Aye, and a happy Christmas to you too. You look like shite, byraway. Cmoan, shift over, currys no gettin any warmer here.
Colin, I...
But the reporter had already shouldered his way past. Sighing, Logan closed the stairwell door and followed him up. Colin Miller: even dressed casually, the wee man looked like a deranged, muscle-bound clothes model. God alone knew what Isobel saw in him.
You seen those arseholes on the news, but? Miller stuck his plastic bags on the kitchen table, then dug into one and tossed a cold bottle of Kingfisher beer in Logans direction.
Logan caught it just before it hit the kitchen floor. Dont you ever ring first?
Aye, youre right, said the wee man, pulling a plastic takeaway container out of the second bag, then stacking another five beside it, topping them off with a bag of poppadoms, what was I thinkin? You coulda had a hot date!
Very funny.
Ah come on, Laz, lighten up. Ive got the evenin off, She Who Musts catching up on her beauty sleep, her mums got the wain till tomorrow, an youre all on yer tod. So: boys night in! He rummaged in Logans cutlery drawer and produced the bottle opener, fumbling the top off his beer with stiff, gloved fingers. Get blootered, curry-out from the Nazma, watch some footie on the telly, and break wind to our hearts content.
Logan popped the top off his Kingfisher, then helped himself to a poppadom. You do know I cant talk about the Wiseman case, dont you?
The reporter froze. Wiseman case? Never crossed my mind! Im no
Oh come off it Colin, youre trying to bribe me into talking about an ongoing investigation with Indian beer from... Logan checked the label. Kent?
Miller grinned. And curry. Dont forget the curry.
Fat chance.
Oh come on, man! Throw a freelancer a bone, eh? Those BBC bastardsve got exclusive access to everythin.
Thought you were going back on staff.
The reporter shrugged. Nah, freelance pays better. Doing a fair chunk for the Examiner though.
Bet the Journals like that.
Alls fair in love and journalism. Lime pickle?
Cupboard above the kettle. Anyway, its an observational documentary, not a news programme. Not even going to be out till next year.
But
And its a pain in the backside. Everywhere you turn someones sticking a camera up your nose. You try it for a week, see how you like it.
Chicken Jalfrezi, Lamb Biryani, Prawn Rogan Josh, or a bit of everything?
Everything. He watched Miller serving up, the reporters leather gloves struggling with the clear plastic containers. It would have been much easier to just take the gloves off, but Miller was too vain for that.
Logan scowled into his beer. I mean they didnt even ask if I wanted to be in it
I get it. Fucks sake: enough! He licked a dob of bright red sauce from his leathered thumb. Every time I come over here...
I was only saying
And would it kill you to get some decent cutlery? Izzy carves up deid people with better silverware than this.
There was a noise in the darkness, like metal scraping on metal. Heather froze, lying on her side on the cold floor.
Count to a hundred.
Silence.
She went back to wriggling along the invisible line of steel bars. It wasnt easy with her hands tied behind her back; the cableties round her wrists and ankles dug into the skin as she felt her way to the end wall. There was something square here, a plastic box with a lid... Heather retreated when she realised what it was: a chemical toilet its harsh disinfectant reek overlaid with something altogether less pleasant. The bars stretched all the way across the little metal room, dividing the pitch-black prison in two. Her on one side, Duncan on the other.