A familiar black Mercedes purred up to the barrier on Balmoral Road.
Sergeant Brookminster climbed out, scanning the street as if he was on the President’s Secret Service detail, before catching Logan’s eye, nodding, then opened the rear passenger door.
Here we go.
Chief Superintendent Pine stepped into the sun. Hung up on whoever it was she’d been talking to, and marched towards the crash scene, leaving Brookminster to mind the car.
Logan muffled a sigh, then stood a little straighter.
Pine stalked across the road, keeping her voice down. ‘I hope you’ve got areallygood explanation for thismassivecock-up.’
‘Boss. How nice of you to come out and show your support.’
Her eyes bugged.
Then she grabbed him by the arm and hustled him away, into the mouth of Balmoral Place. Presumably because the head-height walls on both sides of the little road offered a bit of shelter from the press.
She let go and poked him in the chest. ‘Your sarcasm isnotappreciated. I’ve got one of the city’s major arteries closed off, a massive incident underway, and an unidentified man whomight not live to see the evening news, never mind tomorrow!’ She jabbed her poking finger at the bloodsplatch. ‘Now what thehellwere you thinking?’
Logan bit the inside of his cheek, before anything unwise escaped. Took a deep breath. Then: ‘Our RTC victim was hanging about Balmain House Hotel yesterday. He was back again today, and when he clocked me and PC Kent, he ran. Bang: drops his shopping and sprints off down the road.’
‘You didn’t have togive chase!’
‘Oh, and you’d just let him go, would you? Nothing suspicious to see here?’
Pine glowered back. ‘That’s not the point.’
‘People only run because they don’t want to be caught.’ Actually, you know what? Screw diplomacy. Thiswasn’this fault. ‘And it’s not like we chucked the guy in front of that truck!Wewere shouting at him to stop.’
She marched off five or six paces, then back again. ‘What did he do? Other than run.’
Good question.
‘Don’t know yet. Don’t even have a name – no wallet, no ID on him. Only a couple of fivers, a snotty hanky, and a small bunch of keys.’
‘Urgh...’ Pine covered her face. ‘He’s going to be anaid worker, isn’t he. Or a volunteer with handicapped kids...’ She dropped her hands, eyes narrowed. ‘Thought I told you “everyone in uniform”?’
‘I’d have nipped home to change, but I’ve been kinda busy.’
‘Oh, haven’t youjust.’ She did another half-lap. ‘We can’t paint this guy as a suspect in Operation Iowa. Not till we’ve got some proof he was involved in burning the hotel.’ A frown. ‘Hewasinvolved, wasn’t he?’
Logan gave her a shrug.
‘Wonderful.’ Pine stared up into the pale blue sky. ‘Wasour caseload not bad enough without you complicating everything? One dead body a day not sufficientlychallengingwithout ...’ waving her arms about, ‘this?’
‘Sorry, Boss.’
She drooped. ‘I know, I know.’ Sigh. ‘Where’s PC Kent?’
‘Sent her back to the station; doing a formal statement and incident report. If it helps, she’s got the whole chase on her BWV.’
‘Suppose that’s something.’ Pine went back to pacing, one finger tapping away at her forehead. ‘You’d better head off and do the same. I’ll hold down the fort here, till we get the road opened again.’
Good grief: a senior officer who wasactuallyprepared to help. ‘Thanks, Boss.’ He flashed her a pained smile and got out of there before she changed her mind.
He’d barely gone a couple of paces up Balmoral Place before her voice rang out behind him:
‘And no more complications!’
