‘But—’
‘Cos that’s what it is, OK? It isn’t “the flu”, or “the sniffles”, or “the Lurgie”, or “Captain Trips”, it’s Covid!That’swhy half the bloody city’s off sick.’ Getting louder. ‘Just because every wanker, newspaper, and politician wants to pretend it’s magically gone away, that doesn’t make it happen!’
‘OK...’ Logan backed off a couple of paces. ‘Look: Spencer might get a visitor. If he does, I need you to call usimmediately.’ Digging out his phone and bringing up the photo of Charles MacGarioch and his fellow orphans in the pub. Zooming in on Charles’s face till it filled the screen.
‘He dangerous?’
‘Hard to say.’
Dr Emslie rolled her eyes. ‘Well, thatishelpful. Thank yousomuch.’ She produced her own phone with a long-suffering sigh. ‘Send me a copy and I’ll get Marilyn to print out some posters.’
It took a couple of goes, but eventually they got the image transferred.
Logan put his mobile away. ‘Officers on-site will keep an eye out too, but with all these entrances...?’
‘Because my job isn’t difficult enough?’ She threw a sharp, stabbing gesture at the ward door. ‘I’ve got a skeleton staff, full beds, and a bunch of people already calling in sick for tomorrow. Aberdeen’s like abloody plague pit...’ On either side of the mask, her jaw muscles clenched. A deep breath and Dr Emslie shook her head, then looked away. ‘Fine: we’ll shout if we see him.’ Her arm came up, pointing away down the corridor. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind sodding off – I’ve got a bunch of dying people to save.’
She turned to go.
Then stopped.
‘And don’t youdarecome back here without a mask on!’
And with that jolly farewell, Dr Emslie slapped her pass against the security reader and shoved back into the ward. Pulling the door shut behind her, in case Logan, or his germs, tried to follow.
He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘And a merry Christmas to you too.’
Then marched off towards the exit, taking his cooties with him.
39
In an ideal world, the biggest hospital in the northeast of Scotland would’ve had a fancy front entrance. Something that spoke of Aberdeen’s position as the energy capital of Europe. Something that reflected all the oil money that had flowed through the city since the seventies. Something that gave a little nod to the billions of pounds of tax revenue generated for the UK Treasury.
But it was, to be honest, a bit of a shithole – more like the pedestrian entrance to an underground car park, with a pair of sliding doors surrounded by an array of half-arsed signs.
Auld mannies and wifies were lined up in the fading light, still wearing their baffies and dressing gowns, grimly puffing on cigarette after cigarette, in bloody-minded defiance of all the posters telling them not to.
Back in the day, there’d been a nice big overhang to shelter beneath and enjoy your fag out of the wind and snow and rain. But the Health Trust had filled it all in, leaving the patients with nowhere to stand and indulge their vices but outside in the open air. And itstillwasn’t enough to deter these Wrinkled Priests and Craggy Priestesses of Sainted Lady Nicotine.
Logan stepped out into the sunlight, phone to his ear, waiting for Doreen to pick up.
Her voice groaned out of the speaker.‘If you’re calling to make my life even more depressing: don’t, OK? The only thingkeeping me upright is visions of a phenomenally large G-and-T when I get home. With lots and lots andlotsof ice.’
He headed for the multistorey opposite – a weird, elongated-OXO-cube of a thing, wrapped in sheets of holey metal. ‘No sign of Charles MacGarioch?’
‘Guv, I swear to God, if we do find his body, I’m going to kick the crap out of it before we call anyone.’
Bit unprofessional. But understandable.
‘How far you got to go?’
‘Dunno – maybe a quarter mile? We’re well past the bridge anyway.’A knackered sigh.‘Sun’s going down: it’s all long blue shadows and a zillion midges out here. Going to be dangerous if we keep going much longer. And I know it’s going to be twilight till eleven, but that’s sod-all use for searching.’Doreen gave a little sob.‘Just want to pour the sweat out of my wellies, lie down, and cry...’
‘OK – Give it another twenty minutes, then head back to the station. We’re calling it quits at ten, today.’
‘I’m too tired and squelchy to celebrate.’
Logan hurried across the road. ‘Just do me a favour and get someone to have a quick march along the last bit of riverbank, OK? In case his body’s just lying about.’
