He kept on typing. ‘Could ask you the same question.’
‘Nicking office supplies.’ Steel reached over his cubicle wall and pinched his coffee as well. ‘But mostly, because we caught a jumper: Marischal Court, right up on the roof – nineteen floors of straight-down-and-splat. Lost his job, his mum, his dog, and his girlfriend in the space of a week.’ She blew on the coffee, as if that would improve it. ‘Yours truly talked him down, of course. Which gives one the warm-and-fuzzies, butthe paperwork’s a pain in the arse.’ Taking a sip. ‘Gah...This isdisgusting. You never heard of milk and hazelnut syrup?’
He stuck his hand out. ‘Give itbackthen.’
She didn’t. ‘Might grow on me...’ Another sip, another grimace. ‘You know your problem? You’re suffering from NRDS: New Responsibility Derangement Syndrome.’
‘What I’m suffering from is Listening To You Rabbit On When I Should Be Finishing This Report Syndrome.’
‘See, you’ve been made up to acting DCI, and now you think the whole division’ll grind to a halt without you. Well, it won’t.’ Steel leaned on his cubicle wall. ‘You’re just agreasy wee cogin a big rusty machine. It’ll no’ fall apart if you go home and get some sleep.’
‘And you thoughtIwas bad at motivational speeches.’
‘Whatwillfall apart are your cases, when you’re too knackered to focus tomorrow, cos you’ve been here all night like a martyred numpty.’ She handed back his hideous coffee. ‘Go home.’ Then wandered off. ‘And treat yourself to a stapler and some packs of Post-it notes on the way out!’
Yeah, she was probably right.
Time to go home.
Could always finish this tomorrow, after all.
Steel had almost reached the door, when a lone PC in the full outdoor kit banged through it at speed. Nodding at her on the way past as he hurpled over to Logan’s desk. Breathing hard, like a chain-smoking pervert.
So this couldn’t be good news.
Logan gave him a nod anyway. ‘Aye, aye, Shandy.’
PC Ian Shand looked as if he’d been made by four-year-olds out of knotted string and old cat hair. And when he opened his mouth, every single one of his teeth pointed in a different direction. ‘Guv!’ He staggered to a halt. ‘Bleedingheck...’ Bending over and grabbing his knees. ‘Not answering...your Airwave...’
The thing hadn’t so much as bleeped.
He picked it off the desk and checked the screen. But it didn’t even show a missed call, because the battery was flat.
Should’ve put it on to charge the moment he got back to the office.
Silly sod.
It was a bit late, but Logan plugged it in anyway.
Steel wandered back, hands in her pockets. ‘Come on, Shandy: spill it before you keel over.’
‘We’ve got...we’ve got aseriousproblem!’ Waving his hands about. ‘Missing...missing person!’
Logan sat upright. ‘Is it a kid?’
‘Not...a kid.’ Shandy shook his sweaty head. ‘No, it’s...waymore complicated...than that...’
Chief Superintendent Pine groaned.‘Oh for goodness’ sake – did we not have enough on the go?’
Twenty to midnight, and Natasha Agapova’s house was lit up like a funfair. Not just the internal lighting, the outdoor floods were on too, turning the front garden into an ominous wonderland of trees and shadows.
On the other side of the floor-to-ceiling windows, a lock-block driveway played hostess to a patrol car, the Scenes Transit van, the pool car Logan had rocked up in, and a garish-red BMW.
In here, however, a lone forensic tech zwipped-zwopped across the entrance hall and tried to wrestle a gigantic teddy bear into a body bag. Presumably because there were no evidence bags big enough.
Logan leaned on the balcony handrail, making his Tyvekcrumple and rustle. Hood up. Phone tucked inside the elasticated hem. ‘You’re right: maybe I should hop in my Tardis, jump back to Monday morning, and ask Ms Agapovanotto get abducted?’
Yeah...
