‘Karma comes in like a hurricane,Bitch, and it’s going to blow your house of lies right down. See you tonight!’
Doreen clicked the remote and the projector juddered back a couple of PowerPoint slides, swapping a shot of the broken vases and bloodstains for a publicity still of their victim.
Logan looked out across his shrunken congregation. Not quite the full contingent, given another four were off on the sick, and a fifth was standing at the back of the room trying to smother a cough that wouldn’t die. ‘Smithy?’
A hand went up, attached to a stringy PC with a squint nose, squint chin, Clint-Eastwood-squinty eyes, and a brutal haircut that he must’ve cut himself. With a lawnmower. ‘Sarge.’
‘Call was from a withheld number – get on to her phone provider and see if they can help. Same goes for Captain Sleazy and the HMS Loveyacht. I want names and details, OK?’ Logan gave the nod and Doreen shut the projector down. ‘I don’t have to tell you just how much wedidn’tneed another massive case to work on right now, but, in the immortal words of Rabbie Burns: “God’s an evil bastard and he hates us all.”’
There were a few nods at that.
‘But it doesn’t mean we get to abandon the hunt for Charles MacGarioch. Hands up Operation Iowa?’
About a quarter of the assembled officers put their hands up.
‘OK, I’m counting on you guys: let’s get this murdering racist wee shite found.’ Next up: ‘DI Marshall’s team?’
Another show of hands. Biohazard sat in the middle of them, bum perched against a desk, arms folded. Looking as if his underwear was eating his rectum with big pointy teeth.
‘I know our victim isn’t what you’d call a “sympathetic character”, but I don’t care if he was a rapist or a choirboy –weget justice for the missing and the dead. Whoever bashed Andrew Shaw’s brains out and chucked him in the river is amurderer. We let him get away with it: he’ll do it again.’
Determined nods rippled through the team.
‘Good.’ Logan pointed at Doreen. ‘Everyone see DI Taylor for your assignments. Only exceptions are Steel, Barrett, Lund, Harmsworth, and Quirrel: with me.’ He marched off, making for the door.
Biohazard intercepted him before he got there. ‘Guv? Nightshift say they found Andrew Shaw’s car. Peugeot Two Oh Eight, parked three streets from Duthie Park. You want Forensics to give it a once-over?’
‘Get it towed to Nelson Street first – don’t want the press finding out and making connections that aren’t there. Got enough unwanted attention as it is.’
‘Guv.’
Soon as Biohazard headed off, Rennie scuffed over. Baggy of eyes and runny of nose. He snorked into a hanky. Then blinked and winced at the light spilling in through the windows. ‘Anyone seen my sunglasses?’
Logan backed thehellaway. ‘That better be hayfever, because if it’s the lurgie...’
The idiot stifled a cough. ‘Donna and Lola got sent home with it, yesterday. But I’mfine. Dandy. Sharp as a tack andtwice as shiny.’ Giving him both thumbs up. Before frowning and patting his pockets. ‘Just need to find my shades and we can hit the road, adventure-bound.’
Nope.
‘“We” aren’t hitting anything. You’re getting yourself a pool car and going to check on the stakeout at Wallace Tower.On your own: no infecting anyone else.’
A bunged-up whine snottered out. ‘But Gu-uv, it’s just a little summer sniffle. Nothing to be—’
‘You heard the doctor:’ Logan poked a finger towards the door, ‘out! Now! Go!’
Looking like a kicked puppy, Rennie blew his nose one more time, then slouched away, muttering to himself. Coughing and spluttering. Like the diseased horror he was.
The marker pen squeaked its way through every letter as Logan printed the words ‘ADRIANSHEARSMITH’ next to ‘NATASHAAGAPOVA’ on the whiteboard wall.
It was every inch the bland corporate space you’d expect from modern policing – lots of magnolia, with miserable carpet tiles, a flipchart, one of those central tables made up of smaller tables, and a collection of cheap blue office chairs where Lund, Barrett, Harmsworth, and Tufty sat. Taking notes and paying attention.
Steel, on the other hand, had her feet up on the desk, going for a wee rummage in her cleavage. Which wasn’t easy in a tight-fitting black T-shirt that was clearly two sizes too small, so she’d had to go in from the bottom, exposing a belly shiny-pale enough to light the fires of Gondor.
It was hard to take your eyes off it.
Like a pasty car crash.
Logan stuck the cap back on his pen. ‘Lund, Barrett: I need you to have athoroughsearch through Natasha’s life.Who’s she friends with, who’s her enemies? There’s been a lot of redundancies at theAberdeen Examiner– is anyone’s nose far enough out of joint to justify abducting her?’ He used the pen as a pointer. ‘Harmsworth, Steel: you’re on the ex-husband. A media mogul like that’s bound to have people out to get him. And given how loaded the guy is, could even be an organised crime thing – can you imagine what kind of ransom he could put together? So, get in touch with SOCT and make a nuisance of yourselves till they tell you who Shearsmith’s involved with.’
