Sweeny scowled. ‘Don’tdothat.’ He poked at his screen. ‘The one-o’clock feeding frenzy is going to be insane. We’ve got CNN and Fox News and Al Jazeera and...some stationsfrom France, Germany, and Italy I can’t pronounce. Then there’s the Australian broadcasters and New Zealand and Mexico and Canada and I just want to go back to CID and be a properpolicemanagain...’
The door opened and in marched Chief Superintendent Pine.
Some of the less experienced newshounds perked up the moment she appeared – microphones, cameras, and notebooks at the ready – while the more practised hands kept right on doing what they were doing, safe in the knowledge that sod-all would happen till the briefing officially started.
Pine marched across the room to Sweeny’s flipchart fortress, and raised an eyebrow at Logan. ‘Don’t remember shouting “frog”.’
Sweeny checked his watch. ‘We’re going to be late.’
‘Been trying to get hold of you, Boss. Didn’t reply to any of my texts.’
‘Texts?’ A frown. ‘What texts? Are you sure you...’ She produced her phone, flipped the cover open, then sagged. ‘Bloody battery’s flat.’
So, it wasn’t just him.
‘That’s what I get for never being off the damn thing today.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Thought I told you to dress the part.’
Eh?
Full black uniform, peaked cap under the oxter, shiny black shoes. ‘But—’
‘You were trying to get hold of me?’
Sweeny made wafting gestures towards the podium, with its covered table and garland of microphones. ‘I’m sure whatever DCI McRae has to say, it can wait tillafterthe briefing. Can’t keep theworld presswaiting!’
‘Boss: we have acomplication.’
‘Oh God...’ Pine’s head fell back, and she winced at theceiling. ‘I knew it was going to be a crap day the moment I got up...’
For a building that was so Gothic and over-the-top on the outside, Marischal College’s quad was strangely antiseptic and austere. There wasn’t a single bush or tree or bit of green in evidence. Just grey granite walls and big flat paving slabs.
The only things breaking the monochrome monotony were a line of uncomfortable-looking benches, and one of those stupid paint-a-fibreglass-statue-of-some-random-animal-or-cartoon-character-in-whacky-colours-to-express-your-civic-pride things. A large multicoloured haggis in this case, complete with tammy, bagpipe legs, and massive grin.
Somehow, it just made the bare space seem even more grim.
Logan and Chief Superintendent Pine stood in the sunlight, but Sweeny lurked in the nearest shadow. Like an indigestion-prone Gollum.
‘Christ.’ Pine covered her face with her hands. ‘That went well...’
‘Hardlyyourfault, Boss. It’s one of their own who’s missing – they were always going to turn this into a three-ring-circus of shite.’
‘Could’ve done without Adrian Shearsmith recording a sodding video address “for immediate release”.’
Yeah...
Thatdefinitelyhadn’t helped.
Buried deep in his trouser pocket, Logan’s phoneding-buzzed at him. But he left it where it was, because Chief Superintendents were even worse than teachers when it came to things like that.
Sweeny tapped his watch. ‘Hate to rush you, Boss, but you’ve got a one-on-one with Channel Seven News in fifteen minutes. All the way from Australia.’
It was a bit underhand, but Logan floated the idea anyway: ‘Don’t suppose we can leak that Shearsmith’s putting his ex-wife’s life at risk with all this publicity?’
‘No!’Sweeny reached for the antacids again. ‘Can you imagine what would happen if they found out we’d briefed against the victim’s family? Absolutely not.’
Pine shrugged. ‘Though wecouldhave a private word with him? Try to make him see sense. All on the same side; pulling together as a team. Appeal to his conscience.’
‘He’s a media mogul. They don’t have one.’ Sweeny checked his watch again. ‘Fourteen minutes.’
