Logan leaned his bum against a carton of hair gel. ‘Thought you said six months?’
‘Yes, but then I didfindthings. So I went back further andkeepedfinding things. Till three-and-a-bit years ago, which is when...?’ Eyebrows up.
‘Let me guess: Andrew Shaw started working here.’
‘Not saying he wasdefinitelyresponsible, but in addition to the victims we already knew about, I found eleven more. And that’s just the ones whoreporteda sexual assault. Otherwise...’ The wee loon puffed out his cheeks. ‘I know it’s wrong to be glad someone’s dead, but Andrew Wallace Shaw was anuttershite.’ A droop. ‘Bad Tufty: pound in the swear jar.’
Elevenmore victims...
‘Think we’ll let you off with that one.’ Logan pointed at the computer. ‘You got a list of names?’
‘Should be sitting in your inbox. But just in case:’ he hit three buttons on the keyboard and a teeny, old-fashioned ink-jet printer stuttered into life – screeking back and forth as it slowly clunked out a sheet of A4. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll purge the print queue soon as it’s done.’ Swivelling his chair from side to side. ‘Not sure if Shaw was being careful or not, but they weren’t all his clients. Hewasworking at least one day when the victim was in here getting their hair cut by someone else, though.’
‘Bloody hell.’ Logan plucked the printout from the machine, scanning the names. ‘How did no one notice the connection?’
‘Don’t think anyonelooked, Sarge.’ A frown. ‘To be fair, when someone’s been sexually assaulted and we take their statement, we don’t usually start with, “Ooh, where do you get your hair done?”’ Tufty poked some more keys and ‘DELETINGPRINTHISTORY’ appeared on the screen. He stood. ‘Hope when they bury Horrid Andrew Shaw they plumb his grave up with a flush, because there’s going to be alotof people widdling on it.’
Quite right too.
The funeral home wouldn’t even need to preserve Shaw’s body in formaldehyde: his corpse would be pickled in urine.
Logan pocketed the list. ‘Meanwhile: let’s go see if we can’t achieve something on the Natasha Agapova case. Think the Chief Super could do with a bit of good news today.’
Especially after the email he was about to send her.
As he stepped back out onto the salon floor, Brenda had the wee rectangular mirror out – showing Steel what the back of her own neck looked like – full of hairdressery pride. ‘It takesyearsoff you.’
Difficult to know if Steel agreed though, because she just sat there, in the pink-and-chrome chair, mouth hanging open, eyes wide, blinking at herself.
Her hair was shorn incredibly short at the sides and back, tapering outwards as it rose, towards a big wedge of curls on the top of her head – swept forwards so they coiled over her right eyebrow. Grey at the nape of her neck, darkening to a rich chocolaty brown.
Had to admit it was a huge improvement. Especially as her barnet normally looked as if someone had stuck a pound of Semtex up a badger.
‘Time to go.’ Logan handed Brenda a business card. ‘Thanks for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch if there’s anything else.’
Tufty lowered his voice and leaned towards her. ‘Word of advice – you might want to take this one down,’ pointing at Andrew Shaw’s portrait, ‘and burn it.’
She looked a bit confused at that, but she’d find out soon enough...
But looking on the bright side, at least this means we can potentially close out eleven unsolved rape cases and bring a bit of closure to Shaw’s victims.
Logan gave his email one last readthrough, then sent it off to Chief Superintendent Pine, with Tufty’s list attached.
The windows were down in the pool car, but there was precious little breeze to stir the muggy air as they sat outside Brenda’s Hair & Beauty Palace waiting for Steel.
Tufty had his phone propped up against the steering wheel,scrolling away and reading from the screen. ‘So, we’ve missed the case reviews for Operation “Housebreakings Across Rubislaw”; Operation “Car Thefts”; and unless we break the sound barrier, Operation “Break-ins At Sports Shops” will have to start without you.But—’
‘Nope. I already solved that one: it was Spencer Findlater. He’s been feeding his protein-powder addiction. Evidence is all piled up in his bedroom.’
‘Oh. Coolio. Tick that one off the list...’ Poke, fiddle, scroll. ‘Which means, if we leavenow, you can still make Operation “Drugs In Lithuanian Teddy Bears”, Operation “Camper Vans Stolen To Order”, Operation “Food Van Turf War”, before talking to Professional Standards about Princess Crumpled-Bum McGrumpy-Lumps.’
Speak of the Devil.
The back door opened, and Steel thumped into her seat, with a scowl on her face and brand-new curls bouncing away on top of her head. ‘Better no’ be talking about me, you pointy-nosed wee fart!’
Hang on...
Logan turned to Tufty. ‘Camper vans? Food vans? No, no, no, no, no: thosearen’tRutherford’s investigations.’
