‘Basically, we’re screwed.’ Logan dumped his pen on the worktop. ‘The only way we’ll get anything out of MacGarioch now is if he suffers a psychotic brain-fart and spontaneously confesses. And even then, Hissing Sid will walk it back in thirty seconds flat and somehow make out it’s all our fault.’
Biohazard leaned in again.‘Were you going to say, “On account of him robbing all those sports shops”? We found enough whey powder in his bedroom to fill a municipal sandpit.’
‘Then perhaps, my dear Acting Detective Inspector, you should be interviewing this“Spence”individual, instead of my client?’Hissing Sid pushed his chair back.‘If you don’t mind: I think we should take a brief respite from this wholly unnecessary and unwarranted interrogation, for a comfort break.’
‘We justhadone.’
‘Sadly, my poor old bladder isn’t as young as it used to be. And I’m sure you wouldn’t be unsporting enough to continue brow-beating poor Charles in my absence. Would you?’
‘God’s sake.’ Logan folded his arms. ‘He just does this tomesswith us: bet he doesn’t even need to go!’
Pine raised an eyebrow at him.
Urgh...
Logan pressed the talk button and leaned into the microphone. ‘Let the old fart have his prostate-problem pee break.’
On the screens, Biohazard’s shoulders froze for a beat. Then slumped.‘Fine. Interview suspended at oh-eight-thirteen. We’ll reconvene in five minutes.’
A smile.‘Make it ten.’Smooth and slick, as befitted a serpent.
‘Typical.’ Logan flicked the switch, killing the speakers. ‘Sorry, Boss, you wanted a word?’
‘DS MacDonald.’
OK...That sounded ominous. Especially given Marky MacDonald’s reputation for wandering hands, his two written warnings, and what was going to happen if heeverdid it again.
Logan glanced at the wee loon. ‘Is this something we should be discussing in front of Constable Quirrel?’
‘What?’ She pulled her chin in, frowning. Then must’ve finally got the subtext. ‘Oh...No. Nothing like that. I sent him to speak to your Nicholas Wilson, yesterday.’
Nope. No idea.
‘The second-last person to see Natasha Agapova? At the ball?’ Pine stood.
‘Did he find something?’
‘No idea.’ She stepped out into the corridor and Logan followed, because this was clearly going to be one of those walk-and-talk things ‘dynamic managers’ weresofond of. ‘He didn’t file a report, and now he’s on sick leave.’
Of course he sodding was.
She marched off, leading the way past invigorating motivational posters like: ‘YOUCAN MAKEA DIFFERENCE!’, ‘INTEGRITYISTHEBEST DISINFECTANT!’, ‘COMMUNITYPOLICINGROCKS!’, ‘PUTTHE“POLITE”INPOLICE!’, and other such bollocks.
‘I’ll get someone on it.’
Pine nodded. ‘And circulate a memo – all reportsmustbe completed before the end of shift. If you can find some way to say “No one else is allowed to come down with this sodding man flu!”, without HR getting a wasp in their knickers, that would be lovely too.’
At the end of the corridor Tufty scurried ahead to open the door and hold it for Pine. Brown-nosing little spud that he was.
The open-plan office was nearly deserted, with just the baresthummmmof activity going on in the background,because most of dayshift were away trying to find Natasha Agapova. Well, everyone who hadn’t come down with The Dreaded Lurgie, anyway.
Temporarily released from their interview trauma, Doreen and Biohazard were slumped at adjoining desks. Doreen scrubbing both hands across her face as a scowling Biohazard crunched his way through a ‘MORETOSHARE!’ bag of Chocolate Honeycomb Minis. Though he seemed determined to devour the lot by himself.
The pair of them oblivious to the fact that the head of A Division had just stalked into the room.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. ‘Forgot what amassivepain in the hoop that tosser is. You could catch Jack the Ripper, red-handed, strangling the Queen Mother, while Hitler cheers him on, and HissingBloodySid would still get the bastard off on a technicality.’
Doreen reached for the bag, but Biohazard wheeched it out of her reach. ‘Hey! Don’t be such a greedy gripe.’
