‘Aye, Guv? Yeah, you wanted someone to have a chat with Graeme Anderson, our local Racist In Chief? Scummer says the Anglo Saxon Defence Group has just as much right to march on Saturday as the rest of them. Called me a fascist. Twice.’A sniff.‘Which was a bit ironic, given his stance on the old democratic process. And invited me to bugger off out of it before he set hisswanky-pants lawyers on me for harassment. Only he put it more politely, being a public schoolboy and all that wank.’
‘Think they’re going to behave themselves?’
‘At the protest?’
Silence.
‘Spudgun?’
‘Having myself a wee think, Guv. See, pricks like Anderson like to talk the talk, but they likeothersto walk it. That way they can take credit if it all goes to plan, and denounce it if it doesn’t. So I’m guessing no.’
‘You give him a friendly word to the wise?’
‘That’s when he threatened us with legal action. But yeah.’
‘OK, thanks, Spudgun. Put the word out, though – anyone hears anything about the ASDG, I want to know about it, OK?’
‘Guv.’And he was gone.
Logan put his phone away. ‘Are youstillat it?’
‘Almost there...’ Tufty’s wee pink tongue popped out between his teeth as he poked and clicked some more. Then sat back on his haunches, firing finger-guns at the dashboard. ‘Peeew!Peeew!And I has blowed up the Deathstar!’ He unplugged the USB cable and handed it back to Dougie. ‘Thanks.’ Shutting the laptop. ‘I’ll get this back to you soon as.’
Dougie shrugged. ‘No skin off my cock. Not like I use the thing anyway.’
The back door swung open and out scrunched Steel, hat firmly wedged on her head, sipping from an overbranded NorrelTech mug.
She jerked her chin at Dougie. ‘Does it no’ roast your balls, working for a greasy wee shite like that?’
Logan winced. ‘What...Don’t! OK? Just...’ He turned to Dougie. ‘I apologise for my colleague. That wasunprofessionalanduncalled for. If you want to make a formal complaint—’
‘Nah: she’s right. Nickisa greasy wee shite. His wife’s properly lovely, and there’s him shagging his way round every slapper in Aberdeen. “Oooh, come see my yacht, come see my yacht...”’ Dougie tossed the cable into the car. ‘Getting too old to be running round after arseholes.’
‘Aye.’ Steel patted his arm. ‘Me too.’
Logan’s phone launched into ‘Ode To Joy’ as they headed back towards the pool car, and when he checked the caller ID, there was ‘SPUDGUN’ glowing away in the middle of the screen.
He poked the button. ‘This better be good news.’
Could tell by the pitch of Spudgun’s voice that it wasn’t.‘Aye, Guv? All hands on deck: we’ve just had a call...’
LXXVII
Maybe itwasn’ttoo late?
Maybe it didn’t matter that Davis hadn’t told the police where they were, because the cops could track people’s phones now, couldn’t they? Triangulate where you’re calling from, based on which phone towers the signal pinged off.
Shit, they were probably racing over hereright now.
Wherever the hell ‘here’ was...
Course they were.
They werecomingfor her.
Because even though he was a twisted, murdering, violent, bastard – Detective Sergeant Davis was too fond of his miserable hide to die in this shitty barn.
All she had to do was wait.
