Abandoning DCI Rutherford’s plague pit of bad news and extra responsibility, Logan sat at hisowndesk, with his own cartoons and holiday-planner pinned to his cubicle walls, and a photo of Tara and Elizabeth in a wee Lego frame, and mountains and mountains of paperwork – liberated from Rutherford’s so-called filing system.
Only instead of working his way diligently through it, like aresponsibleacting detective chief inspector, Logan was frowning away at that copy of theAberdeen ExaminerPine had been nodding at.
Which wasn’t exactly making his morning any happier.
A familiar voice gravelled its way over the cubicle wall.‘Oh aye? This what they call working now, is it?’Steel.
Logan didn’t bother looking up, just turned the page. ‘It is when they’re writing aboutmycase, yes.’
In addition to that horrible front page, theExaminerhad devoted an entire centre-page spread to ‘ARE OUR COPS OUT OF CONTROL?’ with a photo of the police van being towed away from yesterday’s crash site, and a blurred snap of Mr FreezyWhip swerving to avoid the kids on bikes.
Another section screamed ‘POLICE PURSUIT “COULD HAVE KILLED US” SAY PANICKED PENSIONERS’ above a group-shot of the oldies in their tinfoil blankets.
While a third went with, ‘“INNOCENT BOY” HUNTED BY “CRUEL COPS” CLAIMS GRANDMOTHER’ featuring a picture of Charles MacGarioch, standing outside the flat on Gort Lane, with his arm around his much smaller nan.
Which wassucha load of bollocks.
Steel peered at the article, lip curled like she’d accidentallyeaten something nasty. ‘Surprised they ID’d the racist wee shite.’
‘Hard not to – every bugger for three miles saw us chasing him.’
Logan turned the page.
And there, nestled between articles on a council scandal and a local ‘business tycoon’ being done for historical sex offences, was ‘POLICE APPEAL FOR HELP FINDING MISSING TEENAGER’. And there was Charles MacGarioch again, this time looking angelic in his school uniform.
The text that went with it didn’t help.
Logan gave the paper a wee shake, then read out loud: ‘“The popular teenager from Tillydrone, who regularly volunteers at his local foodbank,” of course he sodding does, “took a job at Gillmore’s Fish and Chips, on Tillydrone Avenue, to support his disabled grandmother after her benefits werecruellycut during the first round of austerity...”’ A snort. ‘He sets fire to a hotelwith people in it, and they’re trying to make out he’s some sort of Mother Teresa! They’re going to look bloody silly when we charge the bastard.’
Steel snatched the paper from Logan’s hands, elbows propped on the cubicle wall as she skimmed it. ‘So, tell them. Put out a statement – “Dear Journalist Morons: Charles MacGarioch is a rancid, bigoted, arsonist pish-wank, who tried to murder a bunch of asylum seekers. Stop chrome-plating his bumhole and tell the sodding truth for a change, you pricks.”’
He tried to grab the paper back. ‘Have you not got work to do?’
But she danced backwards clear of his hands. ‘Blah, blah, blah.’ Still reading. ‘I hear Chief Soupy Perky-Pine wants a couple of acting DIs.’ Steel gazed nobly at the ceiling. ‘Just saying: while I do notseekoffice, if my countryneedsme, Iamprepared to put mypersonal wishesaside and accept thisgreat responsibility.’
Bet she was. It...
Hang on.
‘How didyouknow? Only told me five minutes ago.’
‘I have my sources.’ Smiling like a Cheshire cat full of cream. And sparrows.
‘Good for you.’ Logan gathered up a bunch of Rutherford’s Operation Iowa files and plonked them on the paper in Steel’s hands. ‘Meanwhile: you can go through the HOLMES actions and get some of your lazy buggers to start ticking them off.’ Then made himself scarce, before she could say anything...
14
The path scrunched beneath Logan’s shoes, and he descended through the woods towards the riverbank. Air gritty with the scent of wild garlic that had gone past its best. That slightly sour taste lingering with every breath.
Surprised the students hadn’t smoked it all, to be honest.
Kids these days, with their clean living and learning things...
The River Don had calmed down a bit since yesterday and entered its meandering phase, coiling like a glistening intestine around the Hillhead halls of residence. Couldn’t see the accommodation blocks from down here, but someone was blasting rap music through an open window, somewhere above. Which was a bit of a shock, seeing as it was only five past eight on a Wednesday morning. Surely most of the buggers would be fast asleep till noon?
And yes, that was a terrible stereotype, but sod them. If Logan had to be up at sparrow’s-fart o’clock, why should anyone else get a long lie?
Up ahead, four SOC-suited figures picked their way along the water’s edge, poking away with their poking sticks. Surrounded by clouds of glowing midges as sunlight poured like chip fat through gaps in the tree canopy. Making everything sizzle and wilt.
