The river was only a stone’s throw across at this point, andDS Marshall’s team searched the opposite bank. Their SOC suits shining uncomfortably bright.
Blinking after the relative shade of the woods, Logan stepped into the deep-fried light, off the path and down onto a teeny-tiny beach – just about big enough for a single person to lie on. As long as they didn’t mind their towel getting wet.
Both teams searched on, completely ignoring him.
‘Hello?’
Everyone looked up, but only one of them waded out of the shallows, and onto the tiny beach.
Doreen peeled back her hood and unhooked one side of her mask, letting it dangle free from her other ear. Face all red and drippy. ‘Pleasetell me you found the scumbag, and we can stop looking.’ She lowered the suit’s zip, exposing pasty-white sweaty skin and a cast-iron sports bra. ‘Only been at it half an hour, and my Smurf suit’s like a fish tank.’ Flapping the open side of it to cool down. ‘And where’s this flipping drone from Tayside we were promised?’
Good question.
Logan scanned the riverbank. ‘MacGarioch must’ve clambered outsomewhere.’
‘Gah...’ More flapping. ‘I’m seriously considering “accidentally” falling in, for a cool down.’
‘You hear about Rutherford?’
‘Off on the sick? Lucky sod.’
‘Which means I’m now, officially, acting up.’
She gave him a sympathetic grimace.
Time to spread the love. ‘So, by the powers vested in me, I hereby anoint you: Acting Detective Inspector Taylor.’ Logan made the sign of the cross. ‘God bless you and all who sail in you.’ Then hooked a thumb across the river. ‘Biohazard too.’
But instead of groaning and complaining, Doreenactuallysmiled. Stood up a little taller. ‘Does that mean I can ditch the search?’
‘Nope.’ Pointing at her team. ‘You’re down one body already. Can’t afford to lose anyone else.’
And the smile turned into a grimace again. ‘How am I supposed to Detective Inspector things if I’m stuck in a sweat-soggy Tyvek onesie with squelchy wellies? This is—’
‘HOY! OVER HERE!’
They both turned, and there was DS Marshall’s team, jumping up and down on the other side of the river, waving their arms about like idiots.
‘WHAT?’
Doreen’s Airwave gave three bleeps. She dug the sweaty handset from her SOC suit and pressed the button. ‘Safe to talk.’
DS Marshall’s voice crackled out of the speaker.‘Think you owe me a pint; we’ve got something.’
Hallelujah.
She flashed a grin at Logan, then lowered the handset for a bit of old-school shouting across the water instead. ‘BIOHAZARD: I COULD KISS YOU!’ Going much quieter for, ‘If you weren’t so ugly. And farty. And Bob-like.’
Logan waded his way through the waist-deep undergrowth on the other side of the river, doing his chicken-wings impersonation again to keep his hands away from anything stingy, scratchy, or covered in yuck.
The bank was alotsteeper over here too, meaning every step carried the risk of a humiliating and painful plummet into the river below.
He navigated his way downhill, step by careful step, towards the clump of excited SOC suits.
Doreen’s team stood about on the opposite bank, watching and waiting. And, more importantly, notdoinganything.
Logan shoved his way through a clump of particularly amorous brambles and staggered to a halt, two inches away from pitching head-first into the river.
Detective Sergeant Robert Marshall, AKA: Biohazard Bob, was waiting for him. A thick-set bloke with big, sticky-out, taxi-door ears; a massive bald patch; and a furrowed monobrow; all perched on an unsolved-Rubik’s-Cube head.
