Rennie loped around to the driver’s side, casting a pitying look across the roof as if Logan was the one who’s daft. ‘It’sliterallyin all the papers. Charles MacGarioch’s face was on the morning TV news bulletins. Trust me: she knows.’
‘You’re still an idiot.’ Logan hauled open the passenger door and thumped into a four-wheeled air-fryer. Peeling off his jacket before he reached medium-rare. ‘Nowsheknowsweknow about her and Charles.’
Tufty was still in the back seat, still poking away at his phone, and still wearing the full Police-Scotland-black outfit with stabproof and high-vis. Little sod must’ve been sweltering, but there wasn’t even a drop of sweat on his pointy face.
He’d nicked the map from the pool car’s glove box and spread it across his knees – Aberdeen, laid out in all its sprawling glory – only now the city was peppered with teeny tags made of torn-up Post-it notes. Two colours: yellow, and pink.
Rennie whumped in behind the wheel. ‘Yeah, but does that really matter?’ Digging out his own phone and fiddling with it. ‘They’re not an item any more – you said the racist old-bag grandma broke them up.’ He held the phone to his ear. ‘Might make this “Keira” a bit bitter and ready to dob her ex in. I mean, what kind of tit doesn’t stand up for his woman, when some rancid—’ He sat forward, putting on a polite, slightly plummy voice. ‘Hello, yes, is that the Star-Sprinkled Heavens?...Good....Yes....Lovely, thank you....Can I ask, I know it’s a bit cheeky, but is Keira working this lunchtime? She’s my wife’s favourite....Now, thatisa shame....Oh, shewill?’ Flashing a thumbs-up at Logan. ‘Smashing....Tell you what, let me check with my wife and I’ll phone you back about booking that table....OK, thanks....Thanks....Bye.’ He hung up. ‘The mysterious Keira won’t be in till this evening.’
‘Subtle.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Rennie gave his head a wee shoogle. ‘This isn’t myfirstdance recital.’ Then he stuck a hand into the back of the car, snapping his fingers like a prick. ‘You finished yet?’
Tufty applied another nib of torn yellow Post-it. ‘Almost.’ Then sat back and peered at the map.
A sniff. ‘Told you he was useless.’
The wee loon pulled a face. ‘See, I’m thinking there’s maybe a case fornotreporting it.’ Running a finger around the map. ‘If you’ve just accidentally-on-purpose killed the guy who broke into your house to rape you – or your wife, girlfriend, mother, child – do you ditch the body in the riverthencall the police to say “Help! We’ve been attacked!”?’
True. ‘Not if you wanted to get away with it.’
Another yellow nib. ‘So maybe you don’t report it at all? Or maybe you report it as something else, cos you need a crime number for the insurance? Which is why I did go back to the housebreakings again.’
Logan sat up. ‘Anything for last night?’
‘Near Duthie Park?’
‘Preferably.’
‘No.’ Tufty tore a teeny square of yellow from a Post-it and stuck it down near the airport. ‘Last night we’ve got three in Rubislaw, one in Northfield, one in Stoneywood, and two in Danestone.’ Tapping each location in turn. ‘Busy night for thieves of a cat-like nature.’
‘Then we start in Rosemount and work our way out.’ Logan thumped Rennie. ‘Drive.’
A groan. ‘Should we not be leaving this to Biohazard?’
‘Where’s your team spirit? Besides, like you say: Keira won’t be at work till this evening. Maybe we can get this thing solved before then?’
After all, you never knew your luck...
23
Logan stepped out of the front door of number eighty-six, into a fancy portico with granite pillars, because the houses in this bit of Rubislaw weren’t exactly modest. Big flash homes with big flash gardens and big flash cars parked outside.
Mr Copeland followed him out into the sunshine – wringing his hands. Mid-seventies, in a ‘LOCHSKIANHOTEL’ polo shirt, shorts, baldy head, and hairy knees. ‘It’s allquitedistressing, really.’
Logan tucked his notebook away. ‘It might be an idea to get a decent padlock on your shed. You never know when thieves will strike.’
‘Oh yes, definitely. Definitely.’ Nodding so hard his wattles wobbled. ‘Thank you, Officer.’
Greasy, lying, hairy-kneed fraud that he was.
A quick nod, and Logan wandered off, down the driveway and around the corner, onto Forest Road.
How thick did he think Logan was? Someone broke into his shed and made off with a ride-on lawn mower worththree-thousand-pounds, a chainsaw, a petrol strimmer, pole saw, and over two grand’s worth of power tools?
Aye, right.
The front lawn was nowhere near big enough for a ride-on mower – most of it was lock-block parking for the two Jagsand a Lexus – and the back garden had been covered in paving slabs. OK: it was a verynicepatio, but doubt it needed a lot of mowing.
