Part 21 (1/2)

The inspector opened his mouth to say something, but the DCS held up a hand. 'No, don't thank me yet,' he reached into his inside pocket, pulled out a crime report and pa.s.sed it over, 'soon as this came in I knew you'd appreciate it.'

Insch unfolded the form, eyes scanning the details, his face slowly splitting into a wide grin.

'Thought so.' The DCS winked. 'Just try not to p.i.s.s him off too much, OK? If I get more than three complaints about your behaviour I'm giving it to someone else. Understand?'

'Yes, sir, thank you, sir.'

'Very good. Carry on, Inspector.' The DCS picked up his folder, gave them both a jaunty wave and left.

Logan waited for Insch to explain, but the huge fat man was too busy dancing a happy little jig. It wasn't a pretty sight.

'You'll never guess what,' he said at last, face flushed and sweaty. 'Hissing Sid's in hospital. Someone's kicked the living s.h.i.+t out of him.' He threw his arms open to the heavens and burst into song, 'Zipidee doo dah...'

Jackie wasn't having an affair, and Sandy Moir-Farquharson had been given a good hiding. Logan smiled. Maybe the inspector was right. Maybe it wasn't such a bad day after all.

32.

Aberdeen Royal Infirmary. It was a private room, the blinds drawn against the weak winter suns.h.i.+ne, while Sandy Moir-Farquharson seethed. The lawyer's face was a mess split lip, swollen cheek, black eye, his nose bridged with plastic and tape, a wad of sterile bandage strapped to his forehead. A morphine drip snaked into his left arm, the right resting on top of the sheets, swathed in a cast from elbow to fingertip. 'You thee thomething funny inthpector?' He was missing at least two teeth.

Insch closed his eyes for a second, then said, 'I was just thinking of an amusing anecdote I heard last week, sir.' Fighting to keep a straight face.

'I don't...' The lawyer coughed, eye screwed up in pain. 'Aaggg...' Taking shallow, hissing breaths. And Logan began to feel sorry for the man. They'd treated it like a joke all the way up here in the car, laughing about someone being beaten up badly enough to require hospitalization. Moir-Farquharson slumped back in his bed, a faint sheen of sweat making his forehead glisten. 'I don't want you.'

'I beg your pardon, sir?'

'I don't want you here. I want thomeone else.'

DI Insch shook his head sadly. 'I'm sorry, sir, but this isn't a dating agency. Now what can you tell us about your accident?'

'I wath athaulted!'

'Really?' Insch pulled out an immaculate-looking black notepad and flicked through it. 'Ah, yes, my apologies. a.s.saulted last night as you left your office. Now, do you have any idea who might have some reason to hate you? Any enemies? Anyone you've screwed over, or annoyed? Neighbours, acquaintances, pa.s.sersby, members of the general public perhaps? Outraged at your putting paedophiles, muggers, burglars and rapists back on the streets?' He got a scowl in return.

'How dare you thtand there and-'

Logan jumped in before things got any worse. 'I can a.s.sure you that we take a.s.saults like this very seriously, sir.'

The lawyer turned his baleful, one-eyed gaze on Logan. 'I don't want you either! Thith ith nothing more than a joke to the pair of you!'

'Well, you're welcome to make a complaint about that if you want to-'

'Don't you worry, I will! I'm-'

'-but you know DI Insch and I will do everything we can to find those responsible.' Silence settled in, leaving just the sound of someone screaming for the nurse from further down the corridor. 'Now,' said Logan, 'can you take us through the events leading up to the attack?'

'Well?' said Insch, as they drove back to FHQ, 'what do you think?'

'Wallet missing, watch, briefcase ... could just be a mugging.' Logan frowned. 'But it's a bit OTT, isn't it? More like a punishment beating. I mean it's not like he's short of enemies.'

'Lucky to still be alive. If that cleaner woman hadn't come out when she did the world would be a happier place right now... What? Don't give me that look. I'm only kidding.'

'Forensics?'

Insch dug in his pockets, coming out with a packet of chocolate-covered raisins. 'Too rainy last night. Couple of bloodstains under the car, but fibre's a washout. They're running some prints from the driver's door.'

The traffic grew heavier the closer they got to the centre of town, slowing to a crawl. 'We should start with victims, witnesses, people he's belittled in court.'

'Aye,' said Insch, fighting his way into the packet, tipping a small pile of little brown pellets into his hand and throwing them into his mouth, mumbling as he chewed. 'Better check with Watson first then. She holds a grudge like n.o.body's business.'

That was what Logan was afraid of.

Back at the station the day s.h.i.+ft was winding down. Five to five. Time to grab one last cup of tea before signing out. Logan sat in what was laughingly known as the 'Review Suite' little more than a cupboard with a filing cabinet, a unit full of removable hard drives from the police vans' surveillance cameras, and the MUX desk wedged into it. Once upon a time the MUX had been cutting-edge technology, but now it felt like a steam-powered torture device. Feeling more than a little nauseous Logan ejected the current CCTV tape and slotted in the next one. If you were running the cameras you had some say over where they pointed. The picture moved because you moved it. Watching the tapes afterwards was an impotent exercise in motion sickness as the operators panned and zoomed about as if they were playing a video game. It didn't help that it was roasting in here: the ancient oscillating fan sitting lifeless on the carpet, beyond all hope of resurrection. Not even kicking it had helped. So Logan had wedged open the door in a vain attempt to get some air into the place.

He twisted the big circular control on the MUX and sent the tape reeling into fast-forward, looking for someone running away from Golden Square where Hissing Sid had his offices around the time the lawyer was attacked. The middle of Aberdeen was like a wildlife preserve for CCTV cameras, and Logan had last night's tapes for all of them stacked up on the floor beside him.

Insert tape: whirrrrrrr forward till the timestamp said nine pm; watch people lurch past at one frame a second; look for anything suspicious; feel guilty for not trusting Jackie; feel even guiltier for not telling Rachael it was all a big mistake; watch until the timestamp said nine thirty; eject tape and repeat.

The only highlight came when he was going through the Union Terrace tape the camera tilted at a funny angle, picture partially obscured by a fat-a.r.s.ed pigeon clinging onto a window ledge. Behind the grey feathers was the little alleyway that linked the Terrace with Diamond Street. Half past nine: cars swept by, headlights reflecting back off the rain-slicked tarmac. People wandered into shot, drunks, more cars, a bus, more people Logan scrutinizing each and every face to see if they were on the 'Who Hates Hissing Sid' list he'd compiled with DI Insch and then it happened.

A pair of girlies, staggering up towards Union Street, arms round each other for balance as much as camaraderie, ignoring the rain. The one on the left was wearing what could almost be called a skirt even though it must have been freezing that night her companion a skimpy top and a pair of trousers that looked painted on. But they'd have needed a lot of paint she was huge. They looked up and spotted the camera, laughed, then the big girl hoicked up her top and jiggled.

'Oh dear Jesus...' Logan didn't know whether to laugh or cry it was like watching someone swinging a pair of watermelons about in a duvet. A figure emerged from Diamond Place, hands in pockets, did a double take and limped past, trying not to look at the woman's naked b.o.o.bs. She put them away fast, then she and her friend roared with laughter and carried on up the road and out of sight. Logan ejected the tape, wrote FLASHER on a Post-it note and stuck it to the label. With any luck it would make it onto the Christmas blooper reel, along with all the other idiots who thought it was a good idea to expose their b.r.e.a.s.t.s, w.i.l.l.i.e.s and a.r.s.es to the surveillance cameras.

He dumped the videos back in the CCTV control room and went home.

Eight o'clock. Logan sat bolt upright, blinking, trying to figure out where the h.e.l.l he was... In the lounge, on the sofa, something awful on the television, his mobile phone's shrill squeal competing with the lumpy-looking 'celebrity' singing away on the screen. He grabbed the remote and put her out of his misery, then picked up the phone.

'h.e.l.lo?' Trying not to sound as if he'd just woken up.

'Logan? It's Rachael,'

Oh s.h.i.+t. s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, s.h.i.+t, 'Rachael, hi. I-'

'Thought we had a date?'

Logan checked his watch: eight o'clock, he was supposed to be at the cinema half an hour ago. Which probably meant she was b.l.o.o.d.y furious.

'I'm really sorry.' Why the h.e.l.l didn't he call and cancel? 'I got caught up in an a.s.sault case. Didn't get back...' he sighed. 'I fell asleep.'

'I see.'

'Look, I'm really sorry. I was at that call all last night, only got two hours sleep, then it was non-stop all day. Hissing Sid got attacked...' He sagged back into the sofa cus.h.i.+ons, running a hand over his face, trying to figure out how on earth he was going to tell her it was all one big mistake.