back to the board. ‘If you’ve got bad news, you can sod off and share it with someone else.’
Guthrie handed him the mug, a wee pout pulling his pale face out of shape. With his semi-skimmed skin, faint ginger hair, and blond eyebrows he looked like a ghost that had been at the pies. ‘Milk, two sugars.’
‘Oh … sorry.’ Logan took the offered mug.
The constable nodded. ‘But while I’ve got you, Sarge, any chance you can take a look at tomorrow’s drug bust? McPherson’s SIO and you know what that means …’
Logan did. ‘When you going in?’
‘Half-three.’
‘Well, at least it’s an early morning shout. The buggers will still be …’ He could see Guthrie’s face pulling itself into an ugly grimace. ‘What?’
‘Not AM, Sarge, PM.’
‘You’re going in at half-three in the afternoon? Are you mad?’
‘Any chance you could, you know, have a word with him?’
‘They’ll all be wide awake and ready for a fight, resisting arrest, doing a runner, destroying evidence—’
‘Setting their sodding huge dogs on us, yeah, I know: Shuggie Webster’s just got himself a Rottweiler the size of a minibus.’ Guthrie sidled closer. ‘Maybe you could talk to Finnie? Tell him McPherson’s being a dick?’
Logan took a sip of coffee. ‘Gah …’ He handed it back. ‘Not that you deserve it, making coffee like that.’
Guthrie grinned. ‘Thanks, Sarge.’
Logan pushed through the doors and out into the corridor. He paused outside Detective Chief Inspector Finnie’s office, took a deep breath and knocked just as the door swung open.
Acting DI MacDonald froze on the threshold, flinching as Logan’s knuckles jerked to a halt just short of his nose. ‘Jesus …’
Logan smiled. ‘Sorry Mark, I mean Guv.’
MacDonald nodded, a blush turning the skin pink around his little goatee beard. ‘Yes, well, if you’ll excuse me, Sergeant.’ Then he pushed past, limped back up the corridor to his new office and disappeared inside, slamming the door behind him.
Sergeant? Two weeks in the job and Acting DI MacDonald was already acting like a tosser.
Logan peered into Finnie’s office. The head of CID was behind his desk, face creased into a scowl. Colin Miller, the Aberdeen Examiner’s star reporter sat in one of the leather visitors’ chairs, smoothing the crease on his immaculate trousers. A pile of dirty laundry slumped in the other chair, mouth thrown open in a jaw-cracking yawn.
Detective Inspector Steel finished with a little burp and a shudder, then sagged even further. Her greying hair stuck up in random directions like a malformed Einstein wig. She ran a hand across her face, pulling the deep-blue-grey bags under her eyes all out of shape. Then let go and the wrinkles took over again. She sniffed. ‘We going to be much longer? Only I’ve got a wean with a temperature to go home to.’
Finnie drummed his fingers on the desk. The note lay beside his keyboard in a clear plastic envelope, the paper pristine white and shining. He stared at Logan. ‘Yes?’
Logan held up the report Samantha had delivered. ‘DNA result.’
Collin Miller sat up straight. ‘Oh aye?’
Logan looked at Finnie, the reporter, then back to Finnie again. ‘Sir?’
‘Some time today would be good, Sergeant, before we all lose the will to live.’
‘Ah, right.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It’s positive. DNA matches Jenny McGregor.’
Finnie nodded, his thick rubbery lips pressed into a down-turned line. ‘There’s no need to sound so dramatic, Sergeant. Where do you think the kidnappers got the thing from, Toes R Us? Of course it’s Jenny’s.’ He sat back in his seat. ‘What about the envelope and note?’
Steel held up a hand. ‘Let me guess, sod all.’
Logan ignored her. ‘Same as all the others: no fingerprints, no DNA, no fibre, no hairs, no dust – no trace of any kind. Nothing.’
‘She shoots, she scores!’
‘Inspector, that’s enough.’ Finnie peered down at the note on his desk. ‘“We gave them simple, clear, instructions, but they still was late. So we got no other choice: we had to cut off the wee girl’s toe.”’ He pinched his lips together. ‘Mr Miller, I take it we’re going to be seeing this in tomorrow’s paper.’
‘Aye, got it all set up for the front page: Jenny Tortured – Kidnappers Hack Off Toe.’
‘I see …’ Finnie steepled his fingers. ‘And you sure it’s wise to print something like that? The public are already very upset, and—’
‘Naw, you know the deal here: I have to print it. Just like I had to read it out at that bloody press conference. You think I wanted to do that? Jesus, man, I’d’ve kept it secret till the paper came out tomorrow mornin’. Now I’ve got no exclusive and every bastard tabloid and broadsheet in the country’s goin’ to run it. No’ to mention it’s probably already on the bloody telly.’ The reporter shrugged. ‘Got no choice, but. I publish, or Jenny and her mum die.’
Finnie ran a hand through his floppy brown hair. ‘Then the least you can do is put our side of things. We weren’t given enough time to respond to the call, given the conditions. And the toe was severed long before we got there.’ He looked up. ‘Wasn’t it, Sergeant?’
Logan nodded. ‘We were set up.’
The reporter had his notepad out. ‘That a quote?’
Finnie coughed. ‘Call it, “sources close to the investigation”.’
‘Gonnae give us details?’
‘DS McRae can fill you in on the way out – the usual restrictions apply. Now unless there’s anything else …?’ The DCI turned back to his computer.
‘Actually sir,’ Logan nodded towards the CID room, ‘I need to have a quick word with you. About another operation?’
Steel hauled herself out of her chair, then stood there, bent almost double for a moment, before straightening up with a sigh. ‘Come on, Weegie Boy, you can walk us to the front door while the lovers here have their wee tryst.’ She lowered her voice to a theatrical whisper. ‘That means they’re going to have a shag.’
‘Thank you, Inspector, that will be all.’
Logan waited until the door clunked shut. ‘No offence, sir, but I’d rather keep our relationship platonic.’
Finnie glowered at him. ‘I allow Steel a little latitude because, despite everything, she’s an effective detective inspector. You however …’
