went back to the PowerPoint presentation, bringing up an aerial shot of Macduff ripped off Google Earth. A crude red arrow with ‘Raid Here!!!’ sat on top of the image, pointing at Ricky and Laura Welsh’s place.
Click, and it was replaced with a front-view of the house: a whitewashed cottage, sandwiched a third of the way down a terrace of identikit Scottish homes. The slate roof boasted a pair of dormer windows, which – along with the two downstairs windows and red-painted door – gave the place a slightly startled appearance. As if it didn’t approve of the things going on inside it.
Isla scanned the briefing notes, a wee crease forming between her eyebrows. ‘If Jessica “Ma” Campbell is the one supplying the drugs, are we expecting her or one of her minions to be there protecting their investment? If we are, I want to up my hospital number.’
‘It’s possible, but I’d be more worried about the Welshes’ dog.’ Click. A massive Saint Bernard replaced the house photo. ‘Looks cuddly, but we’re talking full-on Cujo here.’
‘Exactly.’ Logan pointed at the three of them. ‘So anyone not carrying Bite Back deserves all they get. Are we—’
A knock at the door, and Inspector McGregor peered into the room. ‘Ah, there you are.’ She pulled on a smile. It didn’t look very convincing. ‘Logan, have you got a minute? We need to chat.’
OK, well that didn’t sound ominous at all.
‘Guv.’ He gave Tufty a nod. ‘Finish up the briefing, then I want the Method of Entry paperwork sorted. And no spelling mistakes this time. Let’s be ready to rock first thing Sunday night.’ Then Logan followed the Inspector out into the corridor.
The smell of smoked fish hung in the air like a manky perfume.
Voices boomed out of the open canteen door – someone telling a joke about two nuns, a druggy, and a greengrocer.
This bit of the corridor was lined with street maps of Banff and Macduff, with all the sketchy houses marked in red. Then there was the tiny alcove lined with high-viz jackets on one side and a little sink on the other. The door to the gents lurked beyond the coats, the sounds of whistling coming from within. Past the alcove was the canteen, where, apparently, one of the nuns was doing something sacrilegious with a cucumber. Then the door through to the main office.
A plainclothes officer peered out of it into the corridor. She frowned at them. ‘Sorry, but has anyone seen DS Robertson? Anyone? No?’
Laughter burst from the canteen as whatever the punchline was arrived.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Never mind.’ Then marched across the hall into the canteen, where all hilarity immediately ceased.
‘My station is infested.’ Inspector McGregor glowered at the open door for a moment, then smoothed down her black police-issue T-shirt. ‘Logan, DCI Steel tells me you identified her murder victim and a possible suspect.’
‘She did?’ He pulled his chin in, backing away from the subject. ‘That’s a bit out of character. Normally you can’t prise credit out of her with laxatives and a crowbar.’
Especially given how they’d left things: him ditching her to come back here, her storming off to Whitehills with Rennie. And Steel was giving him credit?
‘Apparently your assistance has been invaluable in progressing her investigation.’
‘OK, now you’re scaring me.’
There was a thump and a rattle. Then the door to the tiny gents loo opened and a large bearded man in a baggy suit appeared, hauling his trousers up around his armpits. He pulled the door shut. ‘Sergeant. Ma’am.’ He turned the taps on above the little sink and washed his hands. ‘I’d give it five minutes if I were you.’
McGregor narrowed her eyes. ‘Infested.’ Then she turned and marched down the corridor. ‘Logan: heel.’
Logan followed her through the main office with its collection of new people – all bashing away at the phones and laptops – out and round into the stairwell – where a lumpy man in a lumpier suit was blethering away into his mobile – and up the winding wooden steps to the first floor. Where they had to squeeze past two officers womanhandling a desk along the landing.
McGregor led the way through a blue door that had ‘BANFF & BUCHAN INSPECTOR’ printed out on a laminated sheet of paper on it, mounted beneath a removable brass nameplate: ‘WENDY MCGREGOR ~ INSPECTOR’.
As soon as Logan was inside, she slammed it shut.
Just like the Fraserburgh Inspectors’ Office, there were a pair of corkboards mounted on opposite walls. One with a map of B Division, the other a street map of Banff and Macduff. But where Fraserburgh was all beech units and sleek modern lines, this one had the same high ceilings as the rest of the station, fancy cornices, and a moulded ceiling rose. Two windows sat in the corner of the room, the left-hand one giving a rain-streaked view of the street, the one straight ahead overlooking the car park and the bay.
She stamped across the blue carpet and hurled herself into the seat behind her desk. ‘They’re like … bloody … vermin! They’ve eaten all the Maltesers from the vending machine, we can’t keep milk in the fridge,’ she leaned forwards and jabbed a finger against her mouse mat, ‘and I had a whole malt loaf here yesterday. Now there’s nothing left but the wrapper. There’s not even crumbs; they licked it clean!’
Logan stood to attention. Kept his mouth shut.
Probably safest. Just in case she felt like lashing out at someone. Best not to give her an excuse.
‘I want them gone, Logan.’ She swivelled left and right in her chair. ‘I want them gone.’
Waves surged along the darkened beach.
She hissed out a breath, then spread her hands along the desk. ‘DI Steel has put in a formal request to the Area Commander. She wants you seconded to her Major Investigation Team for the duration.’
The crafty, conniving, manipulative, old bag. So that’s why Steel was so keen to share the credit for identifying Peter Shepherd and Martin Milne. She wanted Logan running around after her again, solving her cases, doing her job for her. Just like the bad old days.
That or she wanted to keep him close, so she could torture him.
‘Yeah… Erm… About that, Guv, I mean, I’ve got a division to run.’ He held up a hand. ‘I’m not saying Peterhead, Fraserburgh, and Mintlaw can’t look after themselves, but we both know they need a grown-up in charge to make sure they’re not all off eating Plasticine and sticking marbles up their noses.’
‘Steel says you’ve proven yourself a valuable resource in progressing the case.’
‘And then there’s the dunt.’ He shifted his feet on the standard-issue blue carpet tiles. ‘We need to get set for bashing in Ricky Welsh’s door and—’
‘She says your experience and local knowledge is an invaluable asset.’
‘It’s simply not possible. I need to be here so we can—’
‘I want them gone, Logan.’
