style="font-size:15px;"> Bruce Preston (46) – Possession of Indecent Images; Animal Cruelty; Obstructing, Assaulting, Molesting or Hindering an Officer in the Course of their Duty; Bestiality
‘Well, I suppose…’ Bruce Preston shifted in his seat, squiggling his bum left and right, as if he had worms, or an unreachable itch. He was slightly chubby, slightly balding; completely unremarkable in every way, except for the huge collection of photos of people having sex with dogs the IB had found on his computer. Apparently Bruce’s home-made snaps all featured next door’s Cairn terrier.
He gave a huge, overacting shrug, arms coming out to forty-five degrees. The bitter-oniony stench of stale armpits got even worse. ‘But it’s not really the same thing, is it? Besides, I don’t really watch the TV any more. Not since that cow on Channel Five did that “Britain’s Secret Sex Shame” show.’
‘And you’re sure you don’t know anyone at the hospital, or a vet’s?’
Preston rubbed his fingers along his thighs, cheeks flushing pink. ‘Told you – I’m not allowed within a hundred metres of a veterinary surgery or dog-walking park.’
Logan logged the end of the interview, thanked Bruce Preston for his time, then told him he could see himself out.
As soon as the door clunked shut, Logan sprawled in his chair, hanging over the edges; arms dangling, fingertips brushing the carpet. ‘That was fun.’
Rennie gagged. ‘Bloody hell … Mind if I open the window?’
‘Oh, God, please!’
Clunk. And the sound of traffic filtered in from the nearby dual carriageway, the rumble of a plane fading into the distance, the tweet and whitter of birds.
‘Do you think Steel’s right?’
Logan checked his watch – nearly twenty to four. He stretched, then flopped back again. ‘Been rumours doing the rounds about the “livestock” market for years. Kids, women, snatched to order, sold in secret auctions … All we need to do is catch one of these bastards and the whole thing falls apart.’ There was a creaking noise. He looked over to see Rennie slumped in the other seat, arms hanging over the edges, fingertips brushing the tartan carpet.
‘Will you stop doing that?’
Rennie raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’
‘The bloody monkey-see-monkey-do routine. It’s getting on my nerves.’
‘NLP, my dear Sergeant McRae. Did it when I was on the Interviewer Accreditation Course last month. Got top marks, by the way.’ He slumped back, just like Logan. ‘It puts the subject at ease subconsciously, makes them think they have a connection, an ally in the room.’
‘There’s going to be a bloodstain in the room if you don’t cut it out.’
Rennie sat up straight. ‘What mark did you get?’
‘None of your business.’ Sixty-five percent. ‘How many more on the list for today?’
‘Three. Then it’s DI Bell’s turn.’ He smiled. ‘Hey, maybe we’ll get lucky and crack the case before the end of the day? Interview Superstar Rennie and his sidekick: Sergeant McRae.’
‘You’re a dick, you know that, don’t you?’
Henry MacDonald (24) – Assault, Possession of a Controlled Drug, Drunk and Incapable, Breach of the Peace, Public Indecency
‘Yes, but only on the TV.’ Henry sat completely still in the hotel chair, knees firmly clamped together, hands clasped in his lap. Someone had dressed him up in his Sunday best – a shiny grey suit that looked like a charity shop special. Didn’t really fit him. Hair that he must have cut himself, probably with garden shears.
Rennie crossed his arms, then uncrossed them again. Rearranged himself into Henry’s mirror image. It didn’t take a perfect score in Neuro-Linguistic Programming to see the technique wasn’t going to work this time.
Not that it made any difference. No one was admitting to knowing anyone at Aberdeen Royal Infirmary, Albyn, Wood End, Cornhill, or any of the other hospitals in the north-east. And it was the same story with the area’s fifty-eight veterinarian practices.
Mind you, they were only a third of the way through Grampian’s Sex Offenders’ Register, not to mention the six or seven dozen more on DI Ingram’s unofficial list.
But at least they were doing something…
Silence.
It took Logan a moment to realize both Rennie and MacDonald were staring at him. ‘Hmm…’ He cleared his throat. ‘In what way?’
‘Well,’ Rennie shifted in his chair, ‘I mean, it’s not likely, is it?’
Nope, still no clue.
Logan shrugged. ‘You never know.’ Checked his clipboard. ‘Erm … your social worker says you’ve applied for chemical castration?’
MacDonald shrugged, the barest twitch of his shoulders. ‘I don’t like feeling … I…’ A long, hard frown. ‘I don’t want to be like this any more. Inside…’ He clapped a bony hand to his chest. ‘You understand?’
Not really.
Logan nodded. ‘Well, if you’re sure. And you’re sure you’ve not heard anything about the McGregors?’
‘It’s like being broken all the time.’
‘OK…’
Brian Canter (41) – Attempted Abduction of a Child, Possession of Indecent Images of Children, Attempt to Pervert the Course of Justice
‘I’m sorry if that makes me an unsympathetic character,’ Canter licked his lips – it was like watching a slab of liver slither across a rubber band, ‘but my therapist says I have to be honest about who I am if I’m ever going to get better.’
Rennie cleared his throat. ‘So you’re saying, given the opportunity—’
‘I’d tie Jenny McGregor to a sideboard and fuck her till she split: yes. Might even make her eat her mother out. You know? Do a threesome?’ All said in the same tone of voice normal people reserved for talking about ordering a pizza. ‘I’d probably video it too. You know, so it’d last? I mean, I wouldn’t kill her or anything – they’re no fun if they don’t wriggle.’
Silence.
‘… OK…’ Rennie looked at Logan, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. ‘Erm, Guv?’
‘How often are you seeing your social worker, Mr Canter?’
That dark-purple tongue made another pass across the thin red lips. ‘Every other week?’
‘Right. I see…’ Logan nodded, and wrote, ‘IMMEDIATE 24HR SUPERVISION REQUIRED!!!’ on the form attached to his clipboard and underlined it three times.
14
Logan
