know what happens to people who abduct children, don’t you Rory?’
‘I was looking right at them as they went past.’
‘How much was that little girl worth? How much was someone going to pay you for her?’
‘I… If I tell you about those men, can you make all this … go away?’
Logan doubted it. ‘The Chief Constable doesn’t like it when we let paedophiles go: says it doesn’t look good in the papers. But…’ He glanced over his shoulder at the uniformed PC standing against the wall, then dropped his voice to a whisper, ‘I could have a word with the Procurator Fiscal. Let her know you’re helping with a major investigation. It’d be up to her whether we prosecute or not.’
Rory wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead, and said, ‘OK, let’s do it.’
By the time four o’clock arrived, Logan had reasonable e-fits for the men who’d blinded Simon McLeod and concussed DI Steel. He’d just finished signing Rory back into custody when DS Pirie appeared. ‘The boss wants to see you.’
Which was lucky, because Logan wanted to see him too.
Detective Chief Inspector Finnie’s office was one of the bigger ones on the fourth floor, with a view of the rear podium car park and the back of a row of granite buildings. DS Pirie sat back against the windowsill, flicking through a forensics report, a smug smile on his face. A couple of Eric Auld prints graced the walls above Finnie’s desk, their cheerful summery colours in complete contrast with the DCI’s expression as he put the phone down and glowered at Logan.
‘How many times do we have to have this discussion, Sergeant?’
‘Sir?’
‘Did I imagine it, or did I tell you to run everything by me before you did it?’
‘But you said—’
‘So imagine my disappointment when I found out that you interviewed the only witness we’ve got to the Oedipus attacks, without even telling me he existed.’
‘We caught him trying to lure children—’
‘I have six people with their eyes gouged out, Sergeant McRae: six. And not only did you spectacularly fail to arrest the man who did it – don’t interrupt – you also concealed a witness!’ He started a slow round of applause. ‘Good job. Well done. You must be so proud. I can’t imagine why you haven’t made DI yet.’
He held out his hand, and Logan had a sudden urge to spit in it.
‘Well,’ said Finnie, ‘let’s see these e-fits then.’
Logan gave him the printouts, and the DCI examined the two identikit faces. One was in his mid-thirties: heavy eyebrows, thickset features, broken nose, and little piggy eyes. The other looked like an ageing movie star – the kind who was still playing the hero in action films: grey hair, steely eyes.
‘And do we believe these are accurate?’
‘Simpson’s done time in Peterhead before, he knows what’ll happen to him if he gets sent down again.’
‘You’re cutting him a deal?’
‘He thinks I am.’
‘I see…’ Finnie settled back in his chair, fingers steepled together as he considered the ceiling for a moment. ‘Pirie?’
His sidekick barely glanced at the printouts. ‘I don’t like it. The profile says we’re looking for a single white male in his mid-twenties.’
Logan said, ‘Well, the profile’s wrong then, isn’t it?’
Pirie held up the e-fit of the older man. ‘Are you positive this is what he looked like?’
Logan opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Coughed. ‘Technically I didn’t actually see either of them – well, I did, but it was dark and I had a face full of pepper-spray – but Rory Simpson—’
‘Is a paedophile looking at some serious jail-time for breaking his parole conditions. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could spit him: he’s just telling you what you want to hear.’ Pirie smiled – patronizing sod. ‘The profile clearly says our boy’s local and he works on his own. So this—’
‘Don’t be an idiot, Pirie.’ Finnie pursed his rubbery lips, and swivelled back and forth on his seat a couple of times. ‘We’re not ignoring evidence just because it disagrees with the profile. Email those faces to Dr Goulding, tell him I need an update ASAP. And get some posters made up: I want them all over Aberdeen by close of play. “Have you seen these men?” etcetera.’ He looked at Logan. ‘Anything else?’
‘The older one had an Eastern European accent. He definitely wasn’t local.’
Pirie curled his top lip. ‘Every time there’s a new victim we get an anonymous phone call. Usually on the victim’s own mobile. Voice is muffled, Slavic accent. We’re pretty sure it’s a put on: he sounds like Mr Chekov from Star Trek. Dr Goulding thinks our boy’s either mocking his victims, or using them as a cipher.’
Finnie waved a hand at him. ‘Oh, thank you, that’s very helpful. A “cipher”: that’s really going to help us catch the bastard.’ He snatched the printouts from Pirie and stuck them in the middle of the desk. ‘DS McRae, I want you to set up a meeting with Dr Goulding. Go through everything that happened today.’
Logan groaned. ‘But, sir—’
‘As soon as possible, Sergeant.’ He stared off into the distance for a moment. Then smiled. ‘Has anyone spoken to Simon McLeod’s next of kin yet?’
‘Ah…’ Logan could feel the blush rising in his cheeks – he’d been putting that particular task off since getting back from the hospital. ‘Actually I thought that would be better … coming from someone more senior.’
‘Excellent.’ Finnie levered himself to his feet. ‘I think it’s time for us to indulge in some real police work, don’t you gentlemen? Pirie, get a pool car sorted. We’re going to pay our respects.’
The traffic was dreadful, a stop-start procession of people trying to beat the rush hour and failing miserably. ‘Lazy bastards,’ said DS Pirie from the driver’s seat. ‘Look at them all. Why does no one work till five o’clock any more?’
Logan sat in the back, watching the sunshine glinting off a pale white blob in skinny jeans and an ‘UP THE DONS!’ T-shirt. Her arms were already starting to go lobster-red. Aberdonians just weren’t designed for the sun.
Finnie turned round in the passenger seat and handed Logan a clear plastic evidence pouch with a sheet of paper in it. ‘We received this in the morning post.’
You still will not do anything!! You are CORRUPT. You sit there in your tower of SIN and you let THEM run around free from consequence. You complain when the SHEEP do not behave themselves, but you do nothing about the foreign wolves!
The
