Laughter.
The constable blushed. ‘If you want a proper name we should call him Cornwall – he’s the one who blinds the Earl of Gloucester in King Lear. You know, Shakespeare?’
Pirie just stared at him. ‘If you don’t have anything constructive to add, Constable: shut up.’
Rennie put his hand down and Finnie’s sidekick nodded. ‘Now, does anyone else have any stupid comments…?’ Silence. ‘Good. We got Dr Goulding to update the profile following the attack on DS McRae and DI Steel on Friday. I’ve got copies here at the front – make sure you take one and read it. Dr Goulding believes we’re now looking for two men.’ The e-fits appeared on the screen. ‘You’ll have seen these faces on posters all over town, but bear in mind they’re probably wrong. No offence to DS McRae, but his source is highly questionable. Posters went up Friday evening and we’ve not had a single positive identification yet. So forget the e-fits: we’re looking at a pair of men in their mid to late twenties. One will be older than the other – probably very charismatic – the younger man is following him and may be mentally subnormal.’
Steel made another Rennie joke.
Pirie carried on, ignoring the laughter: ‘We need to start looking at the usual care-in-the-community jobs. Find out if any of them have recently fallen in with an older man.’ The DS fiddled his paperwork into a neat pile. ‘I would have expected the Polish community to come out in force on this one, given the fact it’s them being targeted, but I get the feeling they wouldn’t talk to us even if they knew. It’s a conspiracy of silence out there. Keep that in mind when you’re interviewing them – they don’t trust us.’
The inspector let Pirie finish his briefing before she handed out the day’s assignments. ‘One last thing,’ she said, before anyone could escape, ‘the language in this department is fucking shocking. We’re going to do something about that.’ She grabbed her carrier bag from the floor and dragged out a big tin of Quality Street.
An excited murmur went around the room.
‘Don’t get your hopes up, I’ve eaten them all.’ The tin went on the desk at the front of the room, then Steel put on a sing-song voice, as if she was speaking to very small, very thick children, ‘This is our new swear box, isn’t that exciting! And every time you rude bastards come out with some verbal filth, you have to put money in it.’
Everyone groaned.
‘Oh shut up. When it’s full the money either goes to charity or we stick it behind the bar and get blootered.’
She crumpled up the empty carrier bag and stuck it in her pocket. ‘And before I forget: since his brother got blinded it looks like Creepy Colin McLeod’s been doing a world tour of the local lowlife with his pet claw hammer. Harry Jordan got his kneecaps done last night – that makes six. Now I know drug dealers and affiliated scumbags aren’t as cute as puppies and kittens, but that doesn’t mean Creepy gets to cripple them. Eyes and ears open, people.’
She sniffed, then stared at them for a moment. No Questions. ‘Right, we’re done. One quick chorus of “We are not at home to Mr Fuck-Up” then you can all go catch some bloody crooks for a change.’
By half past eight Logan was on the phone to the hospital, checking up on Kevin Murray – the man who’d got his nose cut in half on Friday night. Apparently he’d been given lots of stitches, lots of painkillers and was back on the street within twenty-four hours.
There was no sign of the four hoodies who’d attacked him.
‘It’s like a bloody jungle out there most weekends,’ said the inspector in charge of the CCTV room, covering the front of his white shirt with cake crumbs. ‘We’ve got the four little sods on tape, but there’s no way to make an ID.’ He called up the footage, letting it play across one of the monitors that dominated the wall opposite the control desk. ‘See? They never even look at a camera. Keep their faces hidden the whole time.’
Logan helped himself to a slice of coconut sponge. ‘They had Manchester accents, if that helps?’
‘It doesn’t.’ The inspector spooled the tape forward a bit, and Logan watched Kevin Murray go down in a spray of blood. Hoodie Number One bounced in front Logan, then he and his fellow thugs were off and running. The picture tilted to follow them, then jumped to another camera. Then another one… And then they were gone, vanishing into one of the little side roads off George Street. Swallowed by granite and shadow.
Logan finished his mouthful. ‘Thought Britain had more CCTV cameras per head of population than anywhere in the world?’
‘Don’t you bloody start – I get enough of that from the wife.’ The inspector pointed at a stack of VHS videos in their black cases. ‘Got about forty hours’ worth of drug-related stabbings and fights there, if you want it?’
Logan patted him on the shoulder and said he’d think about it.
DI Steel was slumped in her office with her feet up on the desk, a cup of coffee sitting in front of her, while she fiddled about in her cleavage. Logan settled down into the only visitor chair that didn’t look as if it was covered in pee-stains. ‘Is it just me,’ he said, ‘or is Pirie a total wanker?’
‘Yup…’ The inspector kept on rummaging.
‘I mean, can you believe all that rubbish? “The profile says this, the profile says that.” Idiot.’ There were copies of the e-fits on the inspector’s desk, Logan picked them up, staring at the two faces. ‘We know Oedipus isn’t in his early twenties – Rory saw him – he had grey hair… And what kind of serial nut-job goes after Simon McLeod?’
‘Suicidal one?’ She managed to get two hands down the front of her shirt.
‘Would you stop doing that?’
‘Lost a bit of nicotine gum…’
Logan took another good long look at the e-fit of the older man. Short grey hair, chiselled jaw, stern eyes… ‘Does he not look a bit … familiar to you?’
Steel snatched it off him, one hand still well and truly rammed down her cleavage as she squinted at the composite photo. ‘No.’ She handed it back. ‘Susan and me watched that Indiana Jane and the Temple of Dildos last night. Brilliant. Tell you, she can raid my forbidden palace any time she likes.’ Steel gave up on the rummaging, stood, and untucked her grey blouse.
‘If you’re getting naked, I’m leaving the room.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself…’ She jiggled up and down until a small white rectangle of gum fell out onto the carpet. ‘Aha! Knew it was in there somewhere.’ She bent to retrieve her spoils.
‘What if Rory screwed us over?’
‘Nah,’ said Steel, brushing the fluff off her nicotine gum, before popping it in her mouth, ‘the wee shite only likes little girls.’
‘No – I mean what if this isn’t the guy who attacked us in the house? Rory didn’t want to ID them in the first place, was scared in case they found out. What if Rory fiddled the description so he’d be in the clear?’
‘I’ll bloody kill him!’
‘Maybe
