was silence and frowning.
Then Young turned to Jane. ‘Well?’
‘Hmmm … I might be able to sell that, but we’ll need some insulation in case it all goes tits up. Something to stop our fingers getting burned.’
‘Agreed. If DI King can catch whoever abducted Professor Wilson, it’ll vindicate NE Division for keeping him on the case. Even better if he can get the Professor back alive.’ A nod, then a scowl. ‘But if he can’t, we look negligent for not suspending him. And I, for one, am not bending over for a pineappleing.’
Jane bit her top lip for a moment, staring off into the middle distance. ‘How about this: we put someone in to “support” him? That way, if he fails, we’ve at least got plausible deniability.’
Ah the joys of Police Scotland politics. Setting some poor sod up to take the blame if it all went wrong – but the top brass would grab the glory if it all went right. Nothing ever changed.
Logan shook his head. ‘And who’s going to be the lucky scapegoat?’
The smile Jane gave him was half crocodile, half serial killer. ‘Well, who better than someone from Professional Standards? That would show we’re serious about it.’
Bevan stiffened in her seat. ‘Ah … Perhaps that’s not—’
‘And who better than a bona-fide police hero? Someone with a Queen’s Medal?’
What?
Logan stared at her. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a minute: I only got back to work yesterday!’
‘I like it.’ Young nodded. ‘Yes. McRae brings a lot of press goodwill with him.’
‘But—’
‘This way, if DI King turns out to still be a … what was it, “bigoted tosspot”? You can yank him off the case, Logan. And if he’s not, but he fails anyway, you can vouch that he’s really tried his best.’
Not a chance in hell.
Logan turned to Bevan, eyes wide.
Come on, say something. Tell them!
She took a deep breath. ‘Agreed.’
Agreed?
‘No, not agreed. I’m not—’
‘Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a Tulliallan Goon Squad descending in twenty minutes to moan about these arson attacks.’ Young stood, his top half disappearing off the TV. ‘Keep me informed.’
‘Bye.’ Jane’s evil smile widened a couple of inches as she pointed a remote at the camera. Then the screen went blank, leaving Logan and Bevan alone in the room.
He got to his feet. ‘Well thank you very much.’
‘Oh come on, Logan, don’t be like that. You were happy enough keeping an eye on DI King yesterday.’
‘“A watching brief”, you said!’ Throwing his hands out. ‘This isn’t even vaguely the same thing.’
‘Logan, you’re—’
‘You hung me out like a pair of damp socks!’
A sigh. ‘I’m sure it won’t be as bad as—’
‘I only got back to work yesterday and you’ve got me set up as the scapegoat’s scapegoat!’
Bevan went very still. ‘Logan, I know we’ve not worked together before, so I’m going to pretend you didn’t just talk to your superintendent like that. I appreciate things haven’t exactly been easy for you over the last year, but there’s only so far I’m willing to bend. Are we clear?’
Oh great, so now it was his fault?
Bloody, buggering …
He gritted his teeth. ‘Yes, Boss.’
‘There we go. All forgiven and forgotten.’ She stood and clapped her hands. ‘Now, why don’t we go sing “Happy Birthday” to Shona, cut the cake, then you can go support DI King. I’m sure he’ll be glad of the help.’
There was something slightly surreal about a group of twenty officers, all standing about in their Police Scotland black uniforms, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ while wearing gaily-coloured party hats. Pointy ones. As if this was some sort of celebration for ninja gnomes.
As the last note warbled away in questionable three-part harmony, a pink-faced Shona hauled in a breath and blew out the candles on her cake. Everyone cheered. Then a handful of them produced party poppers and set them off, draping her with streamers.
Bevan smiled at them all. ‘All right, all right. You can have a lot of fun without being stupid.’
Speaking of which …
Logan sidled over to Tufty and Karl – both of whom were wearing their party hats at very rakish angles – while Shona cut the cake.
‘Have you pair managed to find anything?’
A pout from Tufty. ‘Karl won’t let me have any more Red Bulls.’
Karl bared his teeth in a big broad smile. ‘I have to say, Logan, your young friend here is quite the kid who whizzes, oh my, yes.’ He gave Tufty a wee playful punch on the shoulder. ‘But I’m afraid we’ve hit an impasse. Brave Sir Tufty’s algorithmic methodology is inspired, but without more computing power, it’s like trying to push a ten-tonne blancmange uphill wearing nothing but flip-flops and an amusing hat.’ He raised his to the height of its elastic, then let go so it pinged back down again.
‘Cake?’ Superintendent Bevan appeared, bearing three paper plates with slabs of yellowy sponge on them. She handed one to Karl. ‘Here we go.’
‘Ooh, my! Is this the sainted cake of lemon drizzle I see before me?’ He helped himself to a mouthful, chewing with his eyes closed. ‘Divine!’
She gave one to Logan and the other to Tufty. ‘Birthday lunch at one o’clock. Logan’s brought enough sausages to feed a battalion.’
Karl slapped him on the back. ‘Good man.’
Bevan wandered off to distribute more slices and Tufty filled his gob, getting crumbs all down himself, mumbling through his mouthful. ‘If we had access to a bunch of high-powered servers we might be able to do something about it.’
‘But, alas, we are deficient in that kind of kit. So I’m afraid we’re done.’
Ah well, it’d been worth a try.
Logan took a bite of cake – sharp and sweet and bursting with lemon. ‘So if I could find you someone with a bunch of dirty big computers, you’d be able to track down whoever sent that first tweet?’
A
