Milky: mid-twenties, in black jeans and a Klangers T-shirt, her shoulder-length hair dyed an unnatural shade of mahogany. ‘He’d have got bloody fingerprints on the bottle too.’ She hit him again, for luck.
Heather nodded. ‘Exactly. And …’ She swivelled her ancient office chair around till she was frowning at Logan. Then back to King. ‘No offence, Boss, but are we really doing this in front of Professional Standards?’
Logan smiled at them all. ‘Don’t mind me.’
‘I mean it’s a bit … you know. If we have to take a care every time we open our mouths, it’s going to stifle the free flow of information and ideas. Plus he’ll write it all down and use it against us later.’
‘Try to pretend I’m not here.’
King grimaced. ‘If only.’ He pointed at Tufty’s tormentor. ‘What about you?’
Milky sucked her teeth for a moment, then let her Yorkshire drawl loose on the world once more. ‘I’m worried ’bout all these death and rape threats.’
Tufty shifted in his seat. ‘But we can’t risk it, can we? Say I’m right—’
‘Which you’re not.’ Heather lobbed another crumpled Post-it at him.
‘Yeah, but say I’m right and Professor Wilson’s slit his wrists then wandered off to die somewhere. We’re going to look a right bunch of spuds if his body turns up in the woods, two hundred yards from the house, aren’t we?’
Milky groaned. ‘Media will love that.’
‘Agreed. It’s not worth the risk.’ King crunched his way through another mint. ‘Heather: get a dog team organised. I want those woods search-and-sniffed ASAP.’
A lopsided smile. ‘We could take Gibbs instead? He could do with the exercise.’
‘A proper dog team, H, not you and your mental cocker spaniel again.’
She sighed. ‘Guv.’ Then pulled out her phone and went to stand in the corner, one finger in her ear as she made the call.
‘Good.’ King pointed at Milky and Tufty. ‘And you two: Professor Wilson’s colleagues need interviewing. We’re looking for enemies, fights, threats. Was he depressed? Do they think he might have harmed himself? Make sure you check every single alibi – you know what academics are like.’
Tufty’s hand shot up again. ‘Ooh, ooh! What about the social-media side of things, Guv? There’s all these Alt-Nat accounts gloating about the Professor being dead, and all these Unionistas wading in to do battle against them. It’s Keyboard Armageddon out there.’
‘What about it?’
A slightly puzzled look. ‘We need to investigate, don’t we? Who are they? How did they know something happened to Professor Wilson before we did? A sticky digital trail of clues could lead us straight to the murderer!’
Milky rolled her eyes. ‘It’s like he’s been half drowned in Idiot Juice …’ She checked her watch. ‘We could ask the forensic computer-geek team?’
‘Have you seen their backlog?’ King shook his head. ‘We’ll have died of old age by the time they get anywhere near it.’
Tufty still had his hand up, but now he was bouncing in his seat too. ‘I can do it! I can! I has resources and mad skillz and stuff!’
King scowled at him. ‘You’re interviewing academics for the rest of the day and liking it.’
‘But—’
‘Interviews!’
The wee loon sagged in his seat, all the bounce taken out of him. ‘Guv …’ To be honest, he only had himself to blame.
Logan waved at King. ‘We’ve got someone at PSD who might be able to take a look. Does all our computer forensics.’
A little bounce made its way back into Tufty. ‘Honestly, I could do it. It’s no trouble.’
‘Go.’ King pointed at the door. ‘Away with you.’
And the last bounce died. ‘Guv.’ Tufty scuffed his way from the room.
Milky stood. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye ont lad.’ Then she followed him out.
King turned to Logan. ‘This IT guy of yours, is he …’
A kerfuffle in the doorway made them both look as DS Steel appeared, arms out, stopping Detective Constable Way from escaping. ‘Hope you’re off on a tea run, Milky. Two and a coo for me.’ A suggestive wink, then she stepped aside, letting Milky squeeze past.
There was a pause as King pulled himself up to his full height, chest out. Frowning down at Steel. ‘Well?’
She stuck both hands in her pockets and sauntered in. ‘What-ho, sharny bumholes?’
King stiffened. ‘Is that how you speak to superior officers?’
Apparently.
‘I’ve finished your stupid door-to-doors and you know what I got? Go on: guess.’
Heather emerged from the corner, stuffing her phone back in her pocket. ‘Guv? I’ve managed to sort us a dog unit, but we’ll need to wait till they’ve finished in Banff. They’re dunting a druggie’s door in at half one.’
‘What I’ve got,’ Steel stuck a hand down the front of her shirt and had a rummage – rearranging things, ‘is sore feet, midge bites, and a sweat-sticky cleavage. It’s like a teenager’s wet dream down here.’
Logan shuddered. ‘Urgh …’
King turned his back on her. ‘They give you an ETA, Heather?’
‘Minimum two hours, plus travelling time.’
Steel extracted her hand and wiped it on her suit trousers, leaving a damp smear. ‘Did a three-mile radius and you know how many houses I found? Six. Six houses full of weird wee teuchtery people with webbed feet and no chins cos Mummy married Uncle Daddy.’
‘Two hours?’ King sighed. ‘Not ideal, but it’ll have to do.’
Heather tried her lopsided smile again. ‘Sure you don’t want to give Gibbs another go?’
‘Inbred old gits didn’t have a pair of teeth between them. Whole place reeked of banjos and “squeal piggy!”’
‘We’ll need to get on to the Superintendent: try and drum up some more bodies.’ King took out his phone ‘Have a word with—’
‘HOY!’ Steel banged a hand down on the nearest desk. ‘Are you tossers even listening to me?’
They might not have been before, but they were now.
King’s eyes bugged. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Should
