the papers back in his pocket. ‘Do you want to come with us voluntarily, or shall we do it the hard way?’
Walker bit his bottom lip, setting it bleeding again.
Rennie took out his handcuffs and the young man whimpered.
‘Voluntarily, I’ll come voluntarily.’
‘Good move.’ Logan scribbled that down in his notebook, then got Walker to sign it. He pointed the eighteen-year-old towards the door. ‘Anything I should know about before I get a team in here to tear the place apart?’
‘My mum and dad are in Corfu…’ He wiped a hand across his eyes. ‘They’ll kill me.’
Rennie grinned. ‘If I was you, I’d be more worried about my new cellmate.’ He made an obscene, pokey-pokey hand gesture.
Logan scowled at him. Then turned back to Walker. ‘You got any more counterfeit money on the premises?’
Walker stared at the carpet again, snivelling. He took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘There’s another three grand in a holdall in my wardrobe.’
He led them upstairs to a medium-sized bedroom at the front of the house, overlooking the surrounding homes and south towards the River Dee, barely visible through the rain. An easel sat in front of the window, with a landscape of Bennachie sketched out in rough charcoal strokes. The whole place smelled of linseed oil and turpentine.
Walker pointed at the wardrobe sitting next to an unmade single bed. ‘In there.’
Rennie snapped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves and went rummaging.
Logan examined the canvas. ‘Those paintings downstairs yours?’
‘Yeah…’ The young man sniffed. Rubbed at his eyes again. ‘Doing a degree at Gray’s School of Art.’
‘They’re good.’
He shrugged, a blush creeping up his cheeks. ‘I was trying to capture the—’
‘Got it!’ Rennie dragged a black holdall from the mass of shoes and trainers, holding the handles wide apart so Logan could see inside. Lots of little folded bundles made of crisp twenty pound notes.
Logan told him to zip it up again. Then turned back to Walker. ‘You sure you don’t want to just fess up now? Save us all the legwork?’
‘I … erm…’ He sniffed. Looked out of the window at the rain-drenched landscape. ‘Think I should speak to a lawyer.’
Logan slumped back in the visitor’s chair and rubbed his face with his hands. ‘Like interviewing a bloody cardboard cut-out.’
DI Steel picked one of the clear plastic evidence pouches from the pile on her desk and peered at the stack of notes inside. ‘There’s no’ another couple of grand knocking about you forgot to sign into evidence, is there?’
Logan looked at her. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
She dumped the cash back on the desk. ‘You any idea how much it’s going to cost to put wee Jasmine through a decent school?’
‘Jasmine?’
‘If it’s a girl.’ She opened her top desk drawer and pulled out a set of screwdrivers and a pair of pliers. ‘Want to help vandalize a window lock?’
‘No.’ Logan picked up the discarded packet of counterfeit cash. ‘You notice it’s all in drug-dealer-bundles? Four twenties laid flat, one twenty wrapped around them at ninety degrees, then the whole lot folded—’
‘Aye, thanks, Captain Sesame Street, but I do actually know what a sodding DDB looks like. Detective Inspector, remember?’
‘Just saying it’s a bit odd, OK? Would have thought counterfeit notes would come in big stacks, hot off the presses. Looks like this lot’s been done up for junkies and pushers.’
Steel selected a flat-head screwdriver from the set and swivelled her chair around, hunkering over the catch on her office window. ‘What’s Wallace saying about it?’
‘Walker, not Wallace. Douglas Walker. He’s saying bugger all, wants to speak to a lawyer first.’
‘Jesus, no’ again.’ Dig, dig, poke, poke…
‘Says he heard about that case where the European Court decided someone’s human rights had been violated by not letting them have a lawyer during questioning.’
Steel sighed. ‘Human rights my crinkle-cut arsehole. Tell you, the Americans got the right idea – waterboard the lot of them. Pass me those pliers, eh?’
Logan did as he was asked. ‘Still say it’d be easier to go outside and smoke like a normal person.’
‘You think this Walker kid’s going to crack?’
‘Going to let him stew for a couple of hours. Conned him into coming in on a volley, so there’s no time limit. Maybe drop a few hints about doing a deal if he gives us his supplier. Usual vague lies.’ Logan checked his watch. ‘We got that MAPPA meeting in ten minutes. I’m off for a fag. Want one? Or you going to stay here practising your housebreaking?’
Steel sniffed, then dumped the screwdriver on her desk. ‘Aye, what the hell.’
Outside, on the rear podium car park, it was teeth-chatteringly cold. The tall, rectangular ‘U’ shaped bulk of FHQ acted as a windbreak, but the granite buildings it backed onto blocked out the low sun, leaving the whole place shrouded in deep-freezer shadows.
Logan sparked up a cigarette, hands cupped around the glowing tip for warmth, Steel shivering beside him, fingertips rammed into her armpits. Stomping her feet and swearing out a stream of white smoke and breath.
‘Fuck me, it’s cold.’
‘Any word from your chiz yet?’
She grimaced. ‘Bugger’s still no’ answering his phone. Got the GSM trace though, looks like he’s staying somewhere south-east of Balmedie.’
‘Want to take a run over after the MAPPA meeting?’ Logan took a deep drag on his Benson and Hedges, then spluttered it out in a rumbling cough as the back door opened and the familiar, porky figure of DI Beardy Beattie lumbered out, hauling on an Arctic-explorer-style padded parka. Logan stuck two fingers up in the man’s direction. ‘Wanker.’
If Beattie heard, he pretended not to, just clambered into one of the CID pool cars and drove away.
Steel pulled the cigarette from her mouth. ‘You know … people are beginning to notice.’
‘Good for them.’ Logan took another puff. ‘Notice what?’
‘Your attitude.’ She turned till she was staring out at the little frost-covered stairway down to the mortuary. ‘There’s been complaints.’
Typical.
‘It’s Beattie, isn’t it? That useless tosser thinks I’ve got nothing
