a bit busy trying to track down a missing three-year-old.’
Logan stayed where he was. Saying nothing.
She rolled her eyes and slumped. ‘Urgh… Go on then.’
‘Somewhere a bit more private?’
Fraser snapped her fingers. ‘Tufty: one tea, so milky it’s borderline offensive; two coffees, one with sugar, one black. Roberta: go chase up the media office about that appeal.’
Tufty scurried away, but Steel lingered.
‘Now, Roberta.’
Another hiss, and Steel stomped off back down the stairs.
‘And stop hissing at people!’ Fraser grimaced at Logan. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘She’s upset because I won’t babysit tonight.’ He lowered his voice. ‘What’s happening with Ellie Morton?’
‘Why?’
‘You put in a complaint about DS Chalmers.’
‘Ah.’ Pink flushed Fraser’s cheeks. She cleared her throat. ‘Maybe we should talk about this in private.’
Photos covered Fraser’s office walls. Most were family gatherings, but pride of place went to a big portrait of a black Labrador by the name of Maggie, going by the plaque mounted on the frame.
Fraser dumped her huge handbag on the desk and settled into the chair behind it. ‘Ellie Morton went missing Monday morning. The mother leaves her alone in the back garden and nips to the shops for a pack of fags and four tins of own-brand lager. It’s a Co-op at the end of the street: so a five-minute trip, tops. She stops to talk to a friend on the way back, which means Ellie – and I can’t stress this strongly enough – a three-year-old girl was left unsupervised for approximately twenty, twenty-five minutes.’
Logan leaned against the short row of filing cabinets. ‘Forensics?’
‘Nothing useful. No fingerprints, no footprints, no sign of fibres or a struggle. Garden backs onto a path that sees a fair bit of traffic.’ Fraser dug her iPhone out of The Gargantuan Handbag Of Doom and fiddled with it. ‘You know what it’s like with child abduction cases: if you don’t get a major break in the first twenty-four hours…’ Was she Tweeting? ‘No one saw Ellie run away, no one saw someone take her. We’ve got a few reports of a red car, or maybe a blue one, estate and-slash-or hatchback in the vicinity, but that’s it.’
‘And DS Chalmers?’
A hard sigh. ‘I thought she’d turned herself around, I really did. Yes, she’s always been ambitious, driven, but… I don’t know.’ Fraser put her phone down. ‘I ask her to go interview someone, she doesn’t do it. I tell her to do door-to-doors, she never shows up. I order her to help search the neighbourhood sheds and garages, she goes AWOL.’
No surprises there, then.
‘Where is she now?’
‘Tillydrone: breaking the stepfather’s alibi. Or at least she’s supposed to be. God knows, half the time.’
Logan softened his voice. ‘What happens when you talk to her about it?’
‘Might as well paint a penguin on your willy and call it Antarctica. She’s sorry; she’ll change; she’s going through a rough time right now.’ Fraser reached into her desk drawer and produced a blue folder. Thumped it on the desk. ‘I documented every infraction, every meeting, and every outcome.’
‘You should’ve come to me earlier.’
‘I know, I know. But … sometimes they just need a slap on the wrist. Getting your lot involved isn’t…’ She went back to fiddling with her phone again. ‘They’re still my people.’
‘Professional Standards aren’t here to screw people, Kim. We’re here to help.’ Logan picked up the folder and stuck it under his arm. ‘Do you still want her in your team?’
Fraser kept her eyes on her phone’s screen. ‘I… We’re looking for a wee girl, Inspector McRae. We can’t afford to lose this time.’ She finally looked up. ‘And loyalty has to go both ways.’
Why did everything require nine million forms to be completed in triplicate? Couldn’t go for a pee in the police without a Three-Sixty-Nine B, two corroborating witnesses, and a—
Logan’s phone dinged.
HORRIBLE STEEL:
Look, how about a compromise? You babysit J&N tonight and I’ll look after Cthulhu if you want to take Ginger McHotpants on a dirty weekend later.
Reply:
No. And stop calling her ”Ginger McHotpants”!
He’d barely hit ‘SEND’ when the office door thumped open and Steel slouched in. The phone in her pocket chirruped as she settled on the edge of his desk.
‘That better be you texting me back in the positive, Laz.’
Logan put his phone down, sat forwards in his seat, steepled his fingers, and stared at her. ‘Ah, Detective Sergeant Steel, I wanted a word with you.’
‘If the word’s no’ “I’d be delighted to babysit” I don’t want to hear it.’
‘DS Lorna Chalmers: tell me about her.’
A shrug. ‘Magnificent breasts, so-so arse. But overall? I’d still ride her like a broken donkey.’
Oh God, there was an image.
‘No! What’s she like to work with?’
‘Aye, because I’m going to clype on one of my team to you sneaky Professional Standards scumbags.’
‘Scumbags?’
‘With all due blah, blah, blah, etcetera. Now what about that babysitting?’
He folded his arms. ‘I’m busy.’
‘No you’re no’. You have all the social life of a garden gnome.’
‘Yes I am. But maybe if you scratched my back…?’ Leaving it hanging.
‘Lorna Chalmers is a pain in the hoop,’ Steel stood, ‘but I’m still no’ clyping on her.’
Interesting.
‘But you admit there’s something to clype about?’
‘I’m admitting sod-all.’ She stuck her chin out. ‘And if you didn’t want to babysit your own kids you shouldn’t have got my wife pregnant.’
‘Not this again.’ He pointed at the door. ‘Away with you. Out. Go. Depart. Before I do you for insubordinating a superior officer.’
‘Pfff…’ She flounced
