‘We need a name, Ms Cooper. And an address.’
‘I don’t…’ She ran a hand across her neck, sweat glistened in the crevasse between her breasts.
‘Where were you?’
‘Come on Sarah, you can tell us.’
Another wipe of cleavage. ‘Can I have a glass of water or something, it’s very hot in here.’
‘Might as well get it off your chest.’
Her eyes flickered across the room. The door, the window, the bathroom. ‘I… I was babysitting.’ Both hands clenched in her lap. ‘A friend of a friend asked if I could watch her little boys. I didn’t touch them, if that’s what you’re thinking. I didn’t do anything. I just watched them. Nothing happened.’
Lee Hamilton (32) — Rape, Possession of an Offensive Weapon ‘What the fuck would I want with a wee girl? The mother, maybe, but fuck’s sake, the kid was only six!’
Duncan McLean (46) — Indecent Assault, Attempted Rape, Possession with Intent to Supply
‘…would never touch someone like that. I mean, they’re … female. How disgusting would that be?’
Logan hung his jacket on the hook in the bathroom, took off his tie, then unbuttoned his shirt. The wadding taped to the top of his left arm almost glowed, it was so white. He peeled back a corner and grimaced. Skin was still all red and inflamed — so much for ‘it won’t hurt a bit’.
He dug a little tube of antibacterial gel from his jacket pocket, squeezed some into his palm and smoothed it on. Trying not to wince. At least it didn’t look-
A knock at the door.
‘Sarge?’ It was Rennie. ‘Next one’s here.’
Alastair McMillan (42) — Indecent Assault, Possession of Indecent Images, Theft
‘“I want to dedicate this to my husband John; you’ll always be our hero…” I mean, who was she trying to kid? Like rainbows and puppies come out of her arse instead of shite like the rest of us.’ Sniff.
Alastair McMillan leant forward, and tapped a dirty, chewed fingernail against Logan’s knee. ‘She fucking deserves everything she’s got coming to her, know what I mean?’
Ross Kelley (19) — Indecent Assault
‘You have very pretty eyes, Constable…’
Shona Wallace (26) — Taking and Distributing Illegal Images of Children, Lewd and Libidinous Practices and Behaviour, Attempt to Pervert the Course of Justice
‘…shouldn’t really be surprised, should we? There are some very sick people out there.’ Shona Wallace flicked a strand of bleached blonde hair out of her eyes. She shrugged, bony shoulders rising and falling beneath her LITTLE MISS NAUGHTY T-shirt. ‘I mean, it’s like, you know, you stand up and do anything in this country and the weirdoes just latch onto you, don’t they?’
She smiled, her weak chin disappearing into the pale skin of her neck. The kind of girl-next-door you didn’t want living anywhere near you. ‘Oh: do you remember that woman? What was her name, you know, like, she was this big ugly heifer and she was saying all these horrible things about Alison? In the papers and that?’
Rennie nodded. ‘Vicious Vikki?’
‘Yeah, that’s right. God, what a cow. Jealousy, that’s all it is. Me I thought Alison and Jenny were the best thing on Britain’s Next Big Star. I mean, like, they really were, you know: stars. The series is going to be totally crap without them.’
She scooted forward in her seat, until her knees were nearly touching Rennie’s, blue eyes wide, a heavy layer of mascara making them look even bigger. ‘What’s her house really like inside? Is it cool? I bet it’s cool. Bet they hid away all the really cool stuff when they got the cameramen round, you know, for the OK! magazine shoot, yeah? She’s like on the radio all the time, she’s got to have, I don’t know, a jacuzzi and diamonds and champagne and that?’
‘Bloody awful, that’s how it’s going.’ Logan slumped into one of the chairs arranged around the long meeting table. ‘What’s happening about lunch?’
Right on cue, PC Guthrie backed into the room, carrying a cardboard box. The smell of fresh baking oozed out to fill the room. ‘Get them while they’re hot.’
Steel sniffed. ‘You took your time.’
The box went on the table. ‘Fourteen steak, six mince, four macaroni, four cheese and onion pasties, and a dozen sausage rolls.’
‘Where’s my change?’
‘And about a million packets of tomato sauce.’ Guthrie dug a hand into his pocket and produced a mound of coins. They rattled on the tabletop.
The interview team swarmed around the box, pulling out grease-spotted paper bags, checking the contents, and passing on anything they didn’t fancy.
Logan rubbed his fingertips against his eyelids, trying to massage the grit away. ‘Lots of rumours about Jenny being available for a price, but no one knows who’s selling. Or they’re not saying.’
Rennie appeared with a pair of paper bags, the green-and-gold Chalmers of Bucksburn logo going slightly transparent. ‘Macaroni pie, or cheese and onion pasty?’
‘Cheese and onion.’ He took the proffered bag and scrunched it down around the golden flaky pastry like a makeshift napkin. ‘I mean, what are we supposed to do? No one’s going to stick their hand up and admit to kidnapping and murder, are they?’
Steel shrugged, then took a dainty bite out of her pie and chewed. ‘Early days, Laz. Got a lot more perverts to get through.’
‘Yeah, and at the rate we’re going it’ll take us three and a half days, minimum.’
‘Oh.’ She stared at the hole in her pie for a moment, then tore the top off a sachet of tomato sauce and squirted it inside.
Logan frowned. ‘Unless we get the back shift to do some?’ A nod. ‘Sort it out with Ding-Dong. Sooner we get a result the better.’
‘Have you been to the scene?’ The pasty was filled with savoury napalm, almost too hot to eat. He brushed pastry flakes from his fingertips as he chewed. ‘I was thinking of paying a visit later. Get a feel for the ground.’
A lump-faced constable stuck her head around the meeting room door. ‘Guv?’ She waved at DI Steel. ‘That’s the next bunch arrived downstairs, you want me to get them up to the rooms, or let them stew for a bit?’
‘Fuck ’em, we’re eating pies.’ Steel took another bite and the tomato sauce she’d so carefully squirted in squirted out in a blood-spatter, all over her hand. ‘Bastard…’ She licked at her wrist. ‘Where’s the napkins?’
‘I mean, they must’ve checked out the house before the abduction, they went straight to Jenny’s room and-’ Logan swore, his phone was ringing. He hauled it out with greasy fingers and checked the display: ‘UNKNOWN’.
‘Hello?’
‘Hello?’
‘Who’s-’
‘Hello? Can you hear me?’ Doc Fraser must have been fiddling with the buttons at his end, because a series of bleeps sounded in Logan’s ear. Followed by, ‘Logan? You there? I’ve just got the tox screen back from the lab. Thought you’d want an update before I went and spilled the beans to Finnie and his fellow wankers.’
Logan opened his mouth, then shut it again. ‘Er, Doc, are you sure you should be-’
‘Now pay attention: we scraped every little vein in that toe for blood cells and found trace amounts of morphine. The fatty tissue contained a minuscule quantity of thiopental sodium. And I mean a tiny, tiny quantity. Damn lucky we detected anything at all.’
He dug his notebook out of his pocket, pinned the phone between his ear and his shoulder, and scribbled it all down… Taking a rough stab at the spelling, ‘THIGH-O-PENTHAL (SP?)’. ‘Care to hazard a guess?’
‘You buggers never change, do you? At a guess — and this is just a guess — she was given the morphine to keep her quiet. Compliant. It would work pretty well as a sedative. Thiopental sodium, on the other hand, is a general anaesthetic. They probably planned to put her under before removing the toe, but something went wrong. An allergic reaction maybe, or she’d eaten too recently, threw up, and choked… Either way, it was quick — if that’
s any consolation — otherwise there’d be more of the drug laid down in the fatty tissue.’
Logan closed his eyes. ‘When?’
‘Nearly impossible to tell. But from the look of it, I’d say it was severed at least six hours after death, then kept in a fridge. Maybe up to a week?’
So Bob was right — Jenny was dead before they’d even received the first ransom demand.
‘The amputation’s pretty good, certainly done by someone with medical training using a thin, fi ne blade. And thiopental sodium is used to knock people out before they go in for surgery — before they put you on the air and gas. So you’re looking at hospitals: operating theatres, in-house pharmacy, neurology, the ITU… Or maybe a vet? I think they use it on animals too.’
‘What about doctors’ surgeries, GPs, people like that?’
‘They don’t get anything stronger than lidocaine. Same with dentists.’
‘Thanks, Doc.’ Deep breath. ‘Can you do me a favour?’
‘Depends.’
‘When you tell “the wankers”, don’t call them that, OK? Just because you’re retired doesn’t mean they won’t take it out on us.’ Logan pressed disconnect, then looked up to see Steel staring at him.
‘Well?’
He told her about the drugs and a smile broke across her face.
‘Right.’ She banged her hand against the table. ‘Listen up you shiftless bunch of jessies — when you’re interviewing your mongs and stots this afternoon, I want to know if anyone’s got connections up the hospital or at a vet’s, OK? Job, volunteer work, friend, family — the lot.’ She stuck two fingers up. ‘Hospitals, vets.’
Rennie frowned. ‘How come?’
‘’Cos I say so. Laz, call Ingram — tell him we need everyone we’ve seen today back tomorrow morning.’ She beamed, then punched Logan in the arm. ‘We’ve finally-’
‘Ow!’ Bloody hell, that stung! He wrapped a hand around his deltoid, trying to squeeze the pain away. ‘What was that for?’ The skin underneath throbbed and burned.
‘Oh stop moaning, you big girl’s blouse. Barely touched you. We’re actually going to catch the bastards.’
‘That hurt!’
‘Jesus, and I thought Rennie was a wimp.’
The constable paused, halfway through a huge sausage roll. ‘Hey!’
Logan rubbed at his arm. ‘I don’t go around hitting you, do I?’
‘Inspector?’ The lumpy constable hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the corridor outside.
‘Aye, I know.’ Steel wiped her fingers down the front of her red satin shirt, leaving little greasy smears. ‘Come on, Laz, carpe pervertum.’
Chapter 13
Bruce Preston (46) — Possession of Indecent Images; Animal Cruelty; Obstructing, Assaulting, Molesting or Hindering an Officer in the Course of their Duty; Bestiality
‘Well, I suppose…’ Bruce Preston shifted in his seat, squiggling his bum left and right, as if he had worms, or an unreachable itch. He was slightly chubby, slightly balding; completely unremarkable in every way, except for the huge collection of photos of people having sex with dogs the IB had found on his computer. Apparently Bruce’s home-made snaps all featured next door’s Cairn terrier.
He gave a huge, overacting shrug, arms coming out to forty-five degrees. The bitter-oniony stench of stale armpits got even worse. ‘But it’s not really the same thing, is it? Besides, I don’t really watch the TV any more. Not since that cow on Channel Five did that “Britain’s Secret Sex Shame” show.’
‘And you’re sure you don’t know anyone at the hospital, or a vet’s?’
Preston rubbed his fingers along his thighs, cheeks flushing pink. ‘Told you — I’m not allowed within a hundred metres of a veterinary surgery or dog-walking park.’
Logan logged the end of the interview, thanked Bruce Preston for his time, then told him he could see himself out.
As soon as the door clunked shut, Logan sprawled in his chair, hanging over the edges; arms dangling, fingertips brushing the carpet. ‘That was fun.’
Rennie gagged. ‘Bloody hell… Mind if I open the window?’
‘Oh, God, please!’
Clunk. And the sound of traffic filtered in from the nearby dual carriageway, the rumble of a plane fading into the distance, the tweet and whitter of birds.
‘Do you think Steel’s right?’
Logan checked his watch — nearly twenty to four. He stretched, then flopped back again. ‘Been rumours doing the rounds about the “livestock” market for years. Kids, women, snatched to order, sold in secret auctions… All we need to do is catch one of these bastards and the whole thing falls apart.’ There was a creaking noise. He looked over to see Rennie slumped in the other seat, arms hanging over the edges, fingertips brushing the tartan carpet.
‘Will you stop doing that?’
Rennie raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’
‘The bloody monkey-see-monkey-do routine. It’s getting on my nerves.’
‘NLP, my dear Sergeant McRae. Did it when I was on the Interviewer Accreditation Course last month. Got top marks, by the way.’ He slumped back, just like Logan. ‘It puts the subject at ease subconsciously, makes them think they have a connection, an ally in the room.’
‘There’s going to be a bloodstain in the room if you don’t cut it out.’
Rennie sat up straight. ‘What mark did you get?’
‘None of your business.’ Sixty-five percent. ‘How many more on the list for today?’
‘Three. Then it’s DI Bell’s turn.’ He smiled. ‘Hey, maybe we’ll get lucky and crack the case before the end of the day? Interview Superstar Rennie and his sidekick: Sergeant McRae.’
‘You’re a dick, you know that, don’t you?’
Henry MacDonald (24) — Assault, Possession of a Controlled Drug, Drunk and Incapable, Breach of the Peace, Public Indecency
‘Yes, but only on the TV.’ Henry sat completely still in the hotel chair, knees firmly clamped together, hands clasped in his lap. Someone had dressed him up in his Sunday best — a shiny grey suit that looked like a charity shop special. Didn’t really fit him. Hair that he must have cut himself, probably with garden shears.
Rennie crossed his arms, then uncrossed them again. Rearranged himself into Henry’s mirror image. It didn’t take a perfect score in Neuro-Linguistic Programming to see the technique wasn’t going to work this time.
Not that it made any difference. No one was admitting to knowing anyone at Aberdeen Royal Infirmary, Albyn, Wood End, Cornhill, or any of the other hospitals in the north-east. And it was the same story with the area’s fifty-eight veterinarian practices.
Mind you, they were only a third of the way through Grampian’s Sex Offenders’ Register, not to mention the six or seven dozen more on DI Ingram’s unofficial list.
But at least they were doing something…
Silence.
It took Logan a moment to realise both Rennie and MacDonald were staring at him. ‘Hmm…’ He cleared his throat. ‘In what way?’
‘Well,’ Rennie shifted in his chair, ‘I mean, it’s not likely, is it?’ Nope, still no clue.
Logan shrugged. ‘You never know.’ Checked his clipboard. ‘Erm … your social worker says you’ve applied for chemical castration?’
MacDonald shrugged, the barest twitch of his shoulders. ‘I don’t like feeling… I…’ A long, hard frown. ‘I don’t want to be like this any more. Inside…’ He clapped a bony hand to his chest. ‘You understand?’
Not really.
Logan nodded. ‘Well, if you’re sure. And you’re sure you’ve not heard anything about the McGregors?’
‘It’s like being broken all the time.’
‘OK…’
Brian Canter (41) — Attempted Abduction of a Child, Possession of Indecent Images of Children, Attempt to Pervert the Course of Justice ‘I’m sorry if that makes me an unsympathetic character,’ Canter licked his lips — it was like watching a slab of liver slither across a rubber band, �
��but my therapist says I have to be honest about who I am if I’m ever going to get better.’
Rennie cleared his throat. ‘So you’re saying, given the opportunity-’
‘I’d tie Jenny McGregor to a sideboard and fuck her till she split: yes. Might even make her eat her mother out. You know? Do a threesome?’ All said in the same tone of voice normal people reserved for talking about ordering a pizza. ‘I’d probably video it too. You know, so it’d last? I mean, I wouldn’t kill her or anything — they’re no fun if they don’t wriggle.’
Silence.
‘…OK…’ Rennie looked at Logan, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat. ‘Erm, Guv?’
‘How often are you seeing your social worker, Mr Canter?’ That dark-purple tongue made another pass across the thin red lips. ‘Every other week?’
‘Right. I see…’ Logan nodded, and wrote, ‘IMMEDIATE 24HR SUPERVISION REQUIRED!!!’ on the form attached to his clipboard and underlined it three times.
Chapter 14
Logan climbed out into the sunny evening, then slammed the car door shut. Locked up. Followed Steel across the road to the McGregors’ house.
There had to be thirty or forty people standing vigil by the garden fence. Men, women, children: all dressed as if they were just out for an evening stroll, enjoying the sun. An outside broadcast unit was setting up on the opposite side of the road, probably getting ready for the next live news bulletin.
Steel picked her way through the minefield of supermarket bouquets and teddy bears to the front gate.
The crowd turned to stare as she clacked the latch and pushed on through.
A uniformed constable sat on the top step, reading a copy of the Aberdeen Examiner, the bald patch on top of his head going beetroot in the evening sun. He glanced up as Steel and Logan tramped up the path. ‘Hoy, I’m not telling you again: get back on the other side of the sodding…’ He scrambled to his feet, hiding the newspaper behind him. Then ducked back down to retrieve his peaked cap and ram it on his head. ‘Sorry, Boss. Thought you were another one of them journalists. Rotten sods have been trying to get past us all week.’ He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘You want inside?’
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