Flesh House

But the inspector was already marching towards the exit, uniformed constables and IB technicians scurrying to get out of his way. 'I want a search warrant for that butcher's shop. Get everyone over there soon as it's organized.' 'What? But we haven't finished here yet.' 'The remains came from McFarlane's.' 'But we don't know that. This place isn't exactly difficult to get into. Anyone could have--' 'And I want an arrest warrant for Kenneth Wiseman.' 'Who the hell is--' 'And tell the press office to get their backsides in gear: briefing at ten am sharp.'

An hour and a half later Logan and Insch were sitting in a pool car outside McFarlane's butcher's shop,'GOOD EATS GOOD MEATS' according to the sign above the big dark window. Holburn Street was virtually deserted, lonely traffic lights changing from red to green and back again with no one to watch them but a couple of unmarked CID Vauxhalls, a police van full of search-trained officers, a once-white transit van belonging to the Identification Bureau, and two patrol cars. All waiting for the Procurator Fiscal to turn up with the search and arrest warrants. Insch scowled at his watch. 'What the hell is taking so long?' Logan watched him fight his way into a small jar of pills - thick, sausage-like fingers struggling with the child- proof lid - then throw a couple of the small white tablets down. 'Are you OK, sir?' Insch grimaced and swallowed. 'How long's it going to take you to get to the airport from here?' 'Depends if the Drive's busy: hour, hour and a half?' 'There's a Chief Constable Faulds coming in on the BMI redeye. I want you to pick him up and bring him back here.' 'Can we not just send one of the uniforms? I'm--' 'No, I want you to do it.' 'I should be helping organize the search, not playing taxi driver!' 'I said NO!' Insch turned on him, voice loud enough to make the car windows rattle. 'Faulds is a slimy tosser - a two-faced, backstabbing bastard - but he's a Chief Constable, so everyone scurries round after him like he's the bloody Messiah. I do not want some idiot PC in the car with him telling tales out of school.' 'But--' 'No. No buts. You go pick him up and you don't tell him any more than he needs to know. And with any luck we'll have this whole thing wrapped up before he even gets here.'

Anderson Drive stretched across the city: from a horrible roundabout at Garthdee to an even more horrible one at the other end. Half past seven and Logan was stuck in the middle of a snaking ribbon of scarlet tail-lights shuffling their way towards the Haudagain roundabout. Dawn was little more than a pale yellow smear, its faint light making no difference to the thick pall of grey cloud that loomed over the city.