'So let me guess: you're not to tell me anything, and basically keep me out of the way. Yeah?' 'No, sir. I'm just to give you a lift into town.' 'Uh-huh. And that needed a detective sergeant?' Faulds watched Logan wriggle for a moment then laughed. 'Don't worry: I used to do the same thing when top brass descended on me from other divisions. Last thing you want is some desk-jockey coming in and telling you how to run your investigation.' 'Ah ... OK ... The car's--' 'Do you have a first name, Sergeant, or would that spoil your air of mystery?' 'Logan, sir.' He moved to pick up the Chief Constable's bag, but Faulds waved him away. 'I'm not a senior citizen yet, Logan.'
They crawled back into Aberdeen through the rush-hour, with Faulds on the phone, drawing Logan into a strange three-way conversation about the body parts they'd found the previous night. 'What? Of course it's raining: it's Aberdeen. ... No, no I don't think so, hold on ...' The Chief Constable stuck his hand over the mouthpiece. 'Do you have an ID for any of the victims?' 'Not yet, we--' 'Not gone through the missing persons' database, or the DNA records?' 'We only just found the remains, sir. They're still frozen solid. The pathologist--' And Faulds was back on the phone again. 'No, they've not done the DNA yet. ... I know. ... You heard? ... Yes. That's what I thought.' Back to Logan again. 'You don't need to defrost the whole thing - the sample you need for a DNA test should be small enough to come up to temperature in seconds. I'd better have a word with this pathologist of yours when we get in.' 'Actually, sir, that might not be--' But Faulds was back on the phone again. 'Uh-huh ... I think you're right ... Did he?' Laughter. 'Silly sod ...' He'd hung up by the time Logan was fighting through the long queue that trailed back from the Haudagain roundabout. Two lanes packed solid with cars and a bus lane full of orange cones. Faulds looked around at the collection of shiny new vehicles full of bored-looking people investigating the insides of their noses, while the drizzle drifted down. 'Is this going to take long, Logan?' 'Probably, sir. Apparently this is the worst roundabout in the country. Been questions raised about it in the Scottish Parliament.' Faulds smiled. 'About a roundabout? You whacky Jocks: and they said devolution wouldn't work.' 'They estimate it costs the local economy about thirty million a year. Sir.' 'Thirty million, eh? That's a lot of deep-fried haggis pies.' Logan bit his tongue. Calling the Chief Constable a condescending wanker probably wasn't the best career move. They sat in uncomfortable silence, just the squeak of the windscreen wipers interrupting the stop-go of the motor as Logan inched the car forward. At least the bloody roundabout was in sight now.
