creamy white thighs again?’
‘Zander Clark.’
‘Who?’
‘The guy who runs the porn studio — he didn’t ask what Jason had done. When we asked him who the guy on the DVD was. He didn’t ask.’
‘Aaaaaaaand?’
‘Well,’ Logan shrugged. ‘Everyone always asks, don’t they?’
‘No’ always.’
‘But-’
‘You’re kidding, right? I mean, it’s a bit Miss Marple, isn’t it?’ She laughed, a throaty sound that rattled a bit towards the end. ‘You want me to summon Professor Plum, Miss Scarlet, and Colonel Mustard to the dining room for you?’ Logan didn’t dignify that with a reply. ‘Oh, come on,’ she said at last, ‘it’s Friday night: I’ll buy you a nice pint of beer, OK? Nearly going home time anyway.’
‘What about the search teams?’
‘What about them?’ And then she remembered. ‘Bollocks. It’ll be dark in half an hour won’t it? And all the useless buggers will be back here wanting debriefed.’ She groaned. ‘You do one half and I’ll do the other, OK? We could still be in the pub by seven.’
Logan held up the tiny pack of rubbish painkillers the hospital had given him for his battered head and bruised ribs — there were only a couple left. ‘I’m not supposed to be drinking.’
‘Aye well,
The search teams started trickling in around six, with not a lot to show for seven hours out in the freezing cold February air. No one had seen Sean Morrison. He wasn’t hiding in anyone’s shed, garage, or gazebo. They’d even had a team go through the Robert Gordon school buildings looking to see if Sean had gone to ground where he was meant to go to school. ‘According to the head,’ said a blue-faced PC, wrapping herself round a mug of hot chocolate, ‘he’s no’ exactly a regular visitor. Started bunking off about six months ago. Became really disruptive. Bullying, theft, swearing… Right wee shite by all accounts. Had the parents in about a dozen times, but it never made any difference.’
‘Yeah?’ Logan ran a hand over his chin, feeling the stubble begin to scritch beneath his fingers. ‘His dad told us Sean’s never been in trouble before this.’
The PC snorted. ‘Aye, well, he’s lying then.’ She shifted from foot to foot. ‘Er, is there anything else, sir, or can I go change?’ adding, ‘Karaoke tonight.’ by way of an explanation. Logan wished her luck and moved onto the next team’s report.
DI Steel finished first, not surprisingly — they’d be lucky if she even skimmed the forms before telling the officers to bugger off to the pub. ‘Right,’ she said, hands deep in her trouser pockets, ‘we all done for tonight?’
Logan shook his head. ‘Still need to sort out the teams for tomorrow. And I was thinking: we should get a POLSA, start looking in the parks and woods.’ And if they had a Police Search Advisor, Logan wouldn’t have to do all the co-ordination and logistics for a change. ‘Maybe his mother was right and he’s lying in a ditch somewhere. He’s been in all the papers, suppose someone recognized him and decided to avenge Jerry Cochrane?’
‘Oh God, that’s all we need.’ Steel screwed up her face and swore. ‘This was supposed to be a nice easy case — we know who did it, we’ve got it on tape, we’ve got forensic, we’ve got witnesses…’ The only thing they didn’t have was Sean Morrison.
Logan stood at the front of the briefing room, feeling slightly sick. He wasn’t the only one: half the team looked terminally hungover. And he’d been sensible — called it a night after the first round of flaming Drambuies, but not before he’d been subjected to DI Steel belting out
Right now she was introducing the team to their brand new Police Search Advisor — a tall, thin sergeant with droopy eyes and a pronounced chin, who launched into a detailed description of today’s search pattern, locations, teams and all the other things that weren’t Logan’s problem any more.
‘Right,’ said the inspector when the POLSA was finished, ‘even though Sean Morrison’s an evil wee bastard, he’s only eight. He’s no’ been home in two days and it was below freezing both nights. Chances are he’s holed up somewhere warm with a bottle of vodka and a stack of porn, but he could just as easily be freezing to death under a bush. So keep your eyes open!’ She made them all repeat the DI Steel pledge of allegiance: ‘We are not at home to Mr Fuck-Up!’ then let them get on with it.
‘Do you want to go front up Morrison’s father again?’ Logan asked while the troops filed out of the room.
‘You go: and take Rickards. I’m sick of him moaning on about how everyone takes the piss out of him the whole time. I’ve got an audience with His Holiness the Chief Constable, have to con him into thinking this case is no’ a huge, flaming disaster …’ She dug a packet of nicotine gum from her pocket, popped a couple of pieces in her mouth then chewed, grimacing. ‘We’ll be fine. We’ll find Morrison today, lock him up, and all will be right with the world again. Just as long as the CC doesn’t want to know about all the other cases I’ve still not solved.’
A lid of dove-grey had settled over the town, leeching the colour out of everything, the pale granite buildings merging with the monochrome sky. Rickards made it all the way from the station to School Hill before he started complaining about all the jokes he’d had to put up with since that first Jason Fettes briefing. Logan tuned him out, watching the pedestrians and traffic, looking for an eight-year-old boy in an AFC hooded top.
Rickards was still moaning when they pulled onto King’s Gate, parking uphill from the Morrison house in order to find a space.
‘Look on the bright side,’ Logan told him, ‘at least everyone thinks they’re just taking the piss. Imagine what would happen if they actually knew you were in the scene.’
The constable scowled at him. ‘I am
‘Oh come off it — you really expect me to believe you recognized Jason Fettes’s backside after catching a glimpse of it on a seized DVD? You must have seen it dozens of times to remember it that clearly.’ He unclipped his seatbelt and climbed out into the grey morning. Yesterday’s spectacular view was gone; all the elements were still there, but they were dull and cold. The sea was the colour of clay, a dark smudge beneath a darker horizon. Sooner or later it was going to pee with rain.
Rickards scrambled out after him. ‘I …’ the constable blushed, then shuffled nervously, not making eye- contact. ‘You … you didn’t tell anyone, did you?’
‘Of course I didn’t! You can dress up in rubber and spank each other till you’re blue in the face, far as I’m concerned it’s nobody’s business but your own.’
‘Wish I’d never come forward with that bloody ID …’
Logan stopped and stared at him. ‘You really mean that?’
He sighed. ‘No. Fettes didn’t deserve to be an unidentified body.’
‘No one does.’
The crowd of journalists outside the Morrison place had grown since yesterday — there were even a couple of outside-broadcast vans, their satellite dishes brushing the skeletal beech trees that lined the road. A clot of protestors had formed around the gate, some had even made their own placards: SHAME! JUSTICE FOR JERRY! and KIDS SHOULDN’T KILL! They should have looked indignant and self-righteous, but instead they just looked cold, huddled around a thermos of tea, complaining about the weather. They mustered up a bit of shouting and posturing when Logan and Rickards appeared, playing up for the assembled media. Logan got the constable to cut a path for him, ignoring the cameras and microphones being jammed in his face. Keeping up a constant stream of ‘no comment’ until they were safely inside the house.
Mr Morrison was in the darkened lounge, looking five years older than he had yesterday. Dark circles lurked beneath his eyes, his face pale and fish-like. As soon as the Family Liaison officer showed them through he was on his feet, wringing his hands. ‘Is … have they …’ unable to ask the question.
‘We haven’t found him yet,’ said Logan, motioning for the man to sit in one of his own armchairs, before sending PC Rickards off to make the tea. ‘I just need to ask a couple of follow-up questions.’
‘Do they …’ a nervous cough, ‘do they think he’ll still be OK?’
‘We hope so, Mr Morrison. From what I can tell Sean’s a resourceful wee boy.’ That seemed to calm his father a bit, but not much. ‘We spoke to his headmaster yesterday: he says Sean started causing problems six months ago.’
