Broken Skin

The Chief Constable’s office looked like something out of a horror movie — DI Insch, the DCS in charge of CID, Big Gary, and that ginger-haired bastard Inspector Napier, all looking very unhappy. The CC sat behind his desk wearing a face like thunder, staring at Jackie as she stood to attention in the middle of the room.

‘… think so, don’t you?’ Sandy Moir-Farquharson stopped talking as Logan walked in, then pulled his bruised and battered features into a smug smile. ‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t the great PC Watson’s partner in crime.’

Logan ignored him, staring at Insch instead. ‘Sir?’

But it was the Chief Constable who answered: ‘What the hell were you thinking? Didn’t you stop to consider the repercussions? Grampian Police does not need maverick officers bringing the force into disrepute!’

Nope, going to need more of a clue than that. ‘Sorry, sir?’

Hissing Sid leant forward in his visitors’ chair, cradling his broken arm. ‘You and Watson have been carrying out an illegal, unauthorized surveillance on Rob Macintyre’s property, even though I have a court order requiring you to stay away from my client.’ He smiled like a shark — the missing teeth filled with bright white, temporary dentures. ‘This is blatant harassment and we will not stand for it.’

So Logan had been right: the little footballing bastard had winked at them. Maybe it wasn’t too late to bluff his way out? After all it’d just be Macintyre’s word against theirs. ‘I don’t-’

‘And don’t even bother trying to deny it.’ The lawyer held up a hand-held camcorder and pressed a button on the shiny silver plastic. Tinny sound bristled in the crowded room, a man with a pronounced Aberdonian accent talking to himself while the picture on the little built-in screen jostled from a close-up of an expensive watch — three fifteen in the morning — round until it was pointing straight back at the person holding the camera. Rob Macintyre grinned and waved, then swung the thing back again, pointing it at a darkened window. It took a moment for the autofocus and light balance to catch up, but eventually the picture showed a dark street, lines of parked cars beneath drifting flakes of snow. A wobble, then the camera zoomed in on a depressingly familiar Vauxhall and its occupants: Logan and Jackie, watching the footballer’s house.

Hissing Sid was right, there was no point denying it, so Logan didn’t.

The CC slammed a palm down on his desk, making everything shudder. ‘How could you be so stupid? You knew we’d been ordered to stay away from Macintyre!’

Logan sneaked a quick glance at Jackie, standing boot-faced beside him. She’d obviously not told anyone it’d all been Insch’s idea in the first place, or the fat man would be up here getting his arse chewed off with them. And given the satisfied look of righteous indignation on Inspector Napier’s face, Logan had a shrewd idea what was coming next: gross misconduct, suspension and demotion. If they were lucky. And all because that fat bastard Insch was obsessed with pinning everything on Rob Bloody Macintyre.

Logan took a deep breath and asked what day the tape had been recorded.

‘What?’ The CC looked shocked, ‘You were there more than once?’

‘You see!’ Hissing Sid snapped the camcorder screen shut. ‘I told you they’ve been running an illegal surveillance operation. We-’

‘Was this last night, or the night before?’ Logan asked again.

‘Last night.’

Logan nodded. ‘Yes, we were watching Rob Macintyre’s house.’

Inspector Napier levered himself to his feet, like a praying mantis in a black uniform. ‘Detective Sergeant McRae, I’m suspending you immediately pending a formal review by Professional Standards. You’ve shown a remarkable lapse in judgment and-’

‘We were protecting him: Macintyre.’

Napier was about to say something, but the Chief Constable cut him off. ‘You what?’

‘After the attack on Mr Moir-Farquharson I made a list of possible enemies.’ Which was true: it was everything else that was a barefaced lie. ‘Top of the list were those allegedly raped by Mr Macintyre, who might be looking for revenge on one or both men. Knowing that Grampian Police had been formally warned not to approach Mr Macintyre directly, I persuaded Constable Watson to accompany me on an un-authorized surveillance operation of his property, in case he was targeted for attack.’ It sounded like a prepared statement for court. Logan was rather pleased with himself.

There was a moment’s silence, then Moir-Farquharson said, ‘You don’t seriously expect us to believe-’

‘It’s how we caught Russell McGillivray. If we hadn’t been there watching the house, he’d have attacked Macintyre. And maybe this time he’d have gone all the way. We’d have been looking at a murder.’

The angry red was slowly draining from the Chief Constable’s face, to be replaced by a cheery pink glow and a big smile. ‘And you went back last night …?’

‘Because we couldn’t be sure McGillivray was working alone.’

The CC looked from Logan, to Jackie, to the lawyer, then back again. ‘I see. So you were only watching Mr Macintyre’s house-’

‘For his safety. Yes, sir.’

‘On your own time.’ He nodded, smiled, then said, ‘In which case I apologize, Sergeant. Good work.’

Moir-Farquharson lurched to his feet, wincing all the way. ‘But-’

‘There’s going to be a letter of commendation for you and Constable Watson.’

‘But-’

‘Well then, now that’s all settled we can get back to work. If you’ll all excuse me, I have other matters to attend to.’ He picked up his phone and started dialling. The interview was over.

Out in the corridor the lawyer stared at Logan as the CC’s door swung shut behind them. ‘But …’ He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘Given the circumstances, I think it’s no longer appropriate for you to watch my client’s house.’

‘You remember what you said to me when I showed you Russell McGillivray’s photo?’

The lawyer frowned, ‘I … I called him an ungrateful bastard.’

‘You can see yourself out.’

38

Sitting with Jackie in DI Insch’s office afterwards, watching the inspector swearing his way into a jumbo bag of fizzy dinosaurs, Logan had to admit that he’d been expecting more of a celebration. Instead Insch picked up a manila folder from his in-tray and tossed it across the desk.

The contents had been emailed up by Tayside Police: another rape. ‘Bastard …’ Jessica Stirling, attacked just off the Kingsway — a huge dual carriageway that stretched across Dundee. She was only nineteen. Logan couldn’t even look at the victim photographs.

‘She was in town for a friend’s birthday last night.’ Insch picked up a purple brachiosaur and stared at it. ‘Studying musical theatre at RADA. Going to be a star …’ He stuffed the dinosaur back in the bag, uneaten. ‘Check the time.’

Logan skimmed through the report — the attack took place between twenty to and twenty past three. The exact same time they were being videoed watching Macintyre’s house.

Insch turned his back on the room, gazing out into the wintry afternoon. ‘It wasn’t him. All this time I’ve been dicking about chasing the little bastard and it wasn’t even him.’ There was a short humourless laugh. ‘If I hadn’t been so bloody convinced, we might have actually looked for someone else. And those girls wouldn’t …’ He stopped and ran a hand over his fat features, shoulders slumped. It was as if he’d aged a decade in as many seconds, his voice flat and listless. ‘Why don’t you two go home? Forget about this evening. It’s not him.’

‘But, sir-’ Jackie, not looking happy, ‘-the wee fuck attacked me! He has to be-’

‘IT’S NOT HIM!’ Insch spun round, face bright purple. ‘Understand? It was all crap! All of it!’ He snatched a pile of files from his desk and hurled them at the far wall. ‘It was never him!’

‘But-’

‘It’s over, Constable. Finished.’ Turning back to the window. ‘I screwed up. Go home.’