later with a hypodermic syringe and a small glass vial of clear liquid.
She threw the syringe cover onto the floor, drew a hefty measure from the vial, then stepped in close to Logan. 'Hold him still…' She yanked Simon's shirt sleeve back, smacked his wrist a couple of times, and slid the needle in.
Slowly the struggling began to fade. One kick. Two. The fingers clenched and unclenched. And then Simon McLeod went limp.
Which was when three burly men in hospital security uniforms burst in through the curtains.
The doctor dropped the used syringe in a yellow sharps bin, then gave the new arrivals a slow handclap. 'Oh yes, well done. Very good. We could all be dead by now.'
One of the guards shrugged. 'Fight in the maternity ward — some bloke turned up to see his kid. The mother's husband wasn't very happy about it.'
'You think Doctor Patel's happy about the state of his goolies?' She pointed at her groaning colleague. 'You're lucky I was next door, or he'd be a eunuch by now.' Then she asked Logan to help her get Simon McLeod's unconscious body back onto the examination table.
'Is he going to be OK?'
'I doubt it.' The doctor peeled back the gauze dressing they'd put on in the ambulance, exposing the top half of Simon's face. Then winced. 'Both eyes are gone and the optic nerve's been burnt. He's blind. Probably in a great deal of pain. All we can do is clean his wounds, keep him sedated, and hope he doesn't get an infection.' Five minutes later, Logan followed the doctor through to the next cubicle, where DI Steel was sitting up on the examination table, wobbling slightly. The doctor pulled out a tiny torch and shone it in Steel's eyes, flicking the light away, then back again. 'OK,' she said, 'can you tell me who the Prime Minister is?'
'Is it…? I can picture him…' Steel scrunched her face up, lips moving silently for a moment. 'Whatsisname — slimy, lying tosspot…?' As if that narrowed it down.
'Well, you've definitely got a concussion.' The doctor felt around the back of Steel's head with a latex-gloved hand. 'Probably going to have one hell of a lump tomorrow, but nothing's broken. We'll keep you in overnight for observation, OK?'
Steel frowned again. 'Is it Margaret Thatcher?'
'I'll give you something for the headache.' She turned to Logan, 'Do you want to contact her next of kin? Let them know where she is.'
'I'll give Susan a call. Get her to bring in some-'
'Next of kin!' Steel hopped down from the table. 'We- oops!' Her legs gave way and the doctor grabbed her. Steel kissed her on the cheek. 'Is that a stethoscope in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?'
'Maybe we should sedate you?'
The inspector tugged at Logan's sleeve. 'We need to tell McLeod's next of kin.'
'I'll get someone on it when I get back to the station.'
She shook her head, and nearly collapsed again. 'You do it. I'm no' trusting one of Finnie's monkeys: they'll screw it up.' She snapped her fingers. 'Tony Blair!'
The doctor steered her towards the wheelchair in the corner. 'Nice try, but no cigar. Come on, we'll get you into bed.'
'Ooh, saucy. I love a woman in uniform.'
Logan held the curtain open for them, watching as the doctor wheeled Steel away. The inspector flapped her arms and tried to turn around in her seat. 'Laz! Laz — look after my car, OK? It's parked round the back of… thingy. You know: the place we work?' And then she was round the corner and out of sight, laughing like something out of a Carry On film.
But Logan didn't have anything to laugh about — not if he had to tell Colin McLeod someone had mutilated his brother.
7
'Ah…' Rory Simpson looked up at the camera bolted to the wall of the interview room. 'That wasn't what I meant.'
Logan sat back in his seat and folded his arms. 'You said you saw them!'
'Heat of the moment. I got caught up in all the excitement: high-speed chase, the sirens… Being handcuffed bent double like that, blood must have rushed to my head.'
Rory had developed amnesia the moment he'd overheard some idiot talking about what had happened to Simon McLeod and the other victims.
'Do you have any idea how important this is? People are being-'
'Suppose I had seen them — and I'm not saying I did — but suppose I had. What do you think they'd do to me if they found out I'd identified them?' He ran a hand across his bushy grey moustache. 'I'm rather attached to my eyes. I need them for looking at stuff.'
'Rory, we can stop them. But we need to know what they look like.'
'Can't you…' He waved his hands around. 'You know, DNA, fingerprints, that kind of thing.'
'They were wearing gloves.' Logan scooted his chair closer to the interview table. 'We can protect you. Make sure they can't lay a hand on you.'
Silence.
'Hmmm…' Rory pursed his lips and stared at the camera again. 'And would it make you forget all about our little… misunderstanding at the school this morning?'
'You mean when you were trying to coax little kids into your car with drugs?'
Rory actually blushed. 'Well, it might have looked like that, but-'
'Were you shopping for yourself, or someone else?'
This time the awkward pause stretched out for almost a minute. 'I… I don't know what you mean.'
'Don't play dumb, Rory. We know someone's in the market for young 'livestock' — we've been hearing rumours for years. Was the little girl for you, or were you snatching to order?'
He shifted in his seat, licked his top lip, fidgeted. 'About those men this afternoon… I may have seen them after all.'
'You know what happens to people who abduct children, don't you Rory?'
'I was looking right at them as they went past.'
'How much was that little girl worth? How much was someone going to pay you for her?'
'I… If I tell you about those men, can you make all this… go away?'
Logan doubted it. 'The Chief Constable doesn't like it when we let paedophiles go: says it doesn't look good in the papers. But…' He glanced over his shoulder at the uniformed PC standing against the wall, then dropped his voice to a whisper, 'I could have a word with the Procurator Fiscal. Let her know you're helping with a major investigation. It'd be up to her whether we prosecute or not.'
Rory wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead, and said, 'OK, let's do it.' By the time four o'clock arrived, Logan had reasonable e-fits for the men who'd blinded Simon McLeod and concussed DI Steel. He'd just finished signing Rory back into custody when DS Pirie appeared. 'The boss wants to see you.'
Which was lucky, because Logan wanted to see him too.
Detective Chief Inspector Finnie's office was one of the bigger ones on the fourth floor, with a view of the rear podium car park and the back of a row of granite buildings. DS Pirie sat back against the windowsill, flicking through a forensics report, a smug smile on his face. A couple of Eric Auld prints graced the walls above Finnie's desk, their cheerful summery colours in complete contrast with the DCI's expression as he put the phone down and glowered at Logan.
'How many times do we have to have this discussion, Sergeant?'
'Sir?'
'Did I imagine it, or did I tell you to run everything by me before you did it?'
'But you said-'
'So imagine my disappointment when I found out that you interviewed the only witness we've got to the
