down the stairwell to the cells. 'I've wanted to do that for years.' Then he turned and slapped his hands together. 'Right, now we-'
There was a commotion outside. Raised voices and the high-pitched yapping bark of a small dog. A police officer saying, 'I'm sorry, ma'am, you can't come in here.'
A woman shouting, 'You have no bloody right!'
Finnie's smile grew even wider. 'Get the doors, will you Pirie?'
The DS did as he was told, throwing them wide open. It was Hilary Brander, and her scabby terrier. Today the dog was dressed in a blue and green raincoat decorated with little sheep; it ran around on the end of its leash, barking at the uniformed officer blocking the way. 'All enquiries from the public have to be made at the front desk!'
'It's all right, Constable,' said Finnie, 'let the nice lady in.'
She stormed into the station and straight up to the DCI. 'You dirty, conniving, underhand bastard!'
'Ah, Ms Brander. How nice to see you. If you're looking for your mother-in-law, you've just missed her. But don't worry, she'll only be here till we can get her a court appearance.' He checked his watch. 'Which will be Monday.'
'Monday? You can't do that!'
'I'm so sorry, Ms Brander, but the court doesn't operate Saturday or Sunday, so your mother-in-law's just going to have to enjoy our hospitality till then. It's such a pity, but what can I do?' He gave a theatrical shrug, not bothering to hide the smile on his rubbery face.
'You should be ashamed of yourselves: arresting an old woman when her son's been blinded!'
'I know, it's a wonder I can sleep at night.' The DCI crossed his arms and leant forwards till he was inches from her face. 'Now, would you like to tell us your whereabouts on Wednesday night?'
'What?' She backed up a step. 'I was at home, with Simon.'
'Really? Shame…'
'A shame? He's blind, you moron.'
'You see, I've got Colin on attempted murder, his mum for perverting the course of justice, and I only need Simon to make the full set.'
'You're an arsehole.'
'Why, Ms Brander, such language from a young lady!' Finnie picked himself off the wall. 'Anyway, lovely though this is, I really do have to get going. I'm sure someone will see you out. McRae, my office: ten minutes.' He turned on his heel and sauntered away, whistling a happy tune.
As soon as Finnie was gone, the terrier stopped barking.
Pirie slapped Logan on the back, 'All yours mate,' and hurried after the DCI.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
'I'm sorry about that,' said Logan. 'Chief Inspector Finnie can be a bit-'
'He's a slimy git.'
The little terrier gave a yap, and Logan bent down to ruffle the tuft of fur between his ears. 'How's Simon doing?'
'How do you think? He's blind!' She snatched the dog up, clutching it to her chest. 'And you useless bunch of bollocks should be out there finding whoever did it, not arresting his mother!' Her voice was getting louder and louder and louder. The terrier started to bark again.
Logan held up his hands. 'Look, I'm sorry, but we-'
'You should be catching the… the bastards…' She was fighting it, but the tears were there. Making her green eyes sparkle. Deep, shuddering breath. 'You should be out there.'
'Then tell me who's trying to move in on Simon's territory?'
'I told you he's a legitimate-'
'How are we supposed to catch them if you won't cooperate?'
She bared her teeth. 'So it's my fault now? Bloody typical! Blame the victims!'
'Was it Wee Hamish Mowat?'
Hilary stood, staring at him. 'You're an idiot. No wonder you can't catch the people who attacked my Simon. Call yourselves policemen? You useless bastards couldn't catch a bloody cold!' '…and PC Buchan says, 'listen up, you old boot, either you drop the knife or I'll…'' Finnie's anecdote drifted to a halt as Logan walked in. The DCI had his feet up on the desk, hands tucked behind his head. 'Ah, McRae, bang on time. Did Ms Brander give you any trouble?'
'Just an ear-bashing.'
'Oh… Never mind, can't have everything I suppose. Assaulting a police officer would have rounded off the day nicely.' He waved Logan towards one of the visitor's chairs. 'I was just telling Pirie about the battle for Mrs McLeod's parlour.'
There was a knock on the door.
'Enter.'
It was PC Karim. He held up a plastic bag with the Oddbins logo on it. 'One bottle of champagne, from the chiller cabinet…' He stuck it on the chief inspector's desk, then went rummaging in a trouser pocket, coming out with a few pound coins and a smattering of silver. 'And your change.'
Finnie took the bottle from the bag, 'Heidsieck Monopole, vintage. Good choice.'
'Thank you, sir.' Karim stayed where he was, looking hopeful as DS Pirie rummaged three crystal tumblers out of the filing cabinet's bottom drawer and blew the dust out of them.
Finnie ripped the gold foil off the cork. Then stopped and frowned at the constable. 'Is there something else?'
Karim blushed. 'No, sir.' He stomped out; Logan could hear him muttering about what a bunch of tight-fisted bastards CID were.
Finnie popped the cork — Pooom! — and sloshed champagne into the tumblers, froth rushing up the glass and over the lip. Soaking into the ballistics report he was using as a coaster.
He stood. 'Gentlemen, a toast: the Clan McLeod. May they rot in jail.'
They repeated, 'Rot in jail,' then drank.
Pirie smacked his lips. 'Not bad at all.'
Finnie topped them all up then sat back down, feet up on the desk again. 'You know what, I fancy a curry tonight. Anyone? My treat.'
Logan took another mouthful of champagne. Stifled a burp. 'Aren't you going to interview Mrs McLeod?'
'Nope. The old battleaxe can stew in her own juices till tomorrow. She's already been charged, so there's no rush. She's not going anywhere till Monday. A weekend in the cells will do her the world of good. Be practice for when she gets sent down.' He grinned. 'Oh, and before I forget: we have another reason to celebrate. Baz Hartley, our escaped Manchester hoodie, tried to kill Kevin Murray's mum last night. Broke into the family home and had a go at her with a butterfly knife. Revenge for her Kevin grassing them up.'
'Oh Jesus.' Logan sank into one of the chairs. 'What about the kids?'
'Didn't wake up till the ambulance got there. Seems our mate Baz was off his face at the time: slipped on the way in through the kitchen window and banged his head on the working surface. Mrs Murray finds him staggering around on the linoleum and beats him unconscious with a stainless steel breadbin. Wonderful woman.' Finnie held up his glass, twisting it to catch the fluorescent light. 'Oedipus is no more, the McLeods are behind bars, God is in Her heaven, and all's right with the world. Well… except for that caravan load of guns.'
Finnie raised his glass again. 'To Detective Sergeant Logan McRae. Believe it or not, you've actually made my week.'
37
The alarm went off at six fifteen — as usual. Logan slammed his hand down on the off button, rolled over, and burrowed deeper into the duvet. A Saturday off was something to be treasured. He only dragged himself out of bed when the double call of headache and straining bladder ganged up on him. They'd finished off the champagne,
