Dark Blood

‘Knock yourself out.’ She hauled a thick ring binder from a shelf and thumped it down next to him. ‘You want me to get the Leadbetters into an interview room?’

‘I’ve got Butler waiting in number four, we’ll start with the sister.’

‘Right, back in a tick.’

Logan opened the custody log, working back in time, skimming through the drunks and drug addicts, the burglaries and random violence. His own name appeared at twenty past seven, Tuesday evening — checking Alan Gardner in for armed robbery.

Then there was the usual mix of daily Aberdeen life: a mugging; a couple cases of shoplifting; two women done for kicking the living hell out of a Rumanian bloke selling the Big Issue outside Boots…

Biohazard’s ‘Father of the Year’ had been signed into custody on Monday afternoon, so with any luck the bastard got Sheriff McNab, and was right now being forced to pleasure some fat fucker in Craiginches.

Serve him right.

Logan went further back. His own name popped up again at quarter to two on Monday afternoon, handing Douglas Walker back into custody after a fifteen-minute interview. Fair enough.

He skipped through the next few pages: domestic violence, drunk driving, assault, another assault, more shoplifting, unlawful removal…And there he was again, checking Douglas Walker out of custody at quarter to ten on the Monday morning.

Logan frowned. Eight pages later and he was checking Walker out at half eight on Sunday evening. Then again at six twenty-two. And four. Ten in the morning. Saturday was just as bad: 17:43, 16:22, 14:12, 12:50. Always against his name.

He stared at the bottom of the last form. It looked like his signature, but there was no way he’d actually signed it.

‘Right, the sister’s in four with Butler.’ The PCSO marched back into the room. ‘Did you know that cheeky sod DS MacDonald tried to grab my-’

‘This is bollocks!’ Logan held the custody log up. Then slammed it back on the desk. ‘I was nowhere near Douglas Walker on Saturday, or Sunday!’

She pursed her lips. ‘OK…’

‘Who’s been screwing with the log?’

She backed off a step. ‘Why would anyone screw with the custody log?’

‘Look at it!’ He thrust the heavy ring binder at her. ‘I interviewed Douglas Walker twice. This thing has me doing it eleven bloody times!’

The PCSO picked her way carefully around the edge of the room, making for her desk. Keeping as much distance between them as possible. ‘Maybe you should-’

‘Check the computer.’

She smiled, but it didn’t go anywhere near her eyes. ‘Yes. I can do that. Right now. Checking the computer…’

Logan thumped the custody log back on the desk. ‘That’s not my signature!’

For the next two minutes the only sound was the rattle-clack of fingers on keyboard, then the PCSO cleared her throat. ‘Ah…You know, your prisoner’s been sitting in the interview room for a while now, and maybe-’

‘What does it say?’

Silence.

‘DI Beattie’s down as the attending officer.’

47

The PCSO had fallen behind after the first two flights of stairs, but Logan wasn’t waiting for her to catch up.

He stormed down the corridor to DI Beattie’s office and barged through the door. It bounced off a filing cabinet with a loud clang and started to swing shut. Logan marched in.

Beattie was sitting behind his desk, eyes wide, phone clamped to his ear. ‘What…?’

Logan slammed the custody log down on the desktop, hard enough to send a mug of tea spiralling to the new carpet. ‘What the hell did you do?’

Beattie shrank back. ‘I’m on the phone!’

‘You’re going to be on your arse in a minute!’

The PCSO’s voice came from the open door behind him: ‘I told you he’d taken it.’

Then a man: ‘Sergeant McRae, would you care to explain yourself?’

Logan didn’t need to look around, he knew it was Chief Inspector Young from Professional Standards, which meant he was probably already screwed.

‘Beattie faked the custody log.’

The DI’s chin came up. ‘I don’t know what you’re-’

‘Here!’ Logan yanked the ring binder open, whipping through the pages until he got to the first forged custody record — the one that said he’d interviewed the art student at quarter to nine on Monday morning. ‘Douglas Walker, checked out of custody at oh-nine-forty-five Monday by DS McRae.’

Chief Inspector Young appeared at Logan’s shoulder. ‘And how does that-’

‘At nine forty-five I was making sure Richard Knox got through the lynch mob outside his house in one piece. You can check with DI Steel, and half a dozen PCs. It was on the bloody telly!’ He flipped back a few pages. ‘Twenty past six, Sunday night: I was arresting Angus Black for possession in Blackburn. This says I was interviewing Walker again. But the computer log says it was Beattie!’

The DI lumbered to his feet. ‘Sergeant, how dare you suggest-’

Logan slammed his hand down on the open ring binder. ‘What, you couldn’t figure out how to fiddle the electronic version? Bit more difficult than faking a signature, was it?’

Beattie looked at CI Young. ‘Chief Inspector, I want to make a formal complaint about DS McRae’s behaviour. You’re a witness, right? You and…’ He pointed at the PCSO. ‘You. He threatened me, and-’

‘I’ll do more than bloody threaten you!’

He lunged, but Young was faster, wrapping one of those huge scarred hands around Logan’s arm. ‘I think we should all calm down, don’t you?’

‘He tried to attack me! You saw him!’

Logan had another go, but Young’s grip was solid.

And then everyone froze as DCI Finnie appeared in the doorway. ‘Tell me gentlemen, am I running a CID department, or a playground for badly behaved children?’

Silence.

Logan tore his arm out of Young’s grip. Pointed at Beattie. ‘Tell him what you did.’

‘DS McRae is being abusive and threatening-’

‘You lying bastard!’

Young had to restrain him again.

Beattie backed away. ‘I want him brought up on charges, and-’

‘THAT’S ENOUGH!’ Finnie’s voice made the paintings rattle on the walls. ‘You will both behave like professional police officers, or I’ll suspend the pair of you!’ He checked his watch. ‘Chief Inspector Young, would you be so kind as to escort DS McRae back to your office for a small chat about appropriate workplace behaviour?’ He turned to face Logan and Beattie. ‘And I’ll expect both of you in my office at five this evening when we shall discuss your conduct. Do you understand?’

Logan stiffened. ‘Sir.’

‘Sir, it’s not my fault, he barged in and-’

‘Do you understand, Inspector Beattie?’

The beardy idiot deflated a bit. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘We’ve got a rapist on the loose, and a missing detective superintendent. I suggest