'Got a call from Craiginches - Ken Wiseman beat the living hell out of Richard Davidson last night. Thought I should go up, have a word. Maybe ask him about that,' He pointed at the confession. 'What, Wiseman won't speak to Faulds, or Bain, or me, or that Liverpudlian psychologist toss-pot, but police hero DS Logan McRae'll get him to talk?' 'I only meant--' 'Ah, like I care.' She dropped the confession back on Logan's desk. 'It's the mighty DCS Bain's investigation now. You can do whatever you like, I'm off for a fag.' She stood. 'I'd say take Alec with you, but he's got his camera glued to His Holiness DCS Bain's arse.' Putting on a whiny voice for:'Oh Detective Chief Superintendent, you're so big and clever!' Probably just as well - Logan didn't really want a BBC film crew there while he passed on Insch's message. 'But don't forget we've got that bloody case peer-review with Strathclyde at half twelve.' 'But I'm not--' 'If I have to be there so do you. And you're no' wriggling out of it, so don't even try. Half twelve: if you're late I'm going to ... do something nasty to you. Can't be arsed thinking what at the moment, but it won't be pleasant.'
Wiseman coughed, then spat whatever he'd brought up onto the scuffed linoleum floor. The interview room wasn't exactly straight out of
Logan took another sip of what passed for coffee from the vending machine in reception. 'Little birdy tells me you and Richard Davidson had a falling out.' Wiseman shrugged. 'Some people are born stupid.' 'You put him in hospital: broken leg, cracked ribs, concussion--' 'Little shit came at me, crying about his mummy.' 'Not think you're in enough trouble, Ken?' 'What are they going to do: arrest me?' Fair point. 'I've got a message for you. From DI Insch.''Let me guess: he's going to kill me? Only way I'm getting out of Peterhead Prison's in a body-bag?' Wiseman snorted. 'Heard it all before. His mate Brooks said the same thing. Look what happened to him.' Silence. 'He says he's sorry.' The ex-butcher frowned, sat back in his seat and pursed his lips, looked down at the handcuffs holding his left wrist to the plaster cast on his right, then up at the camera bolted to the wall. 'What for?' But there was no way Logan was going on record saying Insch assaulted a prisoner, even if it was seventeen years ago. 'I want to talk to you about your confession.' 'Thought that's what we
