Scotland six months ago. They can't have taken part in the 1987 killings.' 'But...?' Looking hopeful. 'There is no 'but'. Wiseman's never been to Poland, he doesn't speak Polish, and according to Alaba's security logs he's never been to the abattoir either.' 'Bugger.' Logan turned his head to the death board, looking at the aftermath of pain and suffering. 'It's beginning to look like Wiseman isn't the Flesher. Not now, not twenty years ago: it was all a figment of Brooks' imagination.' Steel slapped him on the shoulder. 'For God's sake don't let Insch hear you say that.' She was peering into her cleavage again. 'Silly sod's come in today and he's in enough of a grump as it is ... Do these look droopy to you?'
She wasn't kidding about Insch's mood - by the time Logan bumped into the inspector, he looked as if someone had stuffed a hand grenade up his bum and pulled the pin. The explosion was imminent. Fire in the hole. Logan paused in the doorway of the muster room; maybe he could just sneak out again without the fat man noticing-- 'And where do you think you're going?' Bugger. Logan forced a smile. 'Sir, I heard you were in, did--' 'Apparently I demonstrated severe lapses in judgement.' Insch scrawled another item on the muster room whiteboard. 'I had my meeting with Professional Standards. Severe - lapses - in - judgement.' The pen creaked and squeaked as he mashed the words out with his huge fist. 'Should've called the Environmental Health; should have recognized the risk of infection from eating human flesh; should have searched that bloody septic tank; should have figured out that McFarlane's butcher's and that cash and carry got their meat from the same - bloody - place.' He rammed the cap back on the pen and stood there: trembling, purple-faced. 'Tried to make me go home: 'Compassionate leave's there for a reason, Inspector.' 'We're concerned about your wellbeing, Inspector.' 'You've been under a lot of pressure.' 'You've suffered a terrible loss ... ' Like I don't already bloody know that! What am I supposed to do? Go home to an empty house? They wouldn't even let us bury her!' Insch hurled the pen down on the desktop. It bounced, sending a small stack of crime reports fluttering to the floor. 'How ...' Logan looked away. 'How are the girls holding up?' 'How would I fucking know? Miriam won't let me see them.' 'I'm sorry.' It didn't seem like enough. The inspector ground his teeth for a moment, breath hissing in and out of his nose as he slowly returned to a more normal shade of pink. 'With everyone running round like headless chickens trying to catch the Flesher, the crime statistics are going through the roof. Muggings, rapes, assaults, shoplifting, vandalism, extortion ... The whole city's going to hell.' He sniffed.'Someone has to hold the fort. You'd think that'd be obvious to anyone with half a brain, but I had to argue for two bloody hours till I got them to see sense.' 'They let you come back to work?' Insch bent to pick up the pen from the floor at his feet; his knees popped like gunshots on the way down. When he came up again it was with a grunt. 'Just because I'm dealing with all this shite, doesn't mean you're off the hook: anything happens with Wiseman I want to know about it. Understand?' 'I gave him your message.' 'Do - you - understand?'
