38
'Come on, come on, come on ...' Logan willed the lift doors to open, wishing he'd taken the stairs instead. Ping: out, right, and through the double doors, barrelling down the corridor towards Detective Chief Superintendent Bain's office. Glad to be the bearer of good news for a change. The door was shut, but the sound of raised voices filtered through. DI Steel:'What the hell were you thinking?' DCS Bain:'Oh come on, what was I supposed to do? His wife's left him and taken the kids, he needs something to focus on.' Logan changed his mind about knocking and loitered with intent to eavesdrop instead. 'He's grieving. He's no' thinking straight. He's bloody dangerous!' 'He begged, OK? He begged me to let him come back to work and--' 'He shouldn't be here! And I'm no' just saying that to be a bitch - he needs time. You push him and he'll bloody break.' 'It's light duties
Five minutes later they were all in the main incident room, clustered round a scabby old television someone had wheeled in on a trolley. DCS Bain told Rennie to hit pause then tapped the screen: it was night, and a man in a thick padded jacket and dark woollen hat was caught halfway between the protein processing area and the shed where they kept the salted hides. He had a heavy-looking holdall slung over his shoulder. DI Steel peered at the timestamp flickering away in the corner. 'When was this?' Rennie checked something on a clipboard. 'Friday night. Twenty-eight minutes past eleven: when the security guards usually have their fly cup - official tea break's not till midnight, but they slip one in when no one's looking. It's about thirty-six hours after the pathologist reckons Tom Stephen was killed.' He pressed play again, and the figure hurried past the skin sheds; one frame every two seconds, like cheap Canadian animation, then disappeared through the fence and into the leylandii hedge. 'Bloody hell ...' Steel slapped Rennie on the shoulder. 'How come no one noticed this sooner?'
