'
Steel dumped another stack of reports on Logan's desk. 'There you go - Tayside say if you want anything else give them a shout.' Logan stared at the pile of SOC, IB, and door-to-door data. 'I don't even want this lot.' 'Aye, well, we've all got out crosses to bear.' She struck a pose. 'You think it's easy being this gorgeous?' 'You said I was supposed to check up on those Polish police reports.' 'And did you?' 'Yes ...' Logan realized his mistake as soon he'd said it. 'Perfect, then you're free to do this now, aren't you?' 'But--' 'Ah, ah, ah.' She waggled a finger at him. 'Remember the golden rule: you--' Logan's phone rang and he snatched at the excuse:'Hello?' But it wasn't Colin Miller, it was an annoyed Chief Constable with a Brummie accent:'
Forty minutes later Logan was heading out the road to Turriff, with Faulds in the passenger seat and his luggage in the boot. Logan kept sneaking glances at the Chief Constable's face - it looked as if someone had given him a going over. The bruise on his forehead was starting to fade around the edges - dark purple tinged with greeny-yellow, a scab on his cheek, another bruise blending into his goatee. He hadn't shaved for a couple of days either. 'Didn't think we'd be seeing you back again so soon, sir.'
