'Like you were obsessed with Rob Macintyre?' Jackie froze. 'I don't know what you're talking about.' 'I covered for you. I
47
The sound of drunken singing echoed up from the women's cells downstairs as Logan handed over a wax-paper cup of coffee from the canteen. 'Busy tonight.' Insch shrugged, took an experimental sip, and settled back on the blue plastic mattress. The rubbery coating creaked beneath him. 'Don't suppose you've got anything sweet on you?' Logan dug out the handful of Quality Street he'd liberated from a big tin in the CCTV room. 'Chocolate might be a bit melty.' Insch helped himself. The ice pack didn't seem to have helped much - the knuckles on his right hand had swollen up like purple Brussels sprouts. He struggled with the green foil. 'They say anything about how he is?' 'Broken nose. Couple of teeth. Cracked cheekbone.' Nod. 'They going to let him out?' 'Why did you have to--' 'Are they going to let him out?' Logan sighed. 'Possibly. Probably. I don't know. It's not looking good anyway.' Insch finally managed to fight his way into the noisette triangle. 'You know he killed Brooks, don't you?' 'We've been onto the Federation: Big Gary thinks they might stump up the cash to get Hissing Sid to defend you. Maybe barter it down on account of diminished responsibility.' 'Diminished responsibility ...' The inspector picked his way into a toffee coin. 'I compromised the case and now they'll have to let that murdering bastard out on bail.' A predatory smile crept onto Insch's face. 'Sir? Are you OK?' 'You gave me the idea. If he goes down for thirty years I can't touch him. But if he's free ...' 'Don't tell me you did this on purpose!' 'Ken Wiseman's going to disappear.'
