'Yeah, when she's finished her O-levels.' 'I didn't know!' Rennie twitched. 'You can't tell anyone, OK? Please! You saw her: she was all over me from the start! I didn't know!' 'Bloody hell ... fifteen ...' 'She doesn't look fifteen! You saw her - you bought her drinks in the pub!' 'Yeah, but there's a bit of a difference between buying a minor a rum and coke, and painting her with golden syrup then licking it off.' 'Oh God ... I'll have to go to court ... I'll lose my job! My mum'll find out! What'll the papers say?' 'Probably something classy like, 'PC PAEDOPHILE SHOWED ME HIS TRUNCHEON'.' 'It's not funny! What am I going to do? If anyone finds out ...' He looked on the verge of tears. 'I didn't know !' Logan took pity on him. 'I looked it up. Section five point five of the Criminal Law - Consolidation Scotland - Act 1995, says you've got a defence if you genuinely believed she was over sixteen--' 'I did! You know I did!' 'And you're under twenty-four years of age when the offence was committed.' Rennie looked as if something special had just happened in his trousers. 'I'm twenty-three!' He closed his eyes and slid off the chair. 'Oh thank you dear, sweet, fucking Jesus ...' 'You're welcome. Now get your arse back up here, we've got more important things to worry about.' He dumped the newspapers on the floor. 'Like how the Flesher found Elizabeth Nichol.' Rennie scrambled into the seat. 'I never would've touched her if I'd known--' 'Will you bloody concentrate? We've got two women out there who're going to wind up as happy meals if we don't do something. So come on: who knew where Nichol lived?' Rennie scrubbed his face with his hands, relief oozing out of him like a very happy smell. 'I don't ... Hospital: doctors, nurses, admin staff. They'd all have access to her patient records when she got admitted after the attack.' 'Good, I want you to get someone up there, see if anyone fits Goulding's latest profile. Who else knew?' 'Police.' The constable poked the desk. 'We knew. Better yet, Faulds knew. Where was he Thursday night, eh?' 'Oh for God's--' 'Think about it: we all went to the pub, but he didn't come, did he? He'd be a dab hand at covering his tracks; knows forensic procedure inside and out; he's got all them mystery bruises; and every time there's a--' 'Enough! OK? Faulds is not the bloody Flesher.' Logan tossed PC Munro's FLO report across the desk. 'No need to get all--'
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