took the 'happy' off a room. A small boy in pirate-print pyjamas was sitting in the middle of a bright green rug, holding onto a tatty stuffed dog as if his life depended on it, and sneaking glances at the video camera in the corner. A child psychologist slumped on one of the couches, half-heartedly trying to build a house out of Lego. She didn't stop when Logan and Insch entered. The kid froze. 'Hello,' said Insch, easing his massive bulk down till he was sitting cross-legged on the rug,'my name's David. What's yours?' Nothing. So Insch tried again,'I'm a policeman.' He pulled a handful of bricks and a little blue Lego man from the box, clicking them together surprisingly quickly for someone with such huge fingers. 'Do you like boats? I'll bet you do, living down in Fittie. Bet you see lots of boats.' Justin looked up at the dead-fish eye of the camera, then back at Insch and nodded. 'Good,' the inspector smiled,'I like boats too.' He grabbed another lot of little plastic bricks, a passable fishing trawler taking shape in his hands. 'So, do you want to tell me your name, or shall we call you ...' Insch thought for a moment. 'Logan? Would you like that?' The wee boy shook his head. 'Quite right too, it's a poopy name.' said Insch, ignoring the mutters of protest behind him. 'I bet your name's much cooler.' 'Justin.' Barely a whisper. But at least the kid was talking. And slowly the inspector teased the story out of him: how his daddy had picked him up from day-care, because his mummy was out shopping. They'd had fish fingers and beans and mashed potatoes for tea and done the washing up, then daddy was going to cook something for mummy called 'beef burnt onions'. Then the doorbell went and daddy answered it and someone came in and daddy fell over and hit his head on the coffee table. Then the someone gave Justin a whole packet of Maltesers and sent him to bed. Then the bad thing happened and Justin had to hide in his wardrobe till it got stinky, because his doggie did number twos in there. He held the stuffed dog up so Insch could see how naughty it had been. 'And what did the someone look like?' Insch asked, after telling the dog it shouldn't poop in people's wardrobes. 'He looked like a stripy man with a scary face.' The inspector produced a sheet of paper, unfolding it to reveal a picture of ex-Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. 'Is this--' Justin screamed and hid behind his naughty dog. 'Yeah,' Insch put the picture back in his pocket,'she has that effect on a lot of people.'
6
The major incident room was too noisy for a meeting, so Insch, Faulds, and the Procurator Fiscal commandeered a small office on the second floor of FHQ, then sent Logan off to get the coffees. He was halfway up the stairs, making for the canteen, when the voice of doom sounded:'Where the hell have you been?' Logan froze, swore quietly, then turned to see DI Steel standing behind him, hands on her hips, face pulled into a scowl. God knows what had happened to her hair, but it sat on top of her wrinkly head like an electrocuted badger. 'I,' said the inspector, shaking a nicotine-stained finger at him,'have been waiting for that bloody vandalism report for a week now.'
