'Ah,' said Logan,'I've been seconded to this new Flesher investigation. Didn't Insch tell you?' Steel's scowl got even worse. 'Well that's just sodding perfect. I mean, it's no' like my caseload's important is it? No' as long as Fat Boy Insch is happy.' She let loose a string of foul language, then stared at the ceiling for a moment. 'So when, exactly , am I going to see my report?' 'They've got me babysitting this Chief Constable from Birmingham, I--' 'I didn't ask for excuses, Sergeant, I asked when you'd have that bloody report finished.' 'This isn't my fault! I'm only--' 'You remembering you're supposed to be in court tomorrow?' 'Of course.' Which was a lie: he'd forgotten all about it. 'I'm probably not even going to get called, though, you know what these indecent exposure cases are--' 'Ten thirty on the dot, Sergeant.' Steel turned and marched off, calling back over her shoulder,'And don't forget that bloody report!' Logan waited for her to disappear round the corner before sticking two fingers up in her direction. Steel's voice echoed through the stairwell:'I saw that!' Then the doors to the corridor slammed shut and Logan was on his own again. By the time he got back to the little office, Insch, Faulds and the PF were gathered round a desk, discussing Justin Inglis's statement - the inspector casually doodling glasses and blacking out teeth on his photo of Margaret Thatcher. 'Of course, it's not conclusive,' he said,'how could it be? The kid's only three, but I'm pretty sure he's telling the truth.' Insch helped himself to one of the mugs on Logan's tray, sniffed it, and wrinkled his nose. 'I asked for a double mochaccino with extra cinnamon and chocolate - what the hell is this?' 'Machine's broken, so everyone's got instant. ''Typical ...' The PF reached for the vandalized ex-Prime Minister. 'This could still be a copycat.' She held up a hand before Insch could complain. 'Playing Devil's advocate: ever since that damn book came out everyone knows the Flesher wears a butcher's apron and a Margaret Thatcher Halloween mask. On its own it means nothing.' 'It means,' rumbled Insch,'that Wiseman is up to his old tricks again. We found a package of human meat in the Inglises' freezer for God's sake!' 'That's exactly the kind of thinking that scuppered the original investigation - people leapt to conclusions, didn't keep an open mind, didn't follow procedure. Wiseman would still be in jail if the case had been airtight. I agree that it's highly unlikely this is a copycat, but I want every possibility investigated.' She took one of Logan's coffees. 'What do we know about the Inglises?' 'Duncan Inglis works for the Council's Finance Department. He's twenty eight. Got admitted to hospital last year when his wife cracked the toaster off his head. She's twenty five; diagnosed with postnatal depression after the birth of their son, been on medication ever since.' 'Interesting.' The PF took a sip of coffee, shuddered, then put her mug back on the tray. 'So we have a history of violence.' 'We're looking into it.' 'And the butcher, McFarlane?'
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