'Wants to set up an interview, like that Ipswich guy.' Faulds hung up. 'Any chance you can put your foot down? We've got a briefing to get to. Wiseman's--' 'Been on the phone to the BBC. Yes, sir, Alec was just telling me about it.' Faulds frowned. 'No. He's grabbed someone else.'
10
'Right, settle down.' There was a sudden stillness in the briefing room. The place was packed with uniformed officers, support staff, and CID. Alec and his mate with the very big camera had set up so one of them could film the crowd while the other one focused on DI Insch, standing at the front of the room, telling everyone about the latest disappearance. 'Valerie Leith.' Click and a woman's face filled the projection screen: mid thirties, slightly overweight, brown hair cut in an unflattering bob, pretty green eyes. 'Approximately half four this morning her husband hears a noise downstairs. He goes to investigate and is attacked. By the time he regains consciousness, his wife is missing and the kitchen's covered in blood.' Click - the cover of James McLaughlin's book appeared, Smoak With Blood written in white on a lurid red cover featuring the photo of someone dressed as the Flesher. 'This is who Leith says attacked him.' Insch went for a big dramatic pause. 'This makes William Leith the first person ever to survive a confrontation with Wiseman.' DC Rennie leant over and whispered in Logan's ear:'What the hell does 'smoak' mean when it's at home?' 'No idea. Shut up.' 'Only asking ...' Click - and a battered man's face filled the screen, half his head hidden behind a swathe of bandages. 'Thirty-four stitches,' said Insch,'three units of blood. Leith's now under protective custody at Aberdeen Royal Infirmary - I have no intention of Wiseman coming back and finishing the job.' Click - Ken Wiseman scowled out from the projection screen. Time and HM Prison Peterhead hadn't been kind: what little hair he had left was close cropped and greying, his goatee more salt than pepper. Big ears, big hands, big all over; overweight, but still powerful with it. A long scar ran from the top left of his forehead, through his right eyebrow and down to the middle of his cheek, pulling the eyelid out of shape. Not a pretty face. 'He's been on the run since Tuesday morning, but this afternoon he called the BBC.' Insch gave the nod and a uniformed PC set the tape running. A woman's voice, friendly: 'Hello, BBC Scotland, can I help you?'; Some crackling. A pause. Then a man's voice, deep, with just enough Aberdonian in it to be noticeable:'I want to speak to someone about the Flesher.' 'Just a moment and I'll see if anyone's free ...' the line went silent for a moment, then hold music, then another woman's voice: 'News desk - can I help you?' 'Do you know who I am?' Another pause, probably filled with rolling eyes and theatrical sighs.'Are you calling about anything in--' 'Ken Wiseman. They're looking for me. They're lying about me.'
