'You really think Wiseman's still got keys to the place?' Insch shrugged and put his foot down. 'He better, it's the only bloody lead we've got.' The inspector's trousers started singing at them. Insch dragged his mobile phone out, and handed it over. It was all warm. 'Don't just sit there: answer it!' Logan hit the button. 'DI Insch's phone.' A man's voice, old, rough round the edges.'Who's this?' 'DS McRae. Who's this?' 'Put David on.' 'He's driving.' 'Oh for goodness sake: half the country uses their mobile phone while driving!' Now that they weren't stuck behind four tons of farm machinery the Range Rover was tearing down the road. 'Well?' said Insch,'Who is it?' 'No idea.' 'Tell him it's Garry Brooks.' 'It's a Garry Brooks?' The inspector groaned. 'What does he want?' 'I want to know what he's doing to catch that bastard Wiseman. Tell him no one down the station'll talk to me!' Logan did as he was told. And Insch swore quietly. 'Tell him we're working on a couple of leads. I'll give him a shout when we have something more concrete.' 'He says--' 'I heard him! I'm retired, not deaf. Tell him: tonight. Redgarth. Half seven. He's buying.' And then the crotchety old man was gone. Logan shut the inspector's phone and handed it back. 'He says you've got to buy him a pint tonight.' Insch's fat hands tightened on the steering wheel. 'Why didn't you tell him I couldn't make it? We're going to be watching Wiseman's bolthole! You knew that!' 'I didn't get the chance! The old git hung up on me.' 'That 'old git' was policing Aberdeen before you were born!' Alec scooted forward again. 'Brooks? Not DCI Brooks? The guy who--'
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