each victim. The way things were going there would be a lot more of these before they finally caught Ken Wiseman.
'Six hundred twenty, six hundred thirty, six hundred forty,' Rennie counted out the ten pound notes into Logan's outstretched hand,'six fifty, and one more makes it six sixty. And I still say you cheated.' Logan ran his fingers through the stack of cash. 'Don't be such a bad loser.' 'Getting him to punch you on your day in the sweepie. Should be ashamed of yourself.' The constable scrunched up the brown envelope the money had been in, then lobbed it at the bin. 'Goal!' He stood there, looking pointedly at the pile of ten pound notes in Logan's hand. 'So, your round tonight then?' 'No chance. My head feels like a brick in a cement mixer.' He reached up and delicately teased one of the tissue paper plugs from his nostril. At least the bleeding had stopped. 'Home, bath, bed.' 'Ah, well, I've got a hot date tonight anyway: Laura again. Going to take her out for a pizza and then back to my place for a night of hot monkey love!' He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. 'Going to get some of that chocolate body paint from Ann Summers after work. We're going to--' 'You're a pervert, do you know that?' 'You're just jealous,'cos I'm having wild passionate sex with a foxy babe and you're stuck on your tod till Christmas.' Rennie turned, flopping a theatrical hand across his brow. 'It's sad really.' Then he flounced off, to the sound of Logan calling him an utter, utter bastard.
'Hoy, Laz, where you think you're going?' Logan finished signing out, then turned to see DI Steel standing at the back door in all her wrinkled glory - packet of cigarettes in one hand, cup of coffee in the other. She nodded her head in the direction of the rear podium car park. 'Come on, you can hold the brolly while I have a fag.' 'I'd really like to just go home. Nose is killing me.' 'Aye, well, that's what happens when you get yourself punched in the face. Come on, you can spare five minutes for your new Senior Investigating Officer.' Trying not to groan, Logan joined her out in the rain, holding the umbrella so the inspector could smoke and drink her coffee at the same time. 'So,' she took a sip and a puff,'you hear about Insch? Two days suspension and a slap on the wrist. No bad going when you think about it. Two days for lamping a Detective Sergeant ... Tempted to try it myself - Beattie's been getting on my tits.' She grinned at him through a plume of cigarette smoke. 'Oh, cheer up, you grumpy old bugger. Here - got a present for you ...' She stuck the fag in her mouth and pulled out a battered paperback from the pocket of her jacket. 'Fusty Faulds said to give it to you when I'd finished.' It was a well-thumbed copy of Jamie McLaughlin's book. Logan turned it over and read the blurb on the back. 'It's no' bad, bit longwinded, but what do you expect from a beardy weirdo?' ''Follow James McLaughlin as he comes to terms with the loss of his parents and the hunt for their killer ... ' Sounds like a bag of laughs.' 'Aye, wait till you get to the photographs.' She took a deep drag on her cigarette and blew the smoke out into the rain. 'Tell you, Laz, this is a golden opportunity. Wiseman turns up at that address you got from the Mastrick Monster, we catch him, cover ourselves in glory, and dance the dance of a thousand pints.' She took another slug of coffee. 'Speaking of being covered in stuff, where's Wee Fat Alec?' 'Last I heard he was off home to shower and chuck his clothes in the washing machine. Why?'
