'Because when Wiseman turns up I want Mr Stinks-of-Piss filming as you and me arrest him.' Logan sighed. 'It's supposed to be a low-key operation. Flood the place with parked cars full of CID and BBC cameramen, Wiseman'll run a mile.' She wrinkled her face at him. 'You're no fun.' 'I'm knackered: haven't had a day off in weeks.' 'Oh?' Steel sooked the last gasp from her cigarette and pinged it out into the rain. 'Well, tell you what, why don't you take a couple of days at home. Put your feet up. Don't worry your pretty little head about a thing.' 'Sarcasm. Nice. It was my day off today, and where was I?' 'I'm sure that wee boy they found barricaded in his room in Fittie is over the moon you're prepared to put your social life on hold for two minutes while we try find the man who butchered his bloody parents.' Logan handed her the brolly. 'Good night, Inspector.' And marched off into the night. She shouted after him:'Seven - sharp! And it's your turn to get the bacon butties!'
Jamie McLaughlin's book wasn't anywhere near as bad as Logan had expected. OK, so Jamie had a tendency to use three words where one would do, but other than that it was pretty good. Logan sat in the lounge, with the radiator and electric fire going full pelt, a cup of tea balanced on the arm of the settee, and a packet of Jaffa Cakes on the coffee table, reading about the hunt for Ken Wiseman, AKA: the Flesher. Every now and then he'd come across a few pages of photographs, usually of the investigative team. Some were lifted from newspaper cuttings, but others were more candid: a uniformed officer standing outside the McLaughlin house while an SOC team shuffled by in the out-of-focus background; Jamie's bedroom; the pathologist having a sneaky cigarette in the back garden; a thin man with thick, dark hair deep in conversation with a statuesque redhead; a clunky looking, old-fashioned patrol car with ... Logan flipped back a page. According to the caption it was 'DC DAVID INSCH (GRAMPIAN)AND DS JANIS MCKAY (STRATHCLYDE)DISCUSSING THE CASE'. 'Bloody hell ...' Logan had never seen the inspector with hair before. And he didn't look like an angry, pink dirigible either, he was actually smiling! There was a sight you didn't see every day. Logan flipped to the index and went looking for more about Detective Constable David Insch.
He was in the kitchen, making another cup of tea when the doorbell rang. Logan thought about ignoring it - probably kids dressed up in black bin-bags and cheap plastic masks. Halloween was four days ago and the little bastards were still shouting 'Trick or treat?' RRRRRRRRRRingggggggggggggg Logan stuck the milk back in the fridge. RRRRRRRRRRingggggggggggggg He went through to the lounge and peered out of the window at the street below. There was a darkish Volvo estate illegally parked on the other side of the road, it's hazard lights flashing orange in the rain, the BBC Scotland logo stencilled on the driver's door. RRRRRRRRRRingggggggggggggg 'OK, OK, I'm coming.' Logan hurried down the communal stairs and opened the building's front door.
