Alec pulled a brand-new HDV camera from its carry case and set it on the table so he could hook up the receivers for a pair of radio mikes. 'Just because Brooks hasn't turned up, doesn't mean the night's a washout.' He unpacked two small clip-on microphones and handed one each to Logan and Insch. 'Noise levels aren't bad in here: the pair of you can go over developments in the case.' He switched the camera on, fiddled with the settings, then pointed it at them. 'And, action!' There was an uncomfortable silence. 'That means you have to start doing something.' Logan groaned. 'Bugger off, Alec, eh?' The cameraman stared at them. 'After all that shite this afternoon, you two owe me.' 'It wasn't shite,' said Insch with the faintest trace of a smile,'it was pish.' Then he cleared his throat and asked Logan what was happening at the address they'd got from Angus Robertson. 'Nothing.' Alec made 'more detail' hand gestures until Logan, reluctantly, started talking again. 'The building's pretty much derelict. Used to be a halfway house in the seventies, but there was a scandal ... look we already know all this.' 'Yes,' said Alec, never taking the camera off them,'but the viewers don't.' Sigh. 'There was a scandal: two of the 'guests' took turns raping their social worker. The investigation turned up some questionable practices, financial irregularities, unsanitary conditions and dodgy wiring. So they shut it down ... Aren't people going to notice I've been bashed in the face?' Alec gritted his teeth. 'This is going to be difficult enough to edit as it is!' 'Anyway, I've seen the photos - the place is a tip. Half the windows are gone, weeds growing in the lounge, cold, damp. He'd have to be bloody desperate to go back there.' 'He's desperate. Question is: what's he up to? He's got to know we'll pick him up soon as he arranges his fifteen minutes of fame with the BBC ...' Insch polished off his second pint. 'What would you do? You've only got a few days of freedom left, then you're going back to prison for the rest of your life.' But Logan had already answered that one, back when Faulds asked the same question at the Leith house. 'What would I do?' He stood: it was time for more beer. 'Revenge.'
The answering machine was lying in wait for Logan when he finally got back to the flat, its little red light winking away, malevolent and devious. He hit the button, still feeling all bunged up and sore, even after two pints of Stella and a nip of Glen Garioch.
