'Sir, you have to leave. If you lay one finger on him in custody--' The butcher took a deep sniff, howched, then spat. A yellowgreen glob spattered across Insch's cheek. And the inspector lunged. Rennie squealed, but Logan was already moving, dropping his shoulder into the fat man's side and heaving - sending them both crashing into the side wall. They landed in a tangle of limbs, pain flaring across Logan's stomach as the inspector's elbow landed right in the middle of the scar tissue. Then Rennie piled in, dragging the inspector up and off while Wiseman laughed and laughed and laughed.
Luck was on Logan's side for once: he actually managed to find a parking space within walking distance of the hospital entrance. He manoeuvred the pool car into it and switched off the engine. They sat there in silence. He snuck a glance at his passenger. 'Are you sure you're OK?' Insch didn't look up, just sat there in the passenger seat, staring at his hands. At least he'd stopped crying. 'Sir?' The fat man curled his fingers into fists the size of sledgehammers. But his voice was tiny:'It's my fault.' 'You shouldn't--' 'We were convinced he had her somewhere. Brooks ... Brooks thought we could save her if we could get Wiseman to talk.' He sniffed. 'If we could make him tell us where Samantha Harper was. I'm not proud of what I did ... Two broken fingers. Three teeth. Black eye. Bruised ribs. Dislocated shoulder. And Wiseman still wouldn't tell us ...' A tear rolled down the inspector's cheek. 'Turned out she wasn't missing after all. She'd run off with a carpet fitter from Lanarkshire. Her husband had made the whole Flesher thing up because he didn't want anyone to know.' Logan sat in uncomfortable silence, watching the seagulls wheeling above Aberdeen Royal Infirmary. Not wanting to believe what he was hearing. 'We were so sure it was Wiseman ...' Insch wiped the tear away, but another one welled up in its place. 'And seventeen years later, he comes back and takes my daughter. All because I,' the inspector raised a huge fist and bounced it off the dashboard, hitting it harder and harder with every word, making the plastic creak 'did - what - Brooks - wanted!' The whole car rocked as Insch hammered his massive fist down, cracking the dashboard, then dug his fingers into the hole and yanked back and forth, tearing the car apart. 'Jesus, calm down!' It was like being trapped in a wardrobe with an angry bear. Outside, a nurse paused on her way past, then hurried off. Probably to call the police. CRACK and a slab of black plastic came off in Insch's bleeding hands. 'CUT IT OUT!' Logan slapped him. And instantly regretted it as the inspector turned his purple, furious face in Logan's direction. He was actually foaming at the mouth, a thin trickle of blood running from one nostril. Insch raised a massive, torn fist-- Logan closed his eyes and waited for everything to go painful ... But nothing happened. Silence.
