hooded eyes moving restlessly across his twilight domain. The poster boy for generations of exuberant inbreeding.
He raised an eyebrow, giving Logan’s prisoner the long, hard stare.
Gardner was standing on the bare concrete with his head down, fairy princess granddaughter clutched to his chest, her podgy legs and little pink shoes dangling against his belly.
‘So,’ Sergeant Downie pulled the cap off a chewed blue biro and smiled with tombstone teeth, ‘which one am I checking in: the bald bloke, or the wee girl with the fairy wings?’
‘Very funny.’ Logan signed the custody form at the bottom. ‘Mr Gardner’s going to be helping us with those jewellery heists.’
‘I see.’ The sergeant took the clipboard back and started ticking boxes. ‘And would Mr Gardner like a wake-up call, newspaper, breakfast in bed?’
‘Don’t be a dick, Jeff.’
Twitch. ‘Fair enough.’
‘You got any PCSOs knocking about? I need someone to look after the kid till social services get here.’
Sergeant Downie laughed. ‘You’re kidding, right? I’ve got half a female rugby team downstairs screaming blue bloody murder. Must be that time of the month. Speaking of which.’ He leant forward and lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Think Steel’s on the blob too. Been stomping about like someone’s smeared her tampons with Deep Heat. Beware of the lesbian!’
Logan’s phone was ringing again.
The Wee Hoose had been relatively quiet – unlike the main CID office – giving him a chance to type up Alan Gardner’s confession before heading off home.
He peered at the phone’s display, making sure it wasn’t that idiot Beattie, before picking up. ‘McRae.’
DSI Danby’s huge bass voice boomed out of the earpiece.
Logan snatched the phone away from his ear. ‘Bloody hell…’ He trailed off. DS Doreen Taylor was staring at him, her eyes bugged out, mouth an angry line. She pointed at the little fairy princess sitting on her desk, legs dangling over the edge. Nicole’s wings were getting crumpled, and the chocolate biscuit they’d used as a bribe to stop her crying was slowly making its way all over her face.
Doreen jabbed her finger at him, her voice a sharp whisper, ‘Language!’
Logan grimaced. ‘Sorry.’ He swivelled his chair around until he had his back to them both, then turned the volume down on the phone. ‘Sorry, sir, had to close the door. They’re still swamped with sightings of Knox.’ The last part was true at least, the phones hadn’t stopped ringing in CID all day.
‘Backshift are still checking, but you know what it’s like. A big case like this brings out all the loonies.’ Logan clicked on his email and skimmed through till he got to the message from the hospital. ‘Harry Weaver from Sacro woke up an hour ago – DS MacDonald interviewed him, but he can’t remember anything. Tox report says he was full of Rohypnol.’
‘Too early to tell.’
There was a pause.
Logan groaned. ‘Christ, that’s all we—’
A pad of pink Post-it notes clattered off his monitor.
Doreen had her finger out again. ‘Language!’
‘Oops…’ Logan went back to the phone, thanked Danby, and hung up. Newcastle gangsters: as if things weren’t complicated enough.
The handset had barely touched the cradle before it was ringing again. ‘Oh for fff…’ He shut his mouth before Doreen could throw anything else. ‘McRae?’
Samantha:
Logan checked the time on the computer – 19:40 – nearly three hours after the end of his shift. ‘Drowning in paperwork: caught the guy doing over the jewellery shops.’
He took a deep breath. ‘Actually, I’m just about done. How about I pick up a Chinese on the way home and…
Of course it was, he could hear it in Samantha’s voice.
Doreen cleared her throat. ‘I can look after her.’
Logan raised his head. There was a long line of gibberish stretching across his screen.
Doreen ran a hand through the little girl’s pale-yellow hair. ‘Nicole can help me prepare case papers for the golf club murder, can’t you Nicole?’
The fairy princess stuck her thumb in her chocolaty mouth and sooked. To be honest, she’d probably be more help than most of CID.
