She shrugged and spooned in another mouthful. ‘You making a deposit or a withdrawal?’
‘Wendy and Ian Leadbetter?’
The PCSO rolled her eyes. ‘Only been here half an hour, and they’re already a pain in the arse.’
Logan flipped through the short stack of unfiled custody forms on the desk, spotting a couple of familiar names amongst them. ‘You hear about the bloke Biohazard Bob brought in last week?’
Her face darkened. ‘The one tortured his own daughter? Oh yeah, I remember him fine. Never met anyone more in need of falling down the stairs a couple of times.’ She dumped her spoon on the desk, then upended the yoghurt pot over her mouth, tapping the bottom and slurping.
Logan waited for her to resurface. ‘Any chance of a squint at the custody log?’
‘Paper or electronic?’
‘Whichever’s easier.’
‘Knock yourself out.’ She hauled a thick ring binder from a shelf and thumped it down next to him. ‘You want me to get the Leadbetters into an interview room?’
‘I’ve got Butler waiting in number four, we’ll start with the sister.’
‘Right, back in a tick.’
Logan opened the custody log, working back in time, skimming through the drunks and drug addicts, the burglaries and random violence. His own name appeared at twenty past seven, Tuesday evening – checking Alan Gardner in for armed robbery.
Then there was the usual mix of daily Aberdeen life: a mugging; a couple cases of shoplifting; two women done for kicking the living hell out of a Rumanian bloke selling the
Biohazard’s ‘Father of the Year’ had been signed into custody on Monday afternoon, so with any luck the bastard got Sheriff McNab, and was right now being forced to pleasure some fat fucker in Craiginches.
Serve him right.
Logan went further back. His own name popped up again at quarter to two on Monday afternoon, handing Douglas Walker back into custody after a fifteen-minute interview. Fair enough.
He skipped through the next few pages: domestic violence, drunk driving, assault, another assault, more shoplifting, unlawful removal…And there he was again, checking Douglas Walker out of custody at quarter to ten on the Monday morning.
Logan frowned. Eight pages later and he was checking Walker out at half eight on Sunday evening. Then again at six twenty-two. And four. Ten in the morning. Saturday was just as bad: 17:43, 16:22, 14:12, 12:50. Always against his name.
He stared at the bottom of the last form. It
‘Right, the sister’s in four with Butler.’ The PCSO marched back into the room. ‘Did you know that cheeky sod DS MacDonald tried to grab my—’
‘This is bollocks!’ Logan held the custody log up. Then slammed it back on the desk. ‘I was nowhere near Douglas Walker on Saturday, or Sunday!’
She pursed her lips. ‘OK…’
‘Who’s been screwing with the log?’
She backed off a step. ‘Why would anyone screw with the custody log?’
‘Look at it!’ He thrust the heavy ring binder at her. ‘I interviewed Douglas Walker twice. This thing has me doing it eleven bloody times!’
The PCSO picked her way carefully around the edge of the room, making for her desk. Keeping as much distance between them as possible. ‘Maybe you should—’
‘Check the computer.’
She smiled, but it didn’t go anywhere near her eyes. ‘Yes. I can do that. Right now. Checking the computer…’
Logan thumped the custody log back on the desk. ‘That’s
For the next two minutes the only sound was the rattle-clack of fingers on keyboard, then the PCSO cleared her throat. ‘Ah…You know, your prisoner’s been sitting in the interview room for a while now, and maybe—’
‘What does it say?’
Silence.
‘DI Beattie’s down as the attending officer.’
47
The PCSO had fallen behind after the first two flights of stairs, but Logan wasn’t waiting for her to catch up.
He stormed down the corridor to DI Beattie’s office and barged through the door. It bounced off a filing cabinet with a loud clang and started to swing shut. Logan marched in.
Beattie was sitting behind his desk, eyes wide, phone clamped to his ear. ‘What…?’
