Danby’s face twitched. ‘I’d have thought Richard Knox would get your undivided attention, know what I’m saying?’
‘Yeah, that’s a great idea, I’ll just tell my thirty other clients they don’t matter any more. That how they do things in Newcastle, is it?’ He dug into his corduroy jacket and came out with a piece of paper. ‘Desk sergeant gave me a message for a Sergeant McRoy?’
‘McRae.’ Logan held out his hand. It was barely legible – which meant Sergeant Eric Mitchell was manning the desk – ‘THERE’S A TIM MAIR HERE TO SEE YOU + OVERTIME: WTF?!?’ and then a doodle of a skull and crossbones.
Steel leant over and squinted at the note, then put her lips against Logan’s ear. ‘I hope Social Work Boy’s no’ propositioning you for hairy bum sex in the toilets.’
‘Someone’s here about Polmont’s stash of electrical equipment.’
‘Well, don’t just sit there – bugger off and…’ Everyone was staring at her. Steel smiled. ‘I was just consulting with my colleague about the viability of Knox staying on in Grampian. Everyone knows he’s here, they’ll be on the lookout for him. He’s a target. Move him somewhere else and he might live to see his next birthday.’
DI Ingram cleared his throat. ‘Actually, there’s a lot of merit in the inspector’s suggestion—’
‘Course there is.’ She thumped Logan on the back. ‘Now, Sergeant, why don’t you run along and see if you can’t get a nice constable to whip us all up a wee cup of tea?’
Dildo, AKA: Tim Mair, was leaning on the reception desk downstairs, helping himself to Sergeant Mitchell’s bag of Revels. The bag’s owner had the kind of moustache that would have made walruses jealous, and it twitched as Logan tried to join in.
‘Hoy! Who said you could have one?’ Mitchell snatched the bag away. ‘Been trying to get you all sodding morning. Turn your bloody phone on!’
Dildo grinned, pulling his black goatee out of shape. ‘You tell him, Eric.’
Logan dug into his jacket pocket and let a handful of plastic shrapnel tumble onto the reception desk. ‘If you can figure out how, be my guest.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Oh, and Steel wants someone to make a load of teas for the MAPPA meeting.’
Sergeant Mitchell’s moustache bristled. ‘Well don’t look at me!’
‘Just get some PC to do it.’ Logan turned to leave. ‘Oh, and make sure whoever it is spits in DSI Danby’s mug.’
‘Right.’ Dildo wiped the steam from his John Lennon glasses. ‘Let’s see these dodgy goods you found.’
Logan pointed through the glass front wall, at the swirling snow. ‘They’re at the Water Lane store.’
‘Oh for Christ sake…could you not have brought them up?’
‘No room. We can take your car if you like?’
‘Left it at the office.’
‘OK.’ Logan swept the bits of phone back into his pocket. ‘We’ll go in mine.’
‘Piece of shite…’ Dildo hauled at the passenger door release. ‘Have you got the child locks on or something?’ The black plastic bag duct-taped over the missing window bucked and shuddered in the wind, the engine running on for a whole three seconds after Logan pulled the keys out of the ignition before it finally gave up and died.
‘Don’t be such a girl – got you here, didn’t it?’
‘Only just, would’ve been quicker bloody walking.’ It had taken them over twenty minutes to drive the quarter mile from the station, crawling through the snow and snarled up traffic.
‘Yeah, if you want to die of frostbite.’ Logan climbed out into the narrow lane. White flakes swirled around the car, battering against the rusty paintwork as Water Lane funnelled the wind into a teeth-chattering gale. He hurried round and hauled open Dildo’s door from the outside. ‘Well, don’t just sit there!’
They bustled through the keypad-locked door, into the little corridor on the other side. Stomping their feet to get rid of the snow. They signed in with a red-nosed, sniffly constable, and headed through to the evidence store.
If anything, it was even colder than it had been yesterday, their breath trailing behind them as Logan led the way through the minotaur’s maze of metal shelving. ‘Over here.’
Dildo took his glasses off, wiped them dry on a cloth, and put them back on again. ‘Where?’
Logan waved a hand, indicating the eight shelves packed with the stuff they’d taken out of Polmont’s flat.
‘Oh buggering hell! All of it?’
‘Yup.’
Dildo hauled a box out and thumped it down on the scuffed floorboards. ‘Got to be twenty below in here, and this’ll take sodding
‘You get cracking and I’ll go see what I can do.’
By the time Logan returned, trundling a battered oil-filled radiator in front of him, the man from Trading Standards was surrounded by iPhones. He held one up to the light and sniffed. ‘Definitely fake.’
Logan peered at it. ‘Looks OK to me.’ He uncoiled an extension lead and plugged the radiator in. ‘Should help a bit.’
‘Watch.’ Dildo pressed something and the screen came to life, revealing a display that looked nothing like it did on the TV adverts. ‘They make them by the bucket-load in China, ship them over hidden in containers. You know how much this costs to make? Peanuts…Well, prawn crackers anyway.’ He pointed at the radiator. ‘That thing working yet?’
‘Give it a minute.’
