‘Come in?’
He did, closing it behind him and placing one of the cups on her desk. ‘Got you a latte, by way of an apology.’
‘Punctuality matters, Logan.’ She peeled back the plastic lid and peered inside. ‘The shift starts at seven, and if you can’t... Ooh, are those sprinkles?’
‘And marshmallows.’ He lowered himself into one of her visitors’ chairs. ‘You wanted to speak to me?’
‘We don’t approve of bribery in Professional Standards.’ Bevan took a sip. Smiled. ‘But I’ll make an exception this time.’ She pointed at a copy of the Scottish Daily Post, sitting next to her in-tray. ‘Did you see the papers this morning?’
OK...
‘Not yet. Why?’
‘Still nothing about DI King’s past.’
‘Really?’ He helped himself to her copy, flicking through it. Sex scandals, embezzlement, some footballer’s drink-and-drugs shame, a banker caught with an underage girl, a politician caught lying — as if that was even news these days. But Bevan was right. Not so much as a whiff of King. ‘That’ll change. DCI Hardie’s putting out the press release about it at the briefing today.’
Little wrinkles marred her forehead. ‘Ah...’
‘Put it this way: the story’s a landmine. We don’t know when we’re going to step on it, but sooner or later we will. With any luck, a controlled explosion will put the damn thing out of commission.’
‘The thing is — and I don’t mean to cast aspersions here — but it might have been better if you hadn’t let Haiden Lochhead get away.’
‘We didn’t “let” him anything. They pulled our backup and he did a runner. It was bad luck.’
The wrinkles deepened. ‘I’m sure Professor Wilson will think so.’
‘Yes, I said that.’
‘And Detective Inspector King?’
Good question.
‘I genuinely think he’s doing his best.’ A shrug. ‘He can be a little preoccupied with his marriage breaking up, but his work doesn’t seem to be suffering for it.’
‘And yet...?’
‘You know what the job’s like. It’s a pressure cooker full of raw sewage on cases like this.’
She smiled. ‘This another one of your landmine metaphors?’
‘Technically it’s more of a simile.’ Logan returned her newspaper. ‘Does he have a history of anything... worrying on his service record that I don’t know about? Something not in his official file?’
‘Such as?’
‘Something I should be looking out for, so I don’t end up going down with the ship.’
The smile twitched. ‘Landmines, pressure cookers, and shipwrecks. Chief Superintendent Doig never said you were such a clichémonger.’ Bevan went in for a slurp of latte, giving herself a small creamy moustache in the process. ‘I believe you when you say DI King’s a good man, Logan. It’s not his fault life’s handed him this particular basket of ticking time bombs.’ She shook her head. ‘You’ve got me doing it now.’
Logan shifted in his seat. ‘So, I’m putting my career on the line because...?’
‘Keep me informed, Logan. I want this one to end well for a change.’ She pulled over her keyboard and pecked away at it with a couple of fingers. ‘And please try to be on time tomorrow!’
‘Yes, Boss.’ He gathered up his coffee and let himself out, before she changed her mind.
The PSD office was half-full — people on the phone, people hunched over their computers, people chatting. Shona battering away at the laser printer, using a ring binder as a cudgel. ‘Work, you moronic, half-arsed, turd-fuelled excuse of a thing. Work!’
Clearly, now that all the birthday paraphernalia had been tidied away, it was business as usual.
Rennie backed in through the doors, carrying a tray laden down with greasy paper bags from the baker’s. ‘It’s rowie time: get ’em while they’re hot!’
Pretty much every phone conversation was brought to a rapid halt as the assembled horde swarmed Rennie and his offerings, helping themselves in a barrage of muttered thanks, before heading off to their desks to chomp and munch. Leaving no one but Logan and Rennie standing.
He proffered the tray in Logan’s direction. ‘Wasn’t sure if you were coming in or not, but I got you a Cardiologist’s Delight just in case.’
‘Ooh, ta.’ Logan helped himself to the bag with ‘CD’ scrawled on it, the paper nearly transparent with grease. He pulled out a pair of hot rowies with a slice of plastic cheese and two sausages sandwiched between them. It popped and crackled as he bit into it, mouth flooding with melted butter and porky goodness.
Rennie opened the remaining bag and produced two more rowies, twisting them apart to reveal the jam and butter liberally spread on the inside surfaces. ‘Heard you were out on the lash with King and Hardie last night.’
‘Don’t remind me.’ He grabbed the tomato sauce as they passed Shona’s desk, applying a liberal squirting of crime-scene red. ‘Last I saw of Hardie, it was gone midnight and he was spattering his shoes with an extra-large doner with chilli sauce and garlic yoghurt.’
‘Ooh, pukearama.’
‘Nope: too drunk to get much of it in his mouth.’ Logan ripped another bite of his arterial monstrosity, the sweet tomato sauce rounding the whole thing out. ‘Mmmmnngghhinn nngggginggg?’
‘Maybe?’ Rennie settled into his seat and took a dainty bite, shoogling the mouse with his other hand to wake up his computer. ‘I looked into Haiden Lochhead. Word is: that jewellery shop he ram-raided? Wanted the cash to—’
‘Buy explosives so he could blow up a Duke of Sutherland statue?’
A disappointed pout. ‘You knew.’
‘Anything else?’
Rennie checked his screen. ‘Grew up around Ellon, moved to Auchterless when he was eight and his dad got out of prison for the third time. Family holidays at Cruden Bay. Lost his wee brother in a fishing accident — boat sank, Haiden barely made it to shore alive. Took three days for his brother’s body to wash up.’ Another dainty bite. ‘They let his dad out of Barlinnie for the funeral. Lochhead senior was doing a three stretch for breaking his lawyer’s legs with a crowbar at the time.’
Logan wiped a dribble of sauce off his chin. ‘To be fair, we’ve all fantasised about that.’
‘Haiden dropped out of community college after a couple of months, went to work for his uncle Sandy’s building company. Uncle Sandy’s got form for aggravated assault, drugs, and was eventually put away for helping his brother, “Gaelic Gary” Lochhead, execute—’
‘A property developer.’ Another big bite.
That got him a look. ‘What’s the point my going digging, if you already know all this stuff?’
‘Keep going, you’re doing fine.’
‘Uncle Sandy got into a fight with an ex-special-forces guy from Guildford for, and I quote, “being an English twat”. So the aforementioned “twat” battered him to death in the prison laundry.’ Rennie did some more nibbling. ‘All in all, a lovely family. Bet they’d make a great episode of Jeremy Kyle.’ He frowned as Logan stuffed in the last lump of Cardiologist’s Delight. ‘You know what gets me about people like good old Uncle Sandy? Always banging on about Bannockburn and Culloden and the clearances. My great gran lived in Clydebank — World War Two, the Luftwaffe come over and bomb the crap out of the place. The only house left standing in the whole street is hers. Next night, they come back and finish the job. And is anyone suggesting we chuck the Germans out of Scotland? No. Because no one alive today was responsible for that.’ He shook his head. ‘We’ve forgiven them for what happened in 1941, but we’re still holding grudges from 1314?’