There was a shock.
‘Course, in the good old days, you could’ve beaten a confession out of him.’ Rennie rocked on the balls of his feet, staring at the closed interview room door.
Logan leaned against the corridor wall. ‘I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.’
Crowbar was having some sort of argument with his solicitor in Interview Two, their voices too muffled to make anything out. The tone was clear enough, though.
Rennie raised his eyebrows. ‘You sure we can’t lug-in at the door?’
‘You do remember we’re Professional Standards, don’t you? Professional Standards? The people who make sure everyone follows the rules?’
‘Was only asking.’
‘And if you think you’re getting to join us full time, you’re going to have to start acting the part.’
Rennie pulled on a lopsided smile and a Yoda voice. ‘Come over to the Dark Side, you must. Penguin biscuits, we have.’
Inside, the argument murmured to an end. There was a thump, then the interview room door swung open and Albert poked his head out. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting. Shall we have another shottie?’
Crowbar Craig shifted in his seat. Looked at his solicitor. ‘I...?’
An indulgent fatherly smile. ‘It’s all right, Craig, do it like we practised.’
Deep breath. ‘The watch in question was a gift from Fred Marshall.’ He sounded about as natural as a pornstar’s breasts. ‘Fred said it was a knock-off Rolex he’d found at a flea market in Amsterdam. I had...’ Crowbar’s face puckered as the words dried up, as if he’d just sat on an unlubricated lemon. ‘I had...’
Albert nudged him. ‘No idea.’
‘Yeah, I had no idea that Freddy was lying about the watch’s... providence.’
‘He means “provenance”, but you get the idea. The watch was a gift. He didn’t kill anyone.’ Albert polished his glasses again. ‘Now, unless you can prove otherwise, I think we’re done here. Don’t you?’
Logan poked the tabletop. ‘Someone paid you two thousand pounds to kill a man and abduct a child, Craig, and I want to know who!’
‘My client isn’t prepared to answer any further questions unless you have evidence of wrongdoing, Inspector.’ A smile and a shrug. ‘Without it, this is all supposition.’
Of course it was. But that didn’t mean Crowbar Craig Simpson couldn’t do the decent thing, save them all a heap of work, and admit he’d done it.
Logan stared at him.
And stared.
And stared.
Crowbar sat there, like an Easter Island head with ridiculous facial hair.
Fine.
At least they’d tried.
But this wasn’t the end of it. Somewhere, out there, was evidence linking Crowbar Craig Simpson to Kenneth MacAuley’s murder. And when that evidence surfaced, the vicious little sod was going to spend the rest of his life in a small grey cell.
Logan thumped Rennie on the arm. ‘Call it.’
‘Interview terminated at eleven fifty-two.’ Rennie clicked off the recording equipment.
And as soon as he did, Crowbar scooted forward in his seat. ‘They’ll kill me! I tell you anything and they’ll — kill — me.’
Albert shook his head. ‘I advised against this, Craig.’
Now this was more like it. Logan put on his sympathetic voice. Tried not to smile. ‘Who’ll kill you, Craig?’
‘You gotta get us protection, right? Me and Irene and Jaime and Tyrion?’
‘Protect you from who?’
‘Cos I’m saying nothing till I get a new identity somewhere... somewhere warm, like, I dunno, Sydney or something.’
Aye, right.
Logan sat back again. ‘We’re not allowed to export our criminals to Australia any more, Craig. They’re a lot more picky these days.’
‘Well... Spain then, or Italy. Somewhere they’ll never find us.’
‘Who? Where who will never find you?’
Had to hand it to him — if this was an act, he was teetering into Tom Hanks territory.
Crowbar shook his head. ‘Nah. Not till the four of us is protected. Till then I’m saying sod-all.’
27
Logan knocked on Hardie’s door and slipped inside.
He was behind his desk again, forehead resting on a stack of reports, hands wrapped over the top. As if he was trying to physically shove his whole head through the thing and out the other side.
DI Fraser looked up from her iPad and grimaced at Logan. ‘Please tell me you’ve got some good news?’
‘I think we might be able to prove that Crowbar Craig Simpson killed Kenneth MacAuley and abducted Aiden MacAuley.’
Hardie raised his head, face breaking out into a smile. ‘That’s great!’
‘Only trouble is, he’s claiming it was on the orders of a third party, and he won’t talk unless we guarantee safety and new identities for him, Fred Marshall’s wife, their kid, and an exceptionally ugly miniature sausage dog called “Tyrion”.’
Hardie banged his head back down. ‘Arrrgh... How the hell am I supposed to swing that?’
Fraser shrugged. ‘Well, I suppose it’s worth a try?’
‘Arrrrrgh...’
‘Yeah.’ Logan sucked a breath in through his teeth. ‘Assuming Simpson isn’t lying about the whole thing to get away with murder.’
Hardie raised his forehead four inches off the desk... then thumped it into the reports again. ‘Arrrrrrgh!’ Thump. ‘Arrrrrrgh!’ Thump. ‘Arrrrrrgh!’ Thump.
Fraser puffed out her cheeks. Put her iPad down, raised her eyebrows at Logan, then nodded at the door.
Fair enough.
The pair of them stepped out into the corridor, Fraser easing the door shut behind her. Keeping her voice down. ‘Look, leave it with me, OK? I’ll see what I can do with DCI NRC.’
‘NRC?’
‘Not Really Coping.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s Sunday. All I wanted was a lie in, a nice spag bol for lunch, bucketful of gin and slimline, and Armageddon on the telly. Instead of which I’m stuck here trying to stop our beloved leader from having an aneurysm.’ Fraser ran a hand through her hair — the nails she’d bitten down were all filed to perfect crescents again, painted the same green as her dress. ‘He’s like an unexploded zit. One good squeeze and his head will go pop! Gunk and yuck everywhere.’
‘Kim?’
‘Yes, Logan?’
‘Never take up poetry.’
She smiled. ‘We’ll do our best to organise some sort of protection for Simpson and his hangers-on, but don’t get your hopes up. It’s incredibly difficult to get new identities authorised. If it’s not major drugs, organised crime, or terrorism-related, they’re not usually interested.’
‘Assuming—’
‘Assuming Crowbar’s not just a lying scumbag.’ Fraser sighed. ‘Which we both know he is.’
Wullie sounded as if he were calling from Mongolia on a tin can at the end of a bit of string, rather than sitting in Bucksburn station. ‘Aye, that’s it set up for you now: one HOLMES instance. I’ll email you the login details.’
‘That’s great, thanks, Wullie.’ Logan hung up and ticked the word ‘HOLMES’ off on the whiteboard.
The office door thumped open and Rennie lurched in, carrying another pair of large boxes. ‘They found the missing six months of case files. And look who I found!’
Steel appeared in the doorway, face like someone had suggested a threeway with Donald Trump and Kim Jong-un. She hurled her coat at an empty desk. ‘Let’s get one thing crystal clear, OK? I was on a day off. We were going to buy a new sofa. After which I was planning on watching last night’s Strictly, getting fruity on prosecco, and rolling around naked with my wife on it.’