‘Me? Oh, no, I’m not...’ He clamped his mouth shut. Paused. Then, ‘How did the Aberdeen Examiner get hold of this?’
‘How could you be so stupid?’ Getting louder and louder. ‘I thought the key to being in Professional Standards was acting like a bloody professional!’
‘It wasn’t—’
‘YOU DON’T CALL VICTIMS’ PARENTS “WORKSHY SCROUNGERS”!’
Logan turned.
A couple of PCs stood outside in the corridor, gawping. And as soon as he made eye contact, they were off, bustling away towards the stairwell as if the host of hell was right behind them.
Logan closed the office door then turned back to Hardie. Kept his voice nice and calm. ‘Number one: I didn’t. Number two: I get that you’re stressed, but that doesn’t make it OK to scream at people. Number three: this is nothing more than Russell Morton playing power games.’
Hardie glowered back, lips shining with spittle. ‘I am trying to run a department here!’
‘Who wrote this...?’ Logan checked the byline. ‘Colin Bloody Miller.’ He pulled out his phone, stuck it on speakerphone and dialled. The tinny ringing noise sounded from his palm. ‘Morton promised to sell his story to the Scottish Daily Post. Probably got paid handsomely too. This is him showing them who’s boss.’
Fraser jabbed a finger at Logan. ‘Do you have any idea how damaging this is to NE Division?’
‘Yes, Kim, I’m aware. That’s why—’
Colin Miller’s Weegie accent belted out of the phone. ‘Well, well, well, if it’s no’ my old pal Laz. Who’s been a naughty—’
‘You sent a story over to DCI Hardie for comment.’
‘Oh aye, well, it’s only fair, right? I’m thinking of calling it, “Scroungergate”.’
‘Very original.’ Logan scowled at the screen. ‘How did you get hold of it?’
‘Poor guy’s lost his stepdaughter and you’re there callin’ him workshy?’
‘Thought Morton had an exclusive deal with the Scottish Daily Post?’
Silence from the other end.
Then, ‘Did he now? That’s no’ what he told me...’
‘Oh, I’ll bet he didn’t. He’s playing you off against them, Colin. You’re leverage.’
‘Ah well. Still a good story.’
Hardie’s glower hadn’t shifted any.
Logan paced the carpet tiles between the filing cabinets and the whiteboards. ‘Russell Morton said I called him a “workshy scrounger” and you believed him?’
‘You saying you didn’t, but?’
‘Damn right I am. All I did was question him about the meeting he’d had with DS Chalmers and where he got the money he’s been flashing about.’
‘Yeah, but heat of the moment—’
‘And I’ve got a witness: DS Steel was there the whole time. So unless the Aberdeen Examiner can produce evidence I said it — which you can’t, because I didn’t — you’d better get your lawyers warmed up, because you’re going to need them.’
‘All right, all right, keep your pants on, man. I’m no’ wantin’ to measure dicks here.’ A sly tone crept into Miller’s voice. ‘Suppose I do you a favour and kill the story, gonnae have a big hole on the front page to fill...?’
‘Hold on.’ Logan pressed the ‘MUTE’ button and jerked his chin at Hardie. ‘See?’
Hardie picked at his desk diary, not meeting Logan’s eyes. ‘Yes, well...’ He cleared his throat. ‘As you say, this is a very stressful time for everybody.’
‘Do you want to give him something to print? Something that helps us?’
‘Hmmm...’ Hardie pursed his lips. Put his head on one side. Then held out his hand. ‘Give me the phone.’
Logan was on his way up the stairs again when Rennie came clattering down, a blue folder tucked under one arm.
He screeched to a halt. ‘Guv, that’s Norman Clifton all lawyered up and ready to go in Interview Two.’
Pfff...
Logan checked his watch — seven fifty-two. Only nine and a half hours since he’d come on shift, so why did it feel like a week? This was what he got for coming into work on a Sunday.
He let out a long, weary breath, then turned and headed down the stairs again.
Today was never going to end.
Norman Clifton didn’t look much like a criminal mastermind. He sat, all hunched up, on the other side of the interview room table in a white SOC suit, arms wrapped around himself, eyes all red and puffy. Sniffing and wiping away tears, before going back to hugging himself.
Sitting next to him was a plump middle-aged woman in a brown cardigan and mumsy haircut. And as soon as they made scowling an Olympic sport, she was going to win gold for Scotland.
Rennie was perched and ready to go in chair number three with all his interview notes spread out on the table in front of him. Pen in hand.
Logan leaned back in chair number four. Watching Clifton in silence.
Watching him sniff and wipe and fidget and tremble.
Clifton’s solicitor pulled at her cardigan sleeve and checked a little gold watch. ‘Are you actually going to say something at some point, or can I get my knitting out?’
Logan smiled at her. ‘Making anything nice?’
‘An extremely itchy jumper for a nephew I hate.’ She straightened her cardigan. ‘Now, you’ve heard my client’s statement: he understands that his actions may seem inappropriate, but this is his first offence and he’s committed to getting psychological help. It’s time for you to release him.’
‘“May seem inappropriate”?’ Logan raised an eyebrow. ‘“Seem”?’ He leaned forwards. ‘Norman, you were masturbating, naked, in your dead neighbour’s garage, so really—’
‘And he’s apologised for that.’
‘—I think “seem” is kind of redundant, don’t you?’
Norman sniffed. ‘I didn’t mean to...’
His solicitor put a hand on his arm, voice warm and reassuring. ‘It’s all right, Norman, I’ll deal with this.’ The warmth leached away as she turned to Logan. ‘I’ve known Norman his whole life. He’s a good boy who’s maybe got a bit... confused about his feelings.’
Rennie held up his pen. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to tell us before we go any further, Norman?’
That got him a worried look.
Rennie tried again. ‘Anything we need to know?’
Mrs Scowly Cardigan gathered up her papers. ‘All right, I think we’re quite done here.’
‘Because, do you remember when you were arrested and processed? They took a DNA sample, didn’t they?’
She dumped a massive handbag on the interview room table and stuffed her papers inside. ‘If you’re trying to put my client at the scene of the crime, you can save your breath. He’s already admitted being there.’
Rennie raised his eyebrows. ‘You wouldn’t believe how quick the computers can process those DNA samples these days. Used to take ages and ages, now we can get a result in an hour.’
She clicked her handbag shut. ‘Is there a point to this?’
Logan picked a sheet of paper from Rennie’s folder and placed it on the table. ‘We got a match from your DNA, Norman.’
The hipstery wee sod flinched. Stared at his solicitor, bottom lip trembling.
She put her kind voice on again. ‘It’s all right, Norman, you haven’t done anything wrong.’