‘Lorna kicked off when I called her out on it. I kicked back.’
‘And did you? Introduce her to all those people?’
‘Till I realised what she was doing.’
Interesting.
‘You think she joined the security team specifically to target you?’
Danielle frowned, chopsticks frozen halfway between the bowl and her mouth. ‘No. No, that came later. Wasn’t till...’ She cleared her throat. ‘Look, I’m going to have to change in a minute, so if it’s all the same with you I’d rather finish my dinner in peace.’
Logan stayed right where he was.
A big, long-suffering sigh. ‘All right, all right: she overheard me asking the other security guys about Fred Marshall.’
‘And why would they know about Fred Marshall?’
‘Because they worked for the same agency Marshall did. Why do you think I joined it in the first place: the sexy uniforms?’ She pointed at the window with her chopsticks. ‘Marshall’s out there somewhere and he knows what happened to Kenneth MacAuley. He knows where Aiden is.’
Tufty sucked air in through his teeth. ‘Yeah... You see: Fred Marshall’s—’
Logan kicked him under the table.
‘Ow!’
‘And did these security guys tell you anything?’
She plucked a chunk of baby sweetcorn from her bowl, crunching on it. ‘Marshall’s too thick to keep his gob shut. Sooner or later he’s going to make contact with someone. And when he does, we’ll get him.’
Tufty rubbed at his leg. ‘That hurt!’
‘Good.’ Logan watched Danielle polish off the last of her curry. ‘So, this gig you’ve got tonight — anything interesting?’
The chopsticks froze again. Then, ‘Nah: local-celebrity wedding anniversary party. Got to keep the riff-raff out.’
‘Don’t mean to be personal,’ Tufty pointed towards the work surface, ‘but your handbag’s vibrating.’
‘Bloody...’ She got up and rummaged through it, producing an iPhone just in time for it to fall silent. ‘Arrrgh.’ She poked at the screen and turned away from them. Put the phone to her ear. ‘Andy?... No. I know... I said I know! I’m getting ready now... Yes, I know I’m always late, but—... I’m getting ready!.. Yes, when they tell us, I’ll be there... Because you won’t get off the bloody phone!’ A nod. ‘OK, bye.’
She stuck the phone in her bag.
Logan smiled. ‘Andy from work?’
‘OK, I’m getting changed now. You’ve got thirty seconds to get out or I set Baskerville on you.’
Logan scooted down a bit in the passenger seat, watching Danielle’s building plot vanish in the wing mirror.
Tufty sniffed. ‘Why don’t dogs like me?’
‘Can’t shake the feeling that she’s up to something. You hear that pause before she said what she was doing tonight?’
‘Maybe she really is working security at a local-celebrity wedding anniversary?’
He treated Tufty to a wee scowl. ‘Don’t make me kick you again.’
‘That really hurt, by the way.’ Tufty pulled onto the main road, joining the crawling traffic. ‘Not much point going straight home to headquarters, is there? Unless you fancy getting stuck in rush hour again. What do you think: try the North Deeside Road this time?’
‘Might as well. It’s not as if—’ His phone dinged at him. A new text message.
IDIOT RENNIE:
Productn stors jst bean on th phn — sgt Moor fnd th teeth U wz looking 4! 3 uv thm filed in th wrng bx!!! Gtng DNA dn nw!
What?
He squinted at the screen. ‘It’s like a foreign language.’
What the hell did... Aha!
He grinned at Tufty. ‘They’ve found some teeth from DI Bell’s fake-funeral pyre.’
‘Coolio.’
Logan thumbed out a reply:
Make sure you stand over them and get those results to me ASAP!
And what have I told you about texting like a 1990s schoolgirl?!?
SEND.
His phone was barely halfway to his pocket before it launched into ‘The Imperial March’, the words ‘HORRIBLE STEEL’ glowing in the middle of its screen.
Yes, well no thank you.
He pressed ‘IGNORE’. Stared out of the window at the tiny semidetached houses and oversized bungalows. ‘This whole thing makes me itchy, Tufty.’ He counted them off on his fingers: ‘DI Bell, Sally MacAuley, AberRAD Investigations, Fred Marshall, Lorna Chalmers, Rod Lawson — if that’s who we exhumed... Itchy.’
A bus stop drifted by on the left, populated by a gang of OAPs with their headscarves, bunnets, shopping trolleys, and wee dogs.
‘Erm,’ Tufty glanced across the car, ‘Sarge?’
‘Inspector.’
‘Yeah, but see if you ever go back to proper police work—’
‘Professional Standards is proper police work!’ Cheeky sod.
‘Yeah, but see if you do: can I be your sidekick again?’
They accelerated out through the limits, following a mud-brown baker’s van.
‘Thought you were DS Steel’s sidekick now.’
‘Yeah, but she’s mean to me. Well, she’s mean to everyone, but if you’re stuck in the car with her, you can’t escape like normal people.’
‘True.’
Fields of barley lined the road — bent, battered, and half drowned by the rain.
‘And if I was your sidekick, would it be OK if I requisitioned DI Bell’s laptop? The one they found in his hotel room? Cos we know the forensic IT Smurfs won’t get near it for weeks. Would that be OK?’
‘Don’t see why not.’
Tufty nodded. ‘Good. Good. Erm... Because I might have said you’d already OKed it. A teeny weeny bit.’
Logan stared at him. ‘You’ve been hanging round DS Steel too long, she’s starting to—’
‘The Imperial March’ started up again.
‘Oh sod off...’ He hit ‘IGNORE’.
‘Maybe it’s something important?’
Aye, right. ‘She’ll be wanting a moan. It’s all she ever does.’
‘But what if—’
Tufty’s pocket launched into ‘Ding Dong! The Witch is Dead’. He dug a hand in and produced his phone. Grimaced across the car at Logan. ‘Can you get it? I’m driving.’ He poked his thumb at the screen, unlocking it, then held it out. ‘Please?’
‘Like I’m his secretary...’ But Logan took it anyway. Held it up to his ear. ‘PC Quirrel’s phone?’
Steel’s voice growled out at him. ‘Oh I see. That’s how it is, is it?’
‘Urgh... It’s you.’ Well, at least that explained the ringtone.
‘Ducking my calls. Very mature. Thought you were supposed to be SIO on this one?’
He glared at Tufty. The little sod knew it was her and tricked him into answering it.
Tufty kept his face forwards, not making eye contact.
‘If you’ve phoned up to whinge, you can—’
‘You bunch of spunghammers were given the opportunity to bask in the glory of my magnificence, and did you?’
‘Moan, whinge, gripe, whine...’
‘You want to know what I dug up or no’?’
‘We’ll be there in twenty minutes. Plenty of time for you to dig out some biscuits and get the kettle—’
‘It’s happening tonight.’
Logan pulled his chin in. ‘What is?’
‘Ah, see: now you’re interested.’