clarted in blood – someone would’ve noticed.’
DS Biohazard Bob crossed his arms and poked out his top lip, as if he was trying to sniff it. It wasn’t a good look: with his sticky-out ears, bald patch, and single thick hairy eyebrow, he bore more than a passing resemblance to a chimpanzee at the best of times. ‘What about the NCP on Virginia Street? It’s just round the corner.’
Rennie shook his head. ‘The one on Shiprow’s closer.’
‘Pair of twits. It’s the same car park.’ Logan drew a red ‘X’ on the screen. ‘Doesn’t matter – logbook says it’s been searched. No dark-blue BMW M5.’
Biohazard had a scratch. ‘There’s a council one on Mearns Street, that’s pretty close too. Or Union Square?’
‘Or…’ Rennie pointed at the map. ‘What if he had a long coat on? Like a mac, or something. Could cover up the bloodstains and no one would notice. Dump it when he gets onto the roof of the casino.’
‘Nah.’ Biohazard shook his head. ‘We would’ve found it on the roof.’
‘Not if the wind got hold of it. Could be in Norway by now.’
‘True.’
Logan took the pen and marked on all the public car parks within a fifteen-minute walk. ‘Rennie – get down to the CCTV room and tell them to go over the footage from Saturday. Any route to the casino from any of these car parks. See if they can find John Skinner.’
‘Guv.’
‘Biohazard – grab some bodies and work your way through the car parks, find that BMW. Start with the closest, work your way out.’
‘Guv.’
The pair of them turned and marched off, leaving nothing but a cloying eggy reek behind.
Logan gagged, wafted a hand in front of his face. ‘Biohazard!’
Giggling faded away down the corridor.
‘That’s us done Union Square. Got a dark-blue beamer, but it’s not his. I’m … Hold on.’
Biohazard Bob’s voice went all muffled, barely audible.
‘I don’t care. You should’ve gone before we left the station.’
Then he was back.
‘Sorry, Guv, logistical problems.’
Logan drew a red cross on the whiteboard, eliminating Union Square. ‘Might as well try College Street multistorey, while you’re there. Then hit the Trinity Centre.’
‘Guv.’
The MIT office was nearly deserted. A handful of plain-clothes officers were bent over phones, taking sightings from members of the public. A whiteboard by the fancy coffee machine bore a list of possible locations that now stretched from Lerwick to Naples. A woman with bouffant hair and pigeon toes put her phone down, shambled over, and added ‘ PORT ISAAC ’ to the roll.
She puffed out her cheeks, then turned to Logan. ‘I know they’re only trying to help, Guv, but why do they all have to be
nutters
? Oh, here we go.’ Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead and she pointed over Logan’s shoulder. ‘Showtime.’
He turned and there was Steel on one of the large flatscreen TVs. A media liaison officer sat on one side of her, fiddling with his notes and looking uncomfortable. On the other side were an elderly couple: a grey-haired woman and a bald man, both with dark circles beneath watery eyes. The lines in their faces had probably deepened an inch since Saturday.
Officer Bouffant scuffed over to Logan, staring up at the screen. ‘Both sets of grandparents wanted to do it, but the boss thought it’d be best to stick to the wife’s side of the family. Might be harder to get sympathy with the murdering wee sod’s mum and dad there.’
Logan grabbed the remote and turned the sound on.
‘… thank you.’
The media officer shuffled his papers again. Then held out a hand.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Roberta Steel.’
It looked as if she’d had a bash at combing her hair. And failed.
‘Heidi and Toby Skinner were picked up by their father from Balmoral Primary School at twelve o’clock on Saturday afternoon. At one forty-five, John Skinner jumped from the roof of the Grosvenor G Casino on Exchequer Row. At some point between twelve
DS Biohazard Bob crossed his arms and poked out his top lip, as if he was trying to sniff it. It wasn’t a good look: with his sticky-out ears, bald patch, and single thick hairy eyebrow, he bore more than a passing resemblance to a chimpanzee at the best of times. ‘What about the NCP on Virginia Street? It’s just round the corner.’
Rennie shook his head. ‘The one on Shiprow’s closer.’
‘Pair of twits. It’s the same car park.’ Logan drew a red ‘X’ on the screen. ‘Doesn’t matter – logbook says it’s been searched. No dark-blue BMW M5.’
Biohazard had a scratch. ‘There’s a council one on Mearns Street, that’s pretty close too. Or Union Square?’
‘Or…’ Rennie pointed at the map. ‘What if he had a long coat on? Like a mac, or something. Could cover up the bloodstains and no one would notice. Dump it when he gets onto the roof of the casino.’
‘Nah.’ Biohazard shook his head. ‘We would’ve found it on the roof.’
‘Not if the wind got hold of it. Could be in Norway by now.’
‘True.’
Logan took the pen and marked on all the public car parks within a fifteen-minute walk. ‘Rennie – get down to the CCTV room and tell them to go over the footage from Saturday. Any route to the casino from any of these car parks. See if they can find John Skinner.’
‘Guv.’
‘Biohazard – grab some bodies and work your way through the car parks, find that BMW. Start with the closest, work your way out.’
‘Guv.’
The pair of them turned and marched off, leaving nothing but a cloying eggy reek behind.
Logan gagged, wafted a hand in front of his face. ‘Biohazard!’
Giggling faded away down the corridor.
‘That’s us done Union Square. Got a dark-blue beamer, but it’s not his. I’m … Hold on.’
Biohazard Bob’s voice went all muffled, barely audible.
‘I don’t care. You should’ve gone before we left the station.’
Then he was back.
‘Sorry, Guv, logistical problems.’
Logan drew a red cross on the whiteboard, eliminating Union Square. ‘Might as well try College Street multistorey, while you’re there. Then hit the Trinity Centre.’
‘Guv.’
The MIT office was nearly deserted. A handful of plain-clothes officers were bent over phones, taking sightings from members of the public. A whiteboard by the fancy coffee machine bore a list of possible locations that now stretched from Lerwick to Naples. A woman with bouffant hair and pigeon toes put her phone down, shambled over, and added ‘ PORT ISAAC ’ to the roll.
She puffed out her cheeks, then turned to Logan. ‘I know they’re only trying to help, Guv, but why do they all have to be
nutters
? Oh, here we go.’ Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead and she pointed over Logan’s shoulder. ‘Showtime.’
He turned and there was Steel on one of the large flatscreen TVs. A media liaison officer sat on one side of her, fiddling with his notes and looking uncomfortable. On the other side were an elderly couple: a grey-haired woman and a bald man, both with dark circles beneath watery eyes. The lines in their faces had probably deepened an inch since Saturday.
Officer Bouffant scuffed over to Logan, staring up at the screen. ‘Both sets of grandparents wanted to do it, but the boss thought it’d be best to stick to the wife’s side of the family. Might be harder to get sympathy with the murdering wee sod’s mum and dad there.’
Logan grabbed the remote and turned the sound on.
‘… thank you.’
The media officer shuffled his papers again. Then held out a hand.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Roberta Steel.’
It looked as if she’d had a bash at combing her hair. And failed.
‘Heidi and Toby Skinner were picked up by their father from Balmoral Primary School at twelve o’clock on Saturday afternoon. At one forty-five, John Skinner jumped from the roof of the Grosvenor G Casino on Exchequer Row. At some point between twelve
Similar Books
