Logan peered at all the scalp on display above the desk sergeant’s glasses. ‘What’s happened to everyone’s hair? I saw Billy this afternoon: he’s bald as a coot!’
Eric ran a hand through his thinning locks and shrugged. ‘It’s a sign of virility. Anyway, look at you!’
Big Gary grinned at Logan, little flakes of chocolate falling from his caramel wafer down the front of his black uniform like dirty dandruff. ‘DS Logan McRae, back from the dead!’
Eric nodded. ‘Back from the dead.’
Big Gary took a slurp of his tea. ‘You’re like that bloke that comes back from the dead. Whatsisname, you know, the one from the bible?’
‘What,’ said Eric, ‘Jesus?’
Big Gary smacked him lightly on the back of the head. ‘No not bloody Jesus. I think I can remember Jesus’ bloody name. The other one: leper or something. Comes back from the dead. You know.’
‘Lazarus?’ said Logan, starting to inch away.
‘Lazarus! That’s right!’ Big Gary beamed. Bits of chocolate biscuit were stuck to his teeth. ‘Lazarus McRae, that’s what we’ll call you.’
DI Insch wasn’t in his office, or the incident room, so Logan tried the next logical place: interview room three. The inspector was still closeted with Watson, Slippery Sandy and Norman Chalmers. There was a look of utter disgust on Insch’s face. Things obviously weren’t going well.
Logan politely asked if he could have a word and waited outside until the inspector suspended the interview. When he came out, Insch’s shirt was almost transparent with sweat. ‘God, it’s boiling in there,’ he said, wiping his face with his hands. ‘Post mortem?’
‘Post mortem.’ Logan held up the thin manila folder Isobel had given him. ‘Preliminary results. We won’t get the bloodwork back till later this week.’
Insch grabbed the folder and started flicking through it.
‘The results are pretty conclusive,’ said Logan. ‘Someone else killed David Reid. The MO’s different, the method of disposal’s different, and the victim was female rather than male—’
‘Fuck.’ It was more of a grunt than a word. Insch had reached the part of the form marked ‘P ROBABLE C AUSE OF D EATH ’.
‘And they can’t rule out a fall at this stage,’ said Logan.
Insch said fuck again and stomped off down the corridor, heading for the coffee machine by the lifts. He punched in the numbers and handed Logan a plastic cup of pungent, brown, watery liquid with a faint scumming of white froth on the top. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘So Chalmers is out of the frame for the Reid kid.’
Logan nodded. ‘We’ve still got a killer out there, preying on little boys.’
Insch slumped against the coffee machine, making it rock alarmingly. He rubbed a hand across his face again. ‘What about the bleach?’
‘Applied after death: there wasn’t any in her stomach or lungs. Possibly trying to get rid of DNA evidence.’
‘Successful?’
Logan shrugged. ‘Isobel didn’t find any seminal fluid.’
The inspector’s shoulders sagged. He stared blankly at the file in his hand. ‘How could he do something like that? A wee girl. . .’
Logan didn’t say anything. He knew Insch was thinking about his own daughter, trying not to put the two images together.
At last DI Insch straightened his shoulders, his eyes sparkling dark in his round face. ‘We’re going to nail this bastard to the wall by his balls.’
‘But the head injury? If she fell, if it was an accident—’
‘We’ve still got him on concealing a death, getting rid of the body, attempting to pervert the course of justice, maybe even murder. If we can persuade a jury that he pushed her.’
‘Think they’ll go for it?’
Insch shrugged, sipping suspiciously at his white coffee with extra sugar. ‘No. But it’s worth a crack. Only fly in the ointment is forensics. So far there’s no sign of the girl having ever been in Chalmers’s flat. And it’s not like the place had been recently cleaned
Eric ran a hand through his thinning locks and shrugged. ‘It’s a sign of virility. Anyway, look at you!’
Big Gary grinned at Logan, little flakes of chocolate falling from his caramel wafer down the front of his black uniform like dirty dandruff. ‘DS Logan McRae, back from the dead!’
Eric nodded. ‘Back from the dead.’
Big Gary took a slurp of his tea. ‘You’re like that bloke that comes back from the dead. Whatsisname, you know, the one from the bible?’
‘What,’ said Eric, ‘Jesus?’
Big Gary smacked him lightly on the back of the head. ‘No not bloody Jesus. I think I can remember Jesus’ bloody name. The other one: leper or something. Comes back from the dead. You know.’
‘Lazarus?’ said Logan, starting to inch away.
‘Lazarus! That’s right!’ Big Gary beamed. Bits of chocolate biscuit were stuck to his teeth. ‘Lazarus McRae, that’s what we’ll call you.’
DI Insch wasn’t in his office, or the incident room, so Logan tried the next logical place: interview room three. The inspector was still closeted with Watson, Slippery Sandy and Norman Chalmers. There was a look of utter disgust on Insch’s face. Things obviously weren’t going well.
Logan politely asked if he could have a word and waited outside until the inspector suspended the interview. When he came out, Insch’s shirt was almost transparent with sweat. ‘God, it’s boiling in there,’ he said, wiping his face with his hands. ‘Post mortem?’
‘Post mortem.’ Logan held up the thin manila folder Isobel had given him. ‘Preliminary results. We won’t get the bloodwork back till later this week.’
Insch grabbed the folder and started flicking through it.
‘The results are pretty conclusive,’ said Logan. ‘Someone else killed David Reid. The MO’s different, the method of disposal’s different, and the victim was female rather than male—’
‘Fuck.’ It was more of a grunt than a word. Insch had reached the part of the form marked ‘P ROBABLE C AUSE OF D EATH ’.
‘And they can’t rule out a fall at this stage,’ said Logan.
Insch said fuck again and stomped off down the corridor, heading for the coffee machine by the lifts. He punched in the numbers and handed Logan a plastic cup of pungent, brown, watery liquid with a faint scumming of white froth on the top. ‘OK,’ he said. ‘So Chalmers is out of the frame for the Reid kid.’
Logan nodded. ‘We’ve still got a killer out there, preying on little boys.’
Insch slumped against the coffee machine, making it rock alarmingly. He rubbed a hand across his face again. ‘What about the bleach?’
‘Applied after death: there wasn’t any in her stomach or lungs. Possibly trying to get rid of DNA evidence.’
‘Successful?’
Logan shrugged. ‘Isobel didn’t find any seminal fluid.’
The inspector’s shoulders sagged. He stared blankly at the file in his hand. ‘How could he do something like that? A wee girl. . .’
Logan didn’t say anything. He knew Insch was thinking about his own daughter, trying not to put the two images together.
At last DI Insch straightened his shoulders, his eyes sparkling dark in his round face. ‘We’re going to nail this bastard to the wall by his balls.’
‘But the head injury? If she fell, if it was an accident—’
‘We’ve still got him on concealing a death, getting rid of the body, attempting to pervert the course of justice, maybe even murder. If we can persuade a jury that he pushed her.’
‘Think they’ll go for it?’
Insch shrugged, sipping suspiciously at his white coffee with extra sugar. ‘No. But it’s worth a crack. Only fly in the ointment is forensics. So far there’s no sign of the girl having ever been in Chalmers’s flat. And it’s not like the place had been recently cleaned
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