‘How come?’
‘’Cos I say so. Laz, call Ingram – tell him we need everyone we’ve seen today back tomorrow morning.’ She beamed, then punched Logan in the arm. ‘We’ve finally—’
‘Ow!’ Bloody hell, that stung ! He wrapped a hand around his deltoid, trying to squeeze the pain away. ‘What was that for?’ The skin underneath throbbed and burned.
‘Oh stop moaning, you big girl’s blouse. Barely touched you. We’re actually going to catch the bastards.’
‘That hurt!’
‘Jesus, and I thought Rennie was a wimp.’
The constable paused, halfway through a huge sausage roll. ‘Hey!’
Logan rubbed at his arm. ‘I don’t go around hitting you, do I?’
‘Inspector?’ The lumpy constable hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the corridor outside.
‘Aye, I know.’ Steel wiped her fingers down the front of her red satin shirt, leaving little greasy smears. ‘Come on, Laz, carpe pervertum .’
Chapter 13
Bruce Preston (46) – Possession of Indecent Images; Animal Cruelty; Obstructing, Assaulting, Molesting or Hindering an Officer in the Course of their Duty; Bestiality
‘Well, I suppose …’ Bruce Preston shifted in his seat, squiggling his bum left and right, as if he had worms, or an unreachable itch. He was slightly chubby, slightly balding; completely unremarkable in every way, except for the huge collection of photos of people having sex with dogs the IB had found on his computer. Apparently Bruce’s home-made snaps all featured next door’s Cairn terrier.
He gave a huge, overacting shrug, arms coming out to forty-five degrees. The bitter-oniony stench of stale armpits got even worse. ‘But it’s not really the same thing, is it? Besides, I don’t really watch the TV any more. Not since that cow on Channel Five did that “Britain’s Secret Sex Shame” show.’
‘And you’re sure you don’t know anyone at the hospital, or a vet’s?’
Preston rubbed his fingers along his thighs, cheeks flushing pink. ‘Told you – I’m not allowed within a hundred metres of a veterinary surgery or dog-walking park.’
Logan logged the end of the interview, thanked Bruce Preston for his time, then told him he could see himself out.
As soon as the door clunked shut, Logan sprawled in his chair, hanging over the edges; arms dangling, fingertips brushing the carpet. ‘That was fun.’
Rennie gagged. ‘Bloody hell… Mind if I open the window?’
‘Oh, God, please !’
Clunk. And the sound of traffic filtered in from the nearby dual carriageway, the rumble of a plane fading into the distance, the tweet and whitter of birds.
‘Do you think Steel’s right?’
Logan checked his watch – nearly twenty to four. He stretched, then flopped back again. ‘Been rumours doing the rounds about the “livestock” market for years. Kids, women, snatched to order, sold in secret auctions… All we need to do is catch one of these bastards and the whole thing falls apart.’ There was a creaking noise. He looked over to see Rennie slumped in the other seat, arms hanging over the edges, fingertips brushing the tartan carpet.
‘Will you stop doing that?’
Rennie raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’
‘The bloody monkey-see-monkey-do routine. It’s getting on my nerves.’
‘NLP, my dear Sergeant McRae. Did it when I was on the Interviewer Accreditation Course last month. Got top marks, by the way.’ He slumped back, just like Logan. ‘It puts the subject at ease subconsciously, makes them think they have a connection, an ally in the room.’
‘There’s going to be a bloodstain in the room if you don’t cut it out.’
Rennie sat up straight. ‘What mark did you get?’
‘None of your business.’ Sixty-five percent. ‘How many more on the list for today?’
‘Three. Then it’s DI Bell’s turn.’ He smiled. ‘Hey, maybe we’ll get lucky and crack the case before the end of the day? Interview Superstar Rennie and his sidekick: Sergeant McRae.’
‘You’re a dick, you
‘’Cos I say so. Laz, call Ingram – tell him we need everyone we’ve seen today back tomorrow morning.’ She beamed, then punched Logan in the arm. ‘We’ve finally—’
‘Ow!’ Bloody hell, that stung ! He wrapped a hand around his deltoid, trying to squeeze the pain away. ‘What was that for?’ The skin underneath throbbed and burned.
‘Oh stop moaning, you big girl’s blouse. Barely touched you. We’re actually going to catch the bastards.’
‘That hurt!’
‘Jesus, and I thought Rennie was a wimp.’
The constable paused, halfway through a huge sausage roll. ‘Hey!’
Logan rubbed at his arm. ‘I don’t go around hitting you, do I?’
‘Inspector?’ The lumpy constable hooked a thumb over her shoulder at the corridor outside.
‘Aye, I know.’ Steel wiped her fingers down the front of her red satin shirt, leaving little greasy smears. ‘Come on, Laz, carpe pervertum .’
Chapter 13
Bruce Preston (46) – Possession of Indecent Images; Animal Cruelty; Obstructing, Assaulting, Molesting or Hindering an Officer in the Course of their Duty; Bestiality
‘Well, I suppose …’ Bruce Preston shifted in his seat, squiggling his bum left and right, as if he had worms, or an unreachable itch. He was slightly chubby, slightly balding; completely unremarkable in every way, except for the huge collection of photos of people having sex with dogs the IB had found on his computer. Apparently Bruce’s home-made snaps all featured next door’s Cairn terrier.
He gave a huge, overacting shrug, arms coming out to forty-five degrees. The bitter-oniony stench of stale armpits got even worse. ‘But it’s not really the same thing, is it? Besides, I don’t really watch the TV any more. Not since that cow on Channel Five did that “Britain’s Secret Sex Shame” show.’
‘And you’re sure you don’t know anyone at the hospital, or a vet’s?’
Preston rubbed his fingers along his thighs, cheeks flushing pink. ‘Told you – I’m not allowed within a hundred metres of a veterinary surgery or dog-walking park.’
Logan logged the end of the interview, thanked Bruce Preston for his time, then told him he could see himself out.
As soon as the door clunked shut, Logan sprawled in his chair, hanging over the edges; arms dangling, fingertips brushing the carpet. ‘That was fun.’
Rennie gagged. ‘Bloody hell… Mind if I open the window?’
‘Oh, God, please !’
Clunk. And the sound of traffic filtered in from the nearby dual carriageway, the rumble of a plane fading into the distance, the tweet and whitter of birds.
‘Do you think Steel’s right?’
Logan checked his watch – nearly twenty to four. He stretched, then flopped back again. ‘Been rumours doing the rounds about the “livestock” market for years. Kids, women, snatched to order, sold in secret auctions… All we need to do is catch one of these bastards and the whole thing falls apart.’ There was a creaking noise. He looked over to see Rennie slumped in the other seat, arms hanging over the edges, fingertips brushing the tartan carpet.
‘Will you stop doing that?’
Rennie raised an eyebrow. ‘What?’
‘The bloody monkey-see-monkey-do routine. It’s getting on my nerves.’
‘NLP, my dear Sergeant McRae. Did it when I was on the Interviewer Accreditation Course last month. Got top marks, by the way.’ He slumped back, just like Logan. ‘It puts the subject at ease subconsciously, makes them think they have a connection, an ally in the room.’
‘There’s going to be a bloodstain in the room if you don’t cut it out.’
Rennie sat up straight. ‘What mark did you get?’
‘None of your business.’ Sixty-five percent. ‘How many more on the list for today?’
‘Three. Then it’s DI Bell’s turn.’ He smiled. ‘Hey, maybe we’ll get lucky and crack the case before the end of the day? Interview Superstar Rennie and his sidekick: Sergeant McRae.’
‘You’re a dick, you
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