Chapter 34 #2
‘Because it doesn’t have to be a Steinway, even a decent Blüthner upright would do.
’ He rubbed at his bandage. ‘You can’t expect Elizabeth to master an instrument if she can’t practise at home.
’ Dr Buchan’s face soured even further. ‘God knows I’m wasting my time with most of the children here, but it would be nice if parents would occasionally meet me halfway.
’ That nose cranked upwards a couple more inches.
‘Music isn’t “nothing” – a mere bagatelle to fritter away your time on – it’s life itself! It’s—’
Logan’s phone burst into ‘Space Oddity’.
Oh, thank God for that. Tufty might’ve been a daft little spud, but he knew how to pick his moments.
Dr Buchan sharpened the edge on his withering teacher’s voice: ‘We do encourage visitors to switch off their mobile devices before entering school premises, Mr McRae.’
‘Police business.’ He pulled out his phone, and marched from the room, back into the reception area, as David Bowie warbled on.
The Guillotine Knitting Club had disappeared, taking her crummy box of crappy badges with her. But even that hadn’t made the place any less miserable.
Logan poked the green button. ‘What?’
‘Is everything OK, Sarge? Only we’ve been sitting out here for ages and Sergeant Rennie’s getting all fidgety. He’s pacing up and down the car park as we speak.’ Tufty’s voice went all whispery. ‘I think he does need to has a wee.’
Logan wandered over to the nearest window, looking out at the dismal playground. ‘Could be worse: you could be sat in here, listening to some wank-faced prick lecture you about how you’re crap parents because you don’t have a grand piano in every room.’
‘I’ve been going over DCI Rutherford’s files, and—’
‘How did you get those?’
‘You had them all piled up on your desk, Sarge. I had a good snoot through, back at the ranch. Before you picked me and Sergeant Rennie up?’ Nosey wee sod.
‘Anyway, being a most excellent sidekick, I has worked up an online calendar for all his meetings and reviews and assessments and court appearances and stuff. Only I suppose you can’t really do his court appearances, as they’ll probably want to ask questions about the cases and you weren’t involved in those, so we should probably request a continuation on anything where we don’t want the accused going free. ’
Fair point.
‘Thank you.’
‘So, just to let you know: you’ve got another MAPPA meeting tomorrow morning about the protest, a case review for the people-smuggling thing, another one for Operation Hedgehog, then the car-thefts thing, the break-ins-at-all-those-sports-shops thing, the drugs-coming-in-in-Lithuanian-teddy-bears thing, and Professional Standards want a word about The Dastardly Queen Of Ultimate Sticky. ’
Of course they did.
Logan closed his eyes and massaged his forehead. ‘What’s Steel done now?’
‘Inappropriate language of a sexual nature to female co-workers and canteen staff.’
To be honest: knowing her, it could be worse.
‘OK: tell Rennie to tie a knot in it, and I’ll be with you soon as I can.’ He checked his watch. ‘Call it fifteen minutes.’
He hung up. And, as he already had his phone out, it would be daft not to at least check his messages.
SPUDGUN:
In place at Wallace Tower.
Got Sporky and Guthrie hiding in bushes with binoculars and popcorn.
Bored already.
Will keep you updated.
Urgh . . .!
DOREEN:
I had to send Baker and Ducat home – sick.
Need more bodies!!!
Need to call off search.
Need HOLIDAY!
Yeah, she was probably right. If Charles MacGarioch’s body had washed up on the riverbank surely they’d have found it by now.
The final message on the list was from an unknown number:
Hi. I was thinking ~> you only have those old pics of Charlie right? In the paper they’re all ancient.
Got a couple from drinks last week. Attch:
Which means the unknown number was probably Randolph ‘I go by Ralph’ Hay.
He’d attached a couple of jpegs, but the internet was running like a three-legged sloth, so they’d be a while downloading.
They were still chugging away when the door to the Yellow Zone opened, and Tara and Elizabeth escaped from Dr Buchan’s pus-coloured lair.
Tara closed the door behind her, slumped against it, then narrowed her eyes at Logan. ‘You rotten sod.’
‘Duty called.’ He held up his phone. ‘Literally.’
‘We’re going to have to get a piano, aren’t we.’
Elizabeth skipped on the spot. ‘Dr Buchan’s what Aunty Roberta would call “a—”’
‘Oh no you don’t, young lady.’ Logan shook a warning ‘dad’ finger at her. ‘We’re not having that kind of language in an educational setting.’
Those pictures were still downloading.
He glanced at the coloured doors. ‘How many of these spudging things have we still got to go?’
‘Millions . . .’
‘No, Mum,’ Elizabeth frowned up at her, ‘only Drama, Art, History, and Computer Science.’
‘Is it too late to put you up for adoption?’
A shrug. ‘Probably.’
Logan’s phone bleeped, announcing that the attachments were finally ready to view. ‘OK, but I can only stay fifteen minutes: got Rennie and Tufty waiting outside.’
Tara gave him her version of the Paddington Stare, which had far more of the homicidal Father Jack about it.
He raised a hand. ‘Unless you want murderers running about the city, murdering people in a murdery way?’
She rolled her eyes instead. ‘Fine.’
‘Thought so.’ Logan shot Elizabeth with a finger gun. ‘OK, Fizzy Lizzy Bing-Bong: who’re we meeting next?’ Sneaking a quick glance at his phone as she checked the photocopied schedule.
Attachment Number One was a photo of half a dozen young people, in a pub – no idea which one – all gathered around a table grinning at the camera with their glasses raised. Pints, mostly.
There were more revellers off to both sides, but in the middle sat: Ralph, Jericho, Charles, and . . .
Oh sodding hell.