Chapter 50 #2
‘Saaaaaaaaa-aaaaaarrrrrrrrge!’
Logan shrugged. ‘Sorry, Tufty, but rules is rules. You should’ve . . .’
Ding-buzz.
The pool car coasted to a stop at the roundabout onto King George IV Bridge, behind a Fiat Punto that some naughty person had prised the ‘P’ off and replaced with a ‘C’.
Logan brought up his messages.
COLIN MILLER:
Got a hot story about to break.
Want to get your excuses in before it does?
Bloody hell, what now?
Whatever it was, it would probably be bad news. Because when was it ever anything else?
He dialled the bugger back anyway.
Colin picked up on the second ring. ‘News desk.’
‘What story?’
There was a wee pause.
‘Why Acting DCI McRae, how lovely to hear your dulcet tones, and that.’
‘Don’t be an arse: we were on our way to see you anyway. Well, not you. Thought you’d resigned.’ The car inched closer to the roundabout. ‘What story, Colin?’
‘That guy you got flattened by a truck, yesterday – turns out he’s one of Charles MacGarioch’s mates. Kind of looks like Police Scotland’s deliberately targeting these poor benighted orphans.’
Sod. That was quick.
‘“Benighted”? Since when did you use big long words like—’
‘Or maybe you mean the story about Iain Grant suing Police Scotland for reckless endangerment, causing psychological distress, and the infliction of life-changing injuries?’
What?
‘Who the hell is Iain Grant?’
The swirl of cars paused, and Tufty nipped out onto the roundabout, following that Fiat You-Know-What-O, onto the bridge over the River Dee.
Couldn’t be far from here to where they’d found Andrew Shaw’s body, but that bit of the riverbank was hidden behind a bend in the river.
‘Iain Grant, AKA: Mr FreezyWhip. Owner of that ice-cream van you high-speed chased into the River Don, two days ago.’
‘He’s suing us? I pulled him out the water! I saved his life!’
Ungrateful bastard.
‘Or it might be the serial rapist you found floating facedown in the Dee, yesterday. You know the one: Andrew Wallace Shaw. With his head bashed in. Ring any bells?’
Logan clamped a hand over his eyes. ‘Who’s feeding you this stuff?’
‘What can I say: I’m a good listener; people like to tell me things.’ You could hear the smug smile in his voice. ‘So, where d’you want to start: “City Cops’ Orphan Vendetta”, “‘Reckless Police Tried To Kill Me’ Says Local Businessman”, or “Vigilante Ends Serial Rapist’s Vicious Spree”?’
‘Colin . . .’ Logan gave his head a squeeze, because it probably wasn’t a good idea to tell members of the press where they could stick their bloody newspaper.
‘Aye: and what do you mean, you’re on your way to see me?’
‘Your missing boss. I need access to her work stuff.’
‘Ah, you mean: “Clueless Cops Can’t Find Missing Mother”?’
‘Again with the being a dick.’ Deep breath. ‘How about “Weegie Reporter Impedes Investigation – Gets Uninvited To Barbecue”?’
Silence.
The pool car crossed the bridge, parting company with the Fiat Rudeness as it took a right – around the roundabout, heading towards Garthdee and the road south – while Tufty took the first exit, following a sign for ‘TULLOS don’t know what’s keeping Colin.’ She clunked the handset back into its hook. ‘Still not answering.’ Then stood. ‘Tell you what, would anyone like another coffee?’
Tufty sat up straight. Eager as a little black Labrador. ‘Do you have any biscuits, because someone stole my lunch and . . .’
The door through to the inner sanctum opened and Colin Miller strutted in.
He was in grey linen today, with a pastel-blue shirt – top three buttons open to show off a jangle-clank of golden jewellery and some greying chest hair.
‘Aye, aye. If it’s no’ Aberdeen’s answer to Cagney and Lacey: Crappy and Lumpy. ’
‘Colin Archibald Miller!’ Glenda poked the reception desk with an indignant finger. ‘You apologise to these nice people right now.’
And just like that, all of Colin Miller’s swagger evaporated and his cheeks flushed bright pink. Those black-gloved fingers curling in front of his chest.
Logan grinned. ‘“Archibald”? You kept that one quiet.’
‘Aye, well . . .’ He cleared his throat. Jerked his chin at the door. ‘You better come with me.’