Chapter 71 #2
‘Basically, we’re screwed.’ Logan dumped his pen on the worktop. ‘The only way we’ll get anything out of MacGarioch now is if he suffers a psychotic brain-fart and spontaneously confesses. And even then, Hissing Sid will walk it back in thirty seconds flat and somehow make out it’s all our fault.’
Biohazard leaned in again. ‘Were you going to say, “On account of him robbing all those sports shops”? We found enough whey powder in his bedroom to fill a municipal sandpit.’
‘Then perhaps, my dear Acting Detective Inspector, you should be interviewing this “Spence” individual, instead of my client?’ Hissing Sid pushed his chair back.
‘If you don’t mind: I think we should take a brief respite from this wholly unnecessary and unwarranted interrogation, for a comfort break. ’
‘We just had one.’
‘Sadly, my poor old bladder isn’t as young as it used to be. And I’m sure you wouldn’t be unsporting enough to continue brow-beating poor Charles in my absence. Would you?’
‘God’s sake.’ Logan folded his arms. ‘He just does this to mess with us: bet he doesn’t even need to go!’
Pine raised an eyebrow at him.
Urgh . . .
Logan pressed the talk button and leaned into the microphone. ‘Let the old fart have his prostate-problem pee break.’
On the screens, Biohazard’s shoulders froze for a beat. Then slumped. ‘Fine. Interview suspended at oh-eight-thirteen. We’ll reconvene in five minutes.’
A smile. ‘Make it ten.’ Smooth and slick, as befitted a serpent.
‘Typical.’ Logan flicked the switch, killing the speakers. ‘Sorry, Boss, you wanted a word?’
‘DS MacDonald.’
OK . . . That sounded ominous. Especially given Marky MacDonald’s reputation for wandering hands, his two written warnings, and what was going to happen if he ever did it again.
Logan glanced at the wee loon. ‘Is this something we should be discussing in front of Constable Quirrel?’
‘What?’ She pulled her chin in, frowning. Then must’ve finally got the subtext. ‘Oh . . . No. Nothing like that. I sent him to speak to your Nicholas Wilson, yesterday.’
Nope. No idea.
‘The second-last person to see Natasha Agapova? At the ball?’ Pine stood.
‘Did he find something?’
‘No idea.’ She stepped out into the corridor and Logan followed, because this was clearly going to be one of those walk-and-talk things ‘dynamic managers’ were so fond of. ‘He didn’t file a report, and now he’s on sick leave.’
Of course he sodding was.
She marched off, leading the way past invigorating motivational posters like: ‘YOU CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE!’, ‘INTEGRITY IS THE BEST DISINFECTANT!’, ‘COMMUNITY POLICING ROCKS!’, ‘PUT THE “POLITE” IN POLICE!’, and other such bollocks.
‘I’ll get someone on it.’
Pine nodded. ‘And circulate a memo – all reports must be completed before the end of shift. If you can find some way to say “No one else is allowed to come down with this sodding man flu!”, without HR getting a wasp in their knickers, that would be lovely too.’
At the end of the corridor Tufty scurried ahead to open the door and hold it for Pine. Brown-nosing little spud that he was.
The open-plan office was nearly deserted, with just the barest hummmm of activity going on in the background, because most of dayshift were away trying to find Natasha Agapova. Well, everyone who hadn’t come down with The Dreaded Lurgie, anyway.
Temporarily released from their interview trauma, Doreen and Biohazard were slumped at adjoining desks.
Doreen scrubbing both hands across her face as a scowling Biohazard crunched his way through a ‘MORE TO SHARE!’ bag of Chocolate Honeycomb Minis.
Though he seemed determined to devour the lot by himself.
The pair of them oblivious to the fact that the head of A Division had just stalked into the room.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. ‘Forgot what a massive pain in the hoop that tosser is. You could catch Jack the Ripper, red-handed, strangling the Queen Mother, while Hitler cheers him on, and Hissing Bloody Sid would still get the bastard off on a technicality.’
Doreen reached for the bag, but Biohazard wheeched it out of her reach. ‘Hey! Don’t be such a greedy gripe.’
Pine stopped right in front of their desks. ‘As you were.’
At which point Doreen flinched, letting out a strangled ‘Eeek!’ While Biohazard came very close to losing his honeycomb.
He scrambled to recover the bag, before its contents went everywhere. ‘Boss! Guv. Erm . . .’ Holding out the almost-spilled sweets. ‘Sorry. Charles MacGarioch might as well be a sodding mannequin for all he’s contributing in there.’
Everyone helped themselves to a chocolaty treat, even Tufty.
Logan crunched through a cube of salty-sugary goodness. ‘Ask him about the money. In the car, on the way back from the circus, he said he did it because he “needed the money”.’
Pine peeled the chocolate off her honeycomb, like some sort of serial killer. ‘What money?’
‘Exactly. And don’t let Hissing Sid fudge the issue.’
She helped herself to another rattling handful.
‘Now that MacGarioch’s in custody, I’m sure DI Marshall can tidy everything up here – I need you to concentrate on Natasha Agapova and the protest march.
’ She pointed. ‘DI Marshall: keep at him. It’s possible he’ll let something slip, but I doubt it.
We’ve got enough forensic evidence for a solid case, but I want everything watertight, understand? ’
A nod. And a surreptitious lowering of the bag, out of grabbing reach.
‘Good. DI Taylor: you’re probably better deployed elsewhere. Don’t think we need two acting detective inspectors in there, twiddling their thumbs.’ A sniff. ‘Besides, I think DCI McRae wants you to stand in for him at some meetings.’
Logan bit his top lip. ‘Ah . . .’
Busted.
His ears went much hotter than normal.
‘Yes, right.’ Biohazard gathered up his folders and files. ‘Well, we’ll . . . erm . . .’ and off he scuttled, followed by Doreen – dragging Tufty away with them. Leaving Logan at the mercy of Chief Superintendent Pine.
‘You see, Boss, . . . I felt . . . what with all the other things demanding our attention . . . and given the operational pressures . . . besides, it’s a valuable career-path development opportunity for—’
‘I know I said, “delegation is the key to a healthy work-life balance”, but you still need to be fully across your brief.’ Pine stared at him. ‘Are you?’
The warmth spread from his ears to his cheeks. ‘I get a one-page summary on every meeting she attends.’
Silence.
Pine tilted her head to one side. ‘Sounds sensible. And it means you’ve got nothing distracting you from finding Natasha Agapova.
Today would be nice. Preferably in time for the lunchtime news.
’ She turned to go. ‘And don’t forget to get each of your teams’ overtime-budget-and-schedule-variance-against-KPI-baselines calculated. Need that in by the end of the week.’
Striding away to spread her own special brand of joy and delight to some other poor bastard.
End of the week. AKA: today.
Logan screwed his eyes shut and sagged.
Friday the thirteenth strikes again . . .