The doctor steered her towards the wheelchair in the corner. ‘Nice try, but no cigar. Come on, we’ll get you into bed.’
‘Ooh, saucy. I love a woman in uniform.’
Logan held the curtain open for them, watching as the doctor wheeled Steel away. The inspector flapped her arms and tried to turn around in her seat. ‘Laz! Laz – look after my car, OK? It’s parked round the back of … thingy. You know: the place we work?’ And then she was round the corner and out of sight, laughing like something out of a Carry On film.
But Logan didn’t have anything to laugh about – not if he had to tell Colin McLeod someone had mutilated his brother.
‘Ah…’ Rory Simpson looked up at the camera bolted to the wall of the interview room. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’
Logan sat back in his seat and folded his arms. ‘You said you saw them!’
‘Heat of the moment. I got caught up in all the excitement: high-speed chase, the sirens… Being handcuffed bent double like that, blood must have rushed to my head.’
Rory had developed amnesia the moment he’d overheard some idiot talking about what had happened to Simon McLeod and the other victims.
‘Do you have any idea how important this is? People are being—’
‘Suppose I had seen them – and I’m not saying I did – but suppose I had. What do you think they’d do to me if they found out I’d identified them?’ He ran a hand across his bushy grey moustache. ‘I’m rather attached to my eyes. I need them for looking at stuff.’
‘Rory, we can stop them. But we need to know what they look like.’
‘Can’t you…’ He waved his hands around. ‘You know, DNA, fingerprints, that kind of thing.’
‘They were wearing gloves.’ Logan scooted his chair closer to the interview table. ‘We can protect you. Make sure they can’t lay a hand on you.’
Silence.
‘Hmmm…’ Rory pursed his lips and stared at the camera again. ‘And would it make you forget all about our little … misunderstanding at the school this morning?’
‘You mean when you were trying to coax little kids into your car with drugs?’
Rory actually blushed. ‘Well, it might have looked like that, but—’
‘Were you shopping for yourself, or someone else?’
This time the awkward pause stretched out for almost a minute. ‘I … I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Don’t play dumb, Rory. We know someone’s in the market for young “livestock” – we’ve been hearing rumours for years. Was the little girl for you, or were you snatching to order?’
He shifted in his seat, licked his top lip, fidgeted. ‘About those men this afternoon … I may have seen them after all.’
‘You know what happens to people who abduct children, don’t you Rory?’
‘I was looking right at them as they went past.’
‘How much was that little girl worth? How much was someone going to pay you for her?’
‘I… If I tell you about those men, can you make all this … go away?’
Logan doubted it. ‘The Chief Constable doesn’t like it when we let paedophiles go: says it doesn’t look good in the papers. But…’ He glanced over his shoulder at the uniformed PC standing against the wall, then dropped his voice to a whisper, ‘I could have a word with the Procurator Fiscal. Let her know you’re helping with a major investigation. It’d be up to her whether we prosecute or not.’
Rory wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead, and said, ‘OK, let’s do it.’
By the time four o’clock arrived, Logan had reasonable e-fits for the men who’d blinded Simon McLeod and concussed DI Steel. He’d just finished signing Rory back into custody when DS Pirie appeared. ‘The boss wants to see you.’
Which was lucky, because Logan wanted to see him too.
Detective Chief Inspector Finnie’s office was one of the bigger ones on the fourth floor, with a view of the rear podium car park and the back of a row of granite buildings. DS Pirie sat back against the windowsill, flicking through a forensics report, a smug smile on his face. A couple of Eric Auld prints graced the walls above Finnie’s desk, their cheerful summery colours in complete contrast with the DCI’s expression as he put the phone down and glowered at Logan.
‘How many times do we have to have this discussion, Sergeant?’
‘Sir?’
‘Did I imagine it, or did I tell you to run everything by me before you did it?’
‘But you said—’
‘So imagine my disappointment when I found out that you interviewed the only witness we’ve got to the Oedipus attacks, without even telling me he existed.’
‘We caught him trying to lure children—’
‘I have six people with their eyes gouged out, Sergeant McRae: six. And not only did you spectacularly fail to arrest the man who did it – don’t interrupt – you also concealed a witness!’ He started a slow round of applause. ‘Good job. Well done. You must be so proud. I can’t imagine why you haven’t made DI yet.’
He held out his hand, and Logan had a sudden urge to spit in it.
‘Well,’ said Finnie, ‘let’s see these e-fits then.’
Logan gave him the printouts, and the DCI examined the two identikit faces. One was in his mid-thirties: heavy eyebrows, thickset features, broken nose, and little piggy eyes. The other looked like an ageing movie star – the kind who was still playing the hero in action films: grey hair, steely eyes.
‘And do we believe these are accurate?’
‘Simpson’s done time in Peterhead before, he knows what’ll happen to him if he gets sent down again.’
‘You’re cutting him a deal?’
‘He thinks I am.’
‘I see…’ Finnie settled back in his chair, fingers steepled together as he considered the ceiling for a moment. ‘Pirie?’
His sidekick barely glanced at the printouts. ‘I don’t like it. The profile says we’re looking for a single white male in his mid-twenties.’
Logan said, ‘Well, the profile’s wrong then, isn’t it?’
Pirie held up the e-fit of the older man. ‘Are you positive this is what he looked like?’
Logan opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Coughed. ‘Technically I didn’t actually see either of them – well, I did, but it was dark and I had a face full of pepper-spray – but Rory Simpson—’
‘Is a paedophile looking at some serious jail-time for breaking his parole conditions. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could spit him: he’s just telling you what you want to hear.’ Pirie smiled – patronizing sod. ‘The profile clearly says our boy’s local and he works on his own. So this—’
‘Don’t be an idiot, Pirie.’ Finnie pursed his rubbery lips, and swivelled back and forth on his seat a couple