Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

‘So sorry to keep you waiting.’ A gaunt woman stood in the doorway, wearing standard Police-issue black with an inspector’s pips on the epaulettes. Her fringe was nearly down to her eyebrows, but it didn’t manage to hide the thick wrinkly creases that made valleys across her forehead. ‘We’re ready for you now.’

Logan followed her out into the corridor, past office after office — all with their doors shut — and into another room.

They’d made more of an effort in here. Pot plants stood in the corners, historical photographs of Aberdeen hung on the walls, and a couple of windows looked out onto the snow. She waved a hand at one of the comfy chairs arranged around a coffee table with a bowl of individually wrapped mints on it. ‘Now, would you like a tea or a coffee before we start?’

OK...

She was obviously down to play Good Cop.

‘Thanks. Tea with milk. If that’s all right?’

‘Not a problem. Well, take a seat, Sergeant McRae, Chief Superintendent Napier will be with you soon as he’s off the phone.’ She slipped out, closing the door behind her.

So really he’d just swapped one waiting room for another.

But at least an inspector was making him tea for a change.

Logan sank into the comfy chair.

Nobody expects the Spanish inquisition.

She was back two minutes later with a mug and a small plate of jammie dodgers. ‘There you go. Won’t be long now.’ And she was gone again.

Maybe there were hidden cameras in the room, filming his every movement? Maybe Napier and his Minions of Darkness were huddled in an observation suite watching him right now? Waiting for him to incriminate himself.

Well tough.

Logan helped himself to a biscuit.

Wonder what it was this time: telling Superintendent Harpy where to stick her MIT, being at Wee Hamish’s funeral, selling the flat to John Urquhart for way over the valuation... Or perhaps it was about a drug dealer getting beaten to death with a claw hammer?

Sit still and drink your tea. Don’t fidget. Eat your jammie dodgers.

Two biscuits later, Chief Superintendent Napier arrived, with a file under one arm and a mug in the other. ‘Sergeant.’ He settled into the chair opposite. Put the mug on the table and opened the file. ‘Now, as you may have guessed, a number of people in the Organised Crime and Counter Terrorism Unit are interested in your attendance at Hamish Mowat’s funeral this afternoon.’ Napier steepled his fingers. ‘Would you care to comment on that?’

Logan had a sip of tea. ‘I was abducted from my home this morning by three men in a Transit van, forced into a black suit, and driven to a garage somewhere on the outskirts of Aberdeen where I witnessed a man being murdered. I was then driven to the funeral because Hamish Mowat thought of me as a friend and a fitting successor to lead his criminal empire after his death. On the way there I plotted with another individual to kill Mr Mowat’s right-hand man.’

Napier smiled, then nodded. ‘Well, that’s quite understandable. Now, would you like a pay rise or a knighthood? I’ve been authorized to give you both, if you like?’

Oh, if only.

Instead Logan lowered his mug. ‘We’ve been getting reports of various cartels and gangs wanting to move into the area following Hamish Mowat’s death. After discussing this with Chief Inspector Steel, it was decided that I should attend the funeral.’

Napier raised an eyebrow. ‘You discussed this with DCI Steel?’

‘Ask her if you like.’ Logan pulled out his phone and called Steel.

Two rings, then her voice blared in his ear. ‘ Where the hell did you get to? I turned up at lunchtime with a big bag of sausage rolls, all set for tea and sympathy, and you were nowhere to be— ’

‘Guv, can you brief Chief Superintendent Napier about our plan for me to scope out Wee Hamish Mowat’s funeral today?’ He put his mobile on speakerphone and held it out.

Silence.

Napier leaned forward in his seat. ‘Well, Chief Inspector?’

‘ Hold on, got digestive biscuit crumbs all down my cleavage. ’

He curled his top lip and sat back again.

‘ Aye, right. The funeral. I sent Sergeant McRae down there to scope out the opposition. I got the feeling these thugs from down south would be up for the service, and I wanted someone on-site to see if they could pick up some info. You know, what with Peter Shepherd being all dead in a Malk-the-Knifey way. ’

Had to hand it to her: no one could lie quicker and slicker than Roberta Steel.

‘ Now is there anything else? Only my boobs are all gritty with biscuit here and I need to get my bra off and give it a good shake. ’

If Napier was trying to hide his grimace, he wasn’t doing a very good job of it. ‘I see. Well... we won’t keep you from that.’

Logan switched the speakerphone off and put the phone back to his ear. ‘Thanks. I’ll debrief you when I get back to Banff.’

‘ You’re no’ doing anything with my briefs, Sunshine. My pants are off limits. And what the hell was that all about? You better no’ be— ’

He hung up and switched his mobile off again.

Napier closed the folder. ‘I’m glad we could get that cleared up so quickly.’ Then he stood and stalked across the room to the window and stood there with his hands behind his back, as if he were reviewing the troops. ‘And did you learn anything of import at the funeral, Sergeant?’

‘Malcolm McLennan thinks someone’s trying to fit him up.’

‘I see. Speaking of “fitting people up”, while we’ve got you here, I’d like to talk about Jack Wallace.’

Steel’s paedophile.

Logan drained the last of his tea. ‘What about him?’

‘His laptop. Oh, it’s full of child abuse images, that’s not at issue, but Wallace claims his laptop was missing for a couple of days. He’s adamant that someone else took it and put those images on there. That he would never have done it himself.’

‘Yes, because real paedophiles always own up to what they’ve done, don’t they? Only the innocent ones say they didn’t do it.’

‘Steel had dealings with Wallace before. She investigated him twice on accusations of rape.’

‘Children?’

Napier shook his head. ‘Both times the prosecution fell through. The victims changed their minds and withdrew their complaints. And we all know how well DCI Steel takes failure in cases of sexual assault.’

Snow was building up along the window ledge, clumps sticking to the glass for a moment, before melting.

‘You see, Logan, the laptop worries me. All those images of child abuse are in two distinct blocks. Half were loaded onto the machine one day, and the rest went on the day after. One would expect, if Jack Wallace really were a practising paedophile, the images would have built up gradually over a period of time. But they didn’t, they simply arrived ...’ He turned and leaned back against the windowsill. ‘Which is suspicious, don’t you agree? Almost as if someone had placed them there on purpose.’

Logan fiddled with his empty mug. ‘Were the pictures encrypted? Had he tried to hide them in any way?’

‘The folder they were in was password protected: his mother’s maiden name, spelled backwards. All sitting in a subdirectory of his iTunes files.’

So pretty well hidden then.

Which did beg the question: how did Steel find them buried away down there?

Napier flashed his teeth. ‘Ah, I see you’ve finished your tea. Why don’t we go and sort that out?’

God, a cup of tea from an inspector and a chief superintendent, all in the same day? Well that certainly made up for all the other crap that had happened since breakfast.