Стюарт Макбрайд - All That’s Dead

‘Quite right. And progress needs to be...’ Hardie’s mouth clacked shut and his eyes widened, face going an unhealthy shade of puce. ‘Wait, what?’

‘This case has become too high-profile to have a DI in charge.’

Spluttering finally gave way to, ‘But—’

‘This is now the division’s number one priority!’ Young bashed a fist down on the tabletop. ‘Clearly the Chief Superintendent has to retain a level of detachment, for the inevitable PIRC review, but if he was here,’ getting louder with every word, ‘I’m sure he would encourage me to start kicking people’s backsides until something sodding happened !’

Silence.

King cleared his throat. ‘We’re doing everything we—’

‘Oh no you don’t.’ Hardie stuck his nose in the air. ‘If you and McRae hadn’t let Haiden Lochhead escape last night, we wouldn’t be sitting here!’

King just stared at him, eyebrows pinched up in the middle. The proverbial puppy given a kicking by its master.

‘DCI Hardie, I’m authorising you to bring in a dozen officers from the rest of the division. More from other divisions if need be.’

King nodded. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Which was when Young turned to face Logan. ‘I’d expected more of you, Inspector McRae. I really had.’

Logan kept his voice as flat and level as possible. ‘I think, given the circumstances, you and I should have a wee discussion in private, Superintendent. Don’t you?’

Narrowed eyes and gritted teeth, then a forced, ‘Fine.’ Young snapped his fingers. ‘The rest of you: out.’

There were a few shared looks and raised eyebrows, then one by one Hardie, King, and Jane slunk from the room, shutting the door behind them, leaving Logan and Young alone.

Young stood, flinging his hands out to the side. ‘It’s a complete and utter bollocking disaster!’

As if somehow that was all Logan’s fault.

‘When you were in Professional Standards, what would you have said if a senior officer threatened and bullied members of his command?’

‘That’s not the point!’

‘That’s entirely the point.’ Logan put on his professional not-angry-just-disappointed voice. ‘Ranting and raving at people — you know better than that.’

‘Gah! This is what I get for letting you talk me into not firing King in the first place!’

‘ I talked you into it?’

Young crumpled into his chair again. ‘The media are ripping holes in us that get bigger every day, Police Scotland are breathing down my neck, and the Scottish Tossing Government want an official briefing! And you know what that means.’

A sigh. ‘You still can’t go about bellowing at members of your team.’

‘Do you have any idea how bad this makes us look?’

Logan turned the disappointment up a notch. ‘Do you really think Police Scotland needs another bullying scandal? Have we not lost enough senior officers already?’

‘WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?’ Tiny dots of spittle flared in the sunlight.

‘A couple of deep breaths might help?’

Outside, the sound of a patrol car siren wailed into life, then faded as they drove off to whatever emergency was underway.

The seagulls cawwwwed .

Someone outside in the corridor laughed.

Then Young slumped back in his seat. Looked away. ‘Is he up to it? King, is he... unbiased ?’

‘Look at it from his point of view — if he cocks this up, even accidentally, his career’s over. He’ll be pilloried in the media, probably never work again. He needs a result.’

‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’ A sigh. ‘Did you hear about our beloved Chief Superintendent, Big Tony Campbell? He’s retiring next month, and guess who he’s passing the baton to?’

‘I didn’t know he was retiring.’ Logan pointed. ‘Are you...?’

‘No. Apparently no one who’s actually worked here is worthy. They’re lumbering us with some high-flier from G Division.’

Of course they were. Because clearly, if you weren’t from Clydeside, you weren’t a real police officer. God forbid one of the parochial neeps got put in charge.

‘Oh. Lucky us.’

Young grimaced. ‘Her handover period officially starts next week. Might be nice if we had all this tied up before she gets here, don’t you think?’

‘We’re doing the best we can.’

Young stood again, and put a paternal hand on Logan’s shoulder. Gave it a squeeze. ‘I know. I know. Just... do it quicker.’

Logan scuffed along the corridor, heading for DCI Hardie’s office. Why didn’t they have air conditioning in here? OK, so it was Aberdeen and in the winter you needed sixteen jumpers, gloves, and a woolly hat, but still. Global warming meant—

His phone dinged and buzzed in his pocket — incoming text message.

According to the screen it was from ‘CLAP HANDS, HERE COMES TUFTY!’

The little sod had done something to his phone, it was the only explanation.

Sarge, Can I be in Mr Clark’s new steampunk film? Can I? Can I? Hoshiko says I can be one of the baddy’s techno henchmen! Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I?

Idiot.

He thumbed out a reply:

No.

Before he got his phone halfway to his pocket it ding-buzzed in his hand again.

IT IS I, TUFTY!:

Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease? They’ll even let me have lines! She says I’m a dead ringer for Baroness Grimdark’s Henchman #3, AKA: Arachnox. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?

Oh for God’s sake...

Why’s my phone coming out with all these weird caller IDs? WHAT DID YOU DO?!?

SEND.

Hardie’s office loomed up ahead.

The door was open, so everyone could see him: worrying away at his cheek with one hand, the phone pressed to his ear with the other. Face scrunched up. Teeny beads of sweat shining on his forehead, but maybe not from the heat.

His sidekicks were there: DS Robertson erasing things from one of Hardie’s whiteboards, in all her dark-haired and jowly glory; while DS Dawson strutted about on his mobile, doing his best to look efficient, as if that would fool anyone. Big-nosed, hair-gel-wearing idiot that he was.

‘Yeah... Yeah, I know that, but don’t tell me, tell Superintendent Young... Yeah, I thought that might.’

The only one out of place was King. He heaved himself up from the visitor’s chair, face all creased.

No one seemed to notice him leaving, not even Hardie — he just kept worrying away at his face, curling forward over his phone: ‘I don’t know, Stacy, as long as it takes, OK?... Yes, I appreciate that, but look at it this way: you don’t have a choice.’

King stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him. Slumped against it and closed his eyes. ‘God...’

Logan went for cheery and upbeat. ‘On the bright side, at least we’re not the sole scapegoats any more.’ That had to count for something.

‘Oh, if I know Hardie, he’ll find a way to Teflon anything bad so it lands smack-bang on me.’

Logan’s phone ding-buzzed, yet again. Then again. And again. And again. And again.

Bloody Tufty wouldn’t take no for a telling, would he?

King opened his eyes and pointed. ‘You not going to get that?’

‘It’s just Tufty, wingeing on because I said he couldn’t play a henchman in a film.’ He turned and led the way down the corridor. ‘And there’s another bright side: now we know we were right about Matt Lansdale’s disappearance. If Haiden had abducted him not only would Lansdale’s severed hands have turned up, there’d be a video too.’

King took a deep breath and sighed it out, shoulders rounded as he scuffed along beside him. ‘I suppose. At least that’s something.’