Stuart MacBride - The Missing and the Dead

Unlike Logan’s team.

The Duty Inspector’s door was open, so he knocked on the frame and stepped inside.

Inspector McGregor was behind her desk, faint purple bags lurking beneath her eyes. She took her glasses off and waved them at the man sitting opposite. ‘Ah, Sergeant McRae. I believe you know Detective Superintendent Young?’

Crap …

Young wouldn’t have looked out of place on Sergeant Mitchell’s Operational Support Unit. Broad shouldered with huge hands — the knuckles a map of scar tissue. Grey hair shorn close to the scalp. A crisp white shirt and dark-blue tie. Black suit jacket draped over the back of his chair. He nodded. ‘Sergeant.’

‘Sir.’

A smile. ‘It’s all right, I’m not with Professional Standards any more, you don’t have to stand at attention.’

‘Force of habit.’ Warmth spread across Logan’s cheeks. Back to the Inspector. ‘Sorry to bother you, Guv, but thought you’d like to know: we’ve recovered at least eighty grand’s worth of heroin from Klingon’s house. Won’t know for sure till the labs get through with it, but if it’s uncut …’

‘We’d be looking at two, maybe three hundred thousand.’ She nodded. ‘Excellent. Glad to hear you took my advice to heart about getting a big win.’

‘ Plus half a brick of cannabis resin hidden in the oven. And best of all, we’ve finally found Jack Simpson: battered, gagged, and tied up in Klingon’s attic.’

‘Still alive?’

‘Just. Constable Scott’s keeping an eye on him in case he regains consciousness and says something coherent.’

‘First time for everything.’ She rubbed her hands together. ‘Excellent result, don’t you think, Superintendent? Shows what divisional policing can achieve with the right people.’

Young stretched his neck to one side, as if working out a line of knots. ‘And who’s interviewing this … Klingon, is it?’

‘Colin “Klingon” Spinney — local dealer.’ Logan pointed at the map of Banff and Macduff on the Inspector’s wall, where a cluster of red thumbtacks measled the streets. ‘He and his mate Kevin “Gerbil” McEwan have been trying to move up to the premier league for a long time. I’ve sent them both straight off to Fraserburgh for processing. Soon as the Broch have booked them in, and the usual lawyer nonsense is out of the way, I’ll head over and-’

‘Actually, I’m afraid that’s not really going to be possible.’

Logan straightened his shoulders. ‘Thanks for your concern, sir, but I think my team are more than capable of-’

‘I know, I know.’ Young held up one of those huge, scarred hands. ‘But if this pair had eighty grand’s worth of gear stashed in the house, they’ve obviously got links to some serious players. Which means we’re going to have to assign a Major Investigation Team. Get the Divisional Intelligence Office involved and see where this fits into the drug web. Liaise with whichever area of the country it all came from. Probably coordinate a cross-border operation …’

Inspector McGregor slipped her glasses back on. Scanned the intel section of the Operation Schofield briefing sheet. Her face soured. ‘All we have at the moment is, the delivery was “from somewhere down south”.’

‘Guv, I think we-’

‘Logan. Please.’ Young pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘It’s not a case of someone else taking credit for your work. You and your team will still get the mention in dispatches and all the pats on the back you deserve, but this much heroin?’ A half-shrug. ‘It’s too big to be handled at a divisional level. I’m sorry, but that’s the way things work these days.’

‘I see.’

Inspector McGregor sighed. Pulled a thick manila folder from her in-tray. ‘And while we’ve got the Detective Superintendent in the house, I thought we should consult him on this.’ She opened the folder and pulled out a wodge of A4 stapled in one corner. ‘We got a call from Aberdeen City Division: the case against Graham Stirling collapsed half an hour ago. It’s over.’

Logan closed his eyes and swore. Curled his hands into fists. ‘But he did it. They can’t let him walk!’

‘The Judge ruled most of the evidence inadmissible. The Fiscal’s office is spitting blood. And Professional Standards have requested copies of every complaint, reprimand, and comment made about you in the last five months.’

The paperwork thumped onto her desk.

‘He tortured Stephen Bisset. He broke every one of his fingers, he ripped out his teeth, he castrated-’

‘We know what he did.’ The Inspector opened the folder. ‘That’s why we need to go over this.’

Logan stuck his chin out. ‘You always get complaints when you’re in uniform. You’re in contact with the public the whole time: people don’t like being arrested or searched. And not a single one of those was upheld!’

‘That’s not-’

‘The only way you don’t get any complaints against you, is by sitting behind a desk all day.’

She stared at him. ‘Meaning?’

Ah. Too far.

He cleared his throat. ‘Meaning Professional Standards have no idea what it’s like to break up a fight outside a Peterhead nightclub at two in the morning. People whinge. It’s what they do.’

‘Logan, we’ve received a formal complaint that you’ve been taking bribes from drug dealers.’

‘First I’ve heard of it.’

She checked the top sheet of her pile of paper. ‘Complaint was made this morning, by a Mr Brown.’

‘Buster Brown? Are you kidding me?’

Young folded his arms. ‘We take allegations of corruption very seriously.’

‘I arrested him last week for possession with intent. This is his idea of revenge.’

‘Sergeant,’ Young leaned back in his seat, ‘if you’ll take a bit of advice: given the allegations made against you yesterday, my former colleagues are going to be all over you like flies on a turd. You need to minimize your exposure to anything that smells of shite.’ He poked the paperwork. ‘ This , smells.’

‘I didn’t have any choice! Graham Stirling-’

‘It doesn’t matter if you had a choice or not. It’s how the thing looks in hindsight that matters to Professional Standards. Now, is there anything to this complaint about you taking money from dealers?’

‘Of course there isn’t. Two months ago, Buster Brown claimed I’d knocked him off his bicycle and broken both his legs. I did him for shoplifting and possession the week before, so he was getting his own back. Didn’t seem to occur to Buster that being in a wheelchair for the last fifteen years kind of undermined his story.’

Inspector McGregor peered at the sheet again. ‘That was him? Thought it was Ricky Welsh.’

‘No, Ricky was the fake assault in custody.’

‘Ah. So he was.’ She spread her hands on the desk. ‘Well, you’ll have my full support when the rubber heelers get here. I consider you an asset to B Division, Logan — this morning’s warrant proves that — but the Superintendent’s right, you need to be squeakier than clean.’

As if Buster Brown’s fictional complaints were anywhere near as serious as the Graham Stirling fiasco. As if they’d make any difference. As if Chief Superintendent Napier hadn’t already made up his mind to rain down a monsoon of crap on Logan’s head.

Still, when you’re drowning …

Logan nodded. ‘Yes, Guv.’

‘In the meantime,’ Young stood, ‘as the press seems to have decided Neil Wood was responsible for our dead wee girl, I think it’s about time we posted an officer outside his bed-and-breakfast full time. His father gets out of hospital later today and I don’t want him winding up on a mortuary slab for the sins of his son. Can you sort that, Wendy?’