46
‘I’m not your enemy, Logan.’ The Chief Inspector took a sip of tea, peering at him over the rim of the mug.
‘All I’m saying is I should be out there, searching the house.’
‘Oh, I’m sure DI Steel can manage without you for an hour or so.’ Chief Inspector Young – filling in while Professional Standards’ arch bastard Superintendent Napier was off at a conference somewhere – smiled. He had broad shoulders; short hair greying at the temples; big meaty fists, the knuckles criss-crossed with scar tissue; and small, dark eyes, surrounded by starburst wrinkles. The kind of man you’d want standing in front of you on crowd control, or forcing entry into a drug dealer’s flat.
The Professional Standards Unit wasn’t exactly Logan’s favourite part of Force Headquarters, which was a shame, considering how often he had to visit. Young shared his office with another chief inspector, who’d excused himself as soon as Logan arrived – giving them a bit of privacy for the bit where Chief Inspector Young bent Logan over the desk and, as Biohazard Bob so gleefully put it, proceeded without the aid of lubricant.
Young nodded at the photocopied complaint sitting in the middle of the desk. ‘And you never visited Douglas Walker at his home?’
Logan stared at him. ‘I only interviewed Walker
‘You do know I can just check the custody log?’
‘Good – check it.’
Young glanced down at his notes. ‘His lawyer claims this was part of an “orchestrated campaign of harassment” that started when you dragged Walker into the station under false pretences.’
‘Not this again…’ Logan dragged the bagged notebook from his pocket and peeled it open. The bitter-sharp scent of bile crept out into the room.
Chief Inspector Young recoiled slightly in his seat. ‘What is that
‘It…kind of fell in some sick.’ The pages were all stuck together on one side, so Logan stole the silver letter opener from the room’s other desk and started flicking them apart, setting a little avalanche of pale yellow flakes free.
‘Sergeant I really don’t think that’s necessary. We—’ ‘Hold on…’ He snicked a few more sheets loose.
A couple more and he had the declaration Walker had signed: the one saying he was coming into the station voluntarily.
‘Look. All done by the book.’ Logan held the notebook out.
Young backed away from the desk slightly. ‘Any chance you can put that back in its bag?’
Logan did, then swept the little pile of yellow flakes left behind into the bin. ‘I showed Walker’s lawyer everything at the time. He’s just chancing his arm.’
The chief inspector sat back in his leather chair, eyes creased, mouth working silently on something. ‘You know, DCI Finnie has asked if we would consider taking you on secondment to Professional Standards.’
Logan stared back. And he’d thought the frog-faced bastard had been joking. ‘Did he?’
‘You look horrified.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘…and he said Finnie wants to palm me off on the rubber-heelers!’ Logan shifted his shoulder, keeping the phone clamped to his ear as he washed the flakes of dried sick off his hands. The smell was getting worse as they rehydrated.
DI Steel made wet chomping noises in his ear for a moment.
‘Why the hell would
‘First thing I’d do is investigate that sarcastic bastard Finnie.’
‘What? Yeah: bite marks and saliva. Anything else?’
Logan frowned. ‘Does this whole thing sound…
