‘Only did it cos Susan thinks it’s sexy…’ Scratch, rummage, fiddle.
‘Will you stop doing that!’
‘Itchy.’ She shivered. ‘Bloody freezing too.’
‘He just seems to be taking a lot of interest in Polmont. First the journals, now the PM…?’
Steel pulled out a packet of cigarettes, offered one to Logan, then lit them both. ‘The Ice Queen find anything we can pin on someone yet?’
‘He was tortured with a nail gun, then buried alive.’
‘Poor bugger…Anything else?’
‘Bite marks on his arms and neck. Look like dog.’
The inspector dug her hands deep into her armpits. ‘So we’re looking for a big violent bastard with a huge dog, and access to the building site. Think, think, think.’
Logan nodded. ‘I chased up the lookout request on Andrew Connelly – nothing yet. Lothian and Borders are keeping an eye open, just in case he really
‘Warrant?’
‘PF says we don’t have enough for an arrest. If they can get DNA off the body that matches Connelly or his dog—’
‘Whatever happened to the good old days, when you could just kick someone’s door in and beat a confession out of them?’ She smoked in silence for a minute. ‘What about those journals?’
‘Still working on them.’
‘Right.’ She ground her cigarette out against the cash-and-carry wall. ‘I’m taking over here. You go through that stuff we got from Polmont’s flat.’
Steel turned and hobbled back towards the door.
‘But—’
‘Team player, remember? And do something about your jewellery heist. I’m no’ running a holiday camp here.’
The door clunked shut behind her, leaving Logan alone in the car park.
Bloody typical.
23
‘This all of it?’ Logan stood on his tiptoes and peered at the row of boxes arranged on the metal shelving.
‘Next one down too. And the one under that. And we got some more over there.’ The sergeant in charge of the Water Lane evidence store turned and pointed at another rack over by a stack of archive files. ‘That’s everything they brought in from Polmont’s flat.’
The store was a converted Victorian warehouse, a pile of filthy granite hidden away down a narrow alleyway off Mearns Street, just wide enough to get an unmarked Transit van down, if you were careful. Quiet and anonymous. The building’s high windows were nearly opaque with dirt, and barred on the inside.
The room was partitioned up with adjustable shelving units, turned into a maze with the heavy metal cage for drugs and confiscated money lurking at its heart. The shelving groaned under the weight of seized goods and lost property, the wooden floorboards gouged and scuffed. Strip lighting hung from the bare rafters, buzzing and flickering, making Logan’s breath glow white in the cold air.
‘OK…This lot been processed yet?’ Trying not to sound too hopeful.
The sergeant laughed, a surprisingly high-pitched sound for someone who looked so much like an axe murderer. ‘You’re kidding right? What am I, your mum?’
Logan groaned. There had to be two or three hundred items on the shelves, all of which needed to be catalogued, verified, and checked against the stolen property register. Bloody DI Steel – this was going to take him forever.
Sergeant Axe-Murderer patted him on the back and grinned. ‘Look on the bright side, at least it’s sodding freezing in here.’
‘You can bugger off now, Clive.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ Clive gave him one last pat, then wandered off, hands in his pockets, whistling. Git.
Logan pulled the first box from the shelf and dumped it on the floor. It was full of Sony MP3 Walkmans in their original packaging. He dug them out one by one, opening the cases to make sure they contained what they said they did, then wrote everything down in his notebook. Knowing that he’d have to type it all up when he got back to FHQ.
The next box was full of watches, the one after that: digital cameras. Logan sat back on his haunches and stared at the stacks of stuff still sitting waiting for him.
Bugger this.
He dug out his mobile and went hunting through the contacts, then hit the button. It was Sunday, so he’d have to leave a message, but if anyone asked he could honestly say he was doing something.
But a real person answered the phone:
‘Dildo? It’s Logan. What are you doing in the office?’
‘I need a favour from the Shop Cops.’
Logan looked up at Polmont’s collection. ‘I think we’ve found a stash of counterfeit goods.’ Not entirely true, but it
There was a groan.
‘My heart bleeds. We’ve got the lot down at the Water Lane store, get your bum over here and work your magic.’
