‘When did you last see him?’
‘Monthsago.’ Keira pulled one shoulder up to her ear. ‘His nan’s debts were getting him down; old bag never was any good with money. Tried picking up extra shifts at the chippy, but it’s not exactlywedge, is it? Minimum wage and all the second-hand grease you can scrape off your hair?’ She dug into her apron and pulled out a tube of extra-strong mints. Popped one, frowned at the packet, then extended the open end to Logan.
‘Thanks.’ He offered a business card in exchange. ‘If you hear from Charlie, or anything, can you let me know? We’regenuinelyworried about him.’
She eyed the thing, as if it might bite. ‘You never said why you’re after him.’
‘Someone tipped us off he’d been involved in something a bit shady. We went round to get his side of the story.’ OK, so strictly speaking that wasn’texactlytrue, but it wasn’t exactly a lie, either.
Keira plucked the card from Logan’s fingers, turning it over to read the mobile number printed on the back in biro. Then filed it away with her mints. ‘Ifhe calls.’
‘Thanks.’ Nodding at the restaurant. ‘We’ll leave you to it.’
Logan shooed Rennie and Tufty through the emergency exit, into a short corridor with scuffed white walls and doors marked ‘MANAGER’ and ‘STORES’ on one side, ‘STAFF/CHANGING’ and ‘KITCHEN’ on the other. And dead ahead: ‘FRONTOFHOUSE~REMEMBER:YOURSMILEMAKESALLTHEDIFFERENCE!’
Because it wasn’t just Police Scotland who were addicted to ‘motivational’ wank.
Soon as they were all inside, Rennie flattened himself against the wall, snuck back to the emergency exit and cracked it open a sliver. Ear pressed against the gap.
Oh for God’s sake.
Logan dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘What are you doing, you idiot?’
The idiot stuck a finger to his lips, so quiet he was barely audible: ‘Seeing if she calls MacGarioch to tell him we were here...’
Tufty hooked his thumbs into his utility belt, rocking on his heels like an old-timey prospector. ‘I got a job in a chip shop after school. Worked my way up from peeling tatties to doing the pizzas. Very responsible job, doing the pizzas.’ Nodding at the wisdom of that. ‘It’s not all deep-fried Mars Bars, you know.’
Rennie scowled. ‘Will you shut up? Trying to listen, here.’
‘We used to do deep-fried Crunchies too. Mmmm...’ Then a grimace. ‘Cadbury’s Creme Eggs were a step too far, though. Like a weenie hand grenade full of napalm, they were.’
Halfwits. Logan was surrounded by halfwits.
He ignored the reminder to smile and pushed his way into reception, anyway.
The maître d’, on the other hand, flashed her dentures as he emerged from the door, pointing at the phone currently pressed to her ear, as if he couldn’t see it. But he gave her a thank-you wave anyway.
Tufty tottered after him. ‘They’d burn straight through the roof of your mouth. Remember the fizzy acid blood inAliens? That. Only all chocolate and fondanty.’
Bet Inspector Morse never had to put up with this nonsense.
Sunlight streamed through the canopy of leaves at the side of the road, stirred by a faint breeze, making the dalmatian spots ripple across the pool car and tarmac.
Tufty lounged against the driver’s door, hands in his pockets, eyes closed, face up, a wee smile on his daft pointy face.
Across the road, a well-heeled couple headed downstairs to The Star-Sprinkled Heavens for ferociously expensive fish-and-chips.
And there wasstillno sign of bloody Rennie. Two more minutes, and that was it – they were leaving. With or without him.
Logan cupped a hand over his phone, cutting a bit of the glare, and squinted at Tara’s latest message:
P/T meeting = 1930 remember?
Don’t be late or there WILL be spanking!
And NOT the fun kind!!!!!
He poked out a reply.