Harmsworth curled his top lip. ‘What’s Scene Of Crime got to do with—Ow!’
Steel gave him another thump on the back of the head. ‘“Serious Organised Crime Taskforce”, you snudging spudge-walloper.’
He rubbed at his bald patch. ‘That really hurt!’
Logan chucked his pen at them. ‘Stop arsing about. This is serious!’ He gave them all a stern look. ‘As half the station’s off with The Yuck, until we get some backup from other divisions, Davey: you’re now Acting Detective Sergeant Barrett.’
‘Sweet.’ He grinned at Steel. ‘I’m sure we’ll work together in asupportiveandcooperativemanner,fellowsergeant.’
‘Hey!’Nothappy.
‘And you’re now officially Acting Detective Inspector Steel.’ Logan folded his arms. ‘I’mtrustingyou, OK? Do not screw this up. I want progress and an interim report on my desk by lunchtime.’ He headed for the door. ‘Tufty: grab a pool car, we’re going out.’
The wee loon scrambled to his feet. ‘I has being an sidekick?’
‘We’ll see.’
‘Woot!’
Yeah. He was probably going to regret this.
44
The pool car headed northwest along the Parkway, past warehouses and car showrooms, joining the trucks and lorries heading to various industrial estates as rush hour in the Bridge of Don set in. Grinding everything to a halt. Tufty behind the wheel, while Logan dozed in the passenger seat. Drifting in and out as the wee loon wittered on:
‘...so I went down to the Forensic IT lab, and I said to them, I said: “You does has abeing crapat this computering malarkey!” And they was all like, “No way, we is the bestest!” And I’m like, “Give me Charles MacGarioch’s pooter and I’ll crack it like a Tunnock’s Tea Cake!”’ A pout. ‘Andtheysaid, “No.” So I said—’
The first bars of Beethoven’s ‘Ode To Joy’ burst out of Logan’s phone, cutting across Tufty’srivetinganecdote. Oh dear, what a shame.
And it would be rude not to answer it. ‘Hello?’
A tired voice grumbled into Logan’s ear:‘Dr Drummond.’
‘Sorry, you’ve got the wrong number. This isn’t—’
‘No:I’mDr Drummond. Critical Care Unit, Aberdeen Royal Infirmary? I’ve got a note here to call a “Logan Mackay” about Spencer Findlater?’
Tufty turned onto Lochside Road, swapping industrial-estate chic for a winding maze of mature trees, wee houses, and bungalows.
‘Has he got a visitor?’ Sitting up a bit straighter.
‘He’s actually survived the night, which is a surprise, given his injuries. People don’t appreciate the damage a car can do, even at thirty miles an hour. Two tons of metal exerts a force of—’
‘Is Spencer going to be OK?’
There was a pause, filled with medical seething. Because if there was one thing people like Dr Drummond hated it was being interrupted. Well, tough – that’s what he got for getting Logan’s name wrong.
Drummond cleared his throat.‘Theimportantthing is he’s unlikely to drop dead before teatime, so he’s not our problem any more. We’ve transferred him to the Orthopaedic Trauma Unit. Ward two-twelve, in the Pink Zone.’
At the end of the entrance road, a huge sign reared out of the bushes with ‘LOCHSIDE ROAD’ at the top, and ‘LEADINGTO’ followed by a list of fourteen different streets, seven on each side.
Tufty took a right.
‘You’ve turfed him out?’ Logan shifted in his seat. ‘Is that not a bit—’
‘Do you have any idea what kind of bed shortages we’re dealing with here? If he’s stable, he’s someone else’s problem.’A humphing noise.‘And now that I’ve done my bit and called you, is it OK if I get back to all these half-dead folk? Thank you.’
‘Hold on! Hold on.’ Before the sarcastic bugger could hang up. ‘We left an advisory notice – in case Spencer gets a visitor? It’s important.’