‘So, the informant tells us about some forensic evidence planked in Tillydrone. We go look, and lo-and-behold, there’s Charles MacGarioch’s fingerprints all over a five-litre petrol can. Tests show that bits of foliage from a hedge next to the hotel got trapped when the lid was screwed back on.’ Logan plucked the newspaper from the pile of post by the poopy biscuit tin – that morning’sAberdeen Examiner. ‘We get a warrant – go in locked-and-loaded – and the next thing youknow, we’re pulling an ice-cream van out of the river and Charles MacGarioch’s disappeared.’
He unfolded the paper: ‘NEWSPAPER OWNER ABDUCTED BY SICK WEIRDO’ above a photo of Natasha Agapova, with the subheading ‘POLICEFUMBLEINVESTIGATIONASWORLDPRESSLOOKSON’.
Bloody Colin Bloody Miller.
‘Oh for...’ Logan thumped the front page. ‘How can we befumblingit? We only found out last night! Bunch ofbastards.’
‘Bingoroonie.’ Tufty pressed something, then held his phone out.
A distorted electronic voice crackled from the wee speaker:‘IGOT SOME INFORMATION FOR YOU ABOUT THE FIRE AT THAT HOTEL, WITH THEM MIGRANTS.IT WASCHARLESMACGARIOCH WHAT DID IT.HE BURNED THEM OUT GOOD....ANDIGOT EVIDENCE.LOOK IN THE BIG SHARED BINS ATTILLYDRONECOURT....HE’S A DIRTY WEE RACIST BASTARD, WHO HATES IMMIGRANTS AND FOREIGNERS, AND HE DESERVES EVERYTHING HE’S GOT COMING.’
Tufty lowered his phone. ‘That’s the lot.’
The door banged open and Marshall stomped in, finger up, mouth open, looking as if she was ready to give them a shouting at.
But instead of having a go, she stopped in the middle of the kitchen, frowning. Turning on the spot. Looking for something. Or someone...
‘Oh...Thought I heard Spence.’ She shook her head, then helped herself to the last mug of tea. ‘Muscle-headed idiot still owes me fifteen quid for his circus tickets.’ She froze, frowning back at Logan. ‘What?’
He put the paper down. ‘You thought you heard “Spence”? SpencerFindlater?’
‘He’s got this stupid app on his phone that does voices. You record a message and play it back as...I don’t know:Hannibal Lecter, or the Joker, or...whatsit – killer robot thing from that Netflix show with all the explosions.’ She pulled a face. ‘That one got oldreallyquick.’ Poking the worktop with an angry finger. ‘Well, he’d better show with my money or I’ll jam thathilariousphone of his right up his wankhole. Bastardsworehe’d come round yesterday, and did he? Did hebollocks.’
Sod.
Yesterday.
And Marshall’s house was, what, a ten-minute walk from the Balmain House Hotel, where Spencer Findlater had done a runner? Maybe fifteen, tops. He’d been cominghere.
Tufty opened his mouth, but Logan cut across him, before he could say anything stupid.
‘I’ll bet. Boys with their toys, eh?’ Taking a swig of tea, nice and casual. ‘So: you’re all going to the circus? I was thinking of taking the family. We’re probably toolateto get tickets, though. As it’s the last night.’
She shrugged one shoulder. ‘Probably depends which performance you want to see. I booked oursweeksago for the eight o’clock. Couple of pints in the Queen Vic first, wander up to Westburn Park, catch the show, then hit the funfair.’ A smile spread across her face. ‘Leave a trail of hotdog-and-candy-floss vomit all the way home.’
Oh, to be young and foolish.
She toasted them with her mug. ‘If Spence doesn’t turn up with my cash soon, I’ll scalp youhisticket if you like?’
Ah...
‘I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news about that.’ Logan put his tea on the counter. ‘You might want to sit down...’
‘...and flippingbazinga!’ Tufty bounced about in the driver’s seat, as if dancing to some punk-rock tune only he couldhear. ‘We does has cracked the case wide open, like an alien chestburster and John Hurt’s chest. Only we is definitely the xenomorph in this scenario and not John Hurt, cos his character did wind up dead, whereaswehas wound up victorious investigators!’
Twit.
Carden Place slid by the pool car’s windows, its granite buildings sparkling in the burning sun as Logan poked out a text to Chief Superintendent Pine:
We think it was Spencer Findlater who put in the anonymous tip-off about Charles MacGarioch.
If Forensic IT can crack his phone, they might find a recording.
His finger hovered over the ‘Send’ icon.
Yes, but what would getting Forensic IT involvedactuallyachieve? And how long would it take them, given their caseload? Never mind the operational costs – did it make any difference if they could prove the guy in intensive care ratted out his mate?
Assuming they ever got their hands on Charles MacGarioch, they could just play him the recording and let him jump to his own conclusions.