Logan ripped the incriminating pages from his notebook, crumpled them up and lobbed them overhand at the bin.
Ten points.
Which was the first good thing that’d happened since arriving back at the station.
He stepped into the corridor, and there was Captain Useless, waiting for him with a clipboard.
Logan gave Tufty a glare. ‘Where were you, when I needed rescuing in there?’
‘First: Sergeant Rennie’s been sent home with the Snottery Ague.’
Of course he had.
‘So, who’s running the surveillance op?’
‘Sergeant Moore. He says,’ reading from the clipboard, ‘“Still no sign of MacGarioch. Now bored wankless and regretting decision to become a policeman.”’ A shrug. ‘Sorry, Sarge.’ Back to the clipboard. ‘Second: you’ve got a review at one for Operation Hedgehog, two o’clock for Operation Red Dragon, half two for Operation Beholder, three fifteen is Operation Basilisk. Then you’ve got a break till half four and it’s Operation Owlbear, four forty-five: Operation Firedrake, and Professional Standards at five. We shall call that “Operation Necrophidius”, which, as we all know, means “Death Worm”. And DI Marshall wants a word about Operation Disenchanter, soon as possible.’
Logan stared at him. ‘What the utter, goat-buggeringhellare you talking about?’
‘I named all the operations, Sarge, so we know which one we’re talking about.’
Unbelievable.
He shook his head, stalking off down the corridor. ‘Halfwits. Just...total...’
Tufty scampered after him. ‘Oh, and Operation Gelatinous Cube are waiting for you now.’ A little wistful sigh whined free. ‘They has gotchips!’
They pushed through the door at the end, into reception.
Council workers bustled about, buying sandwiches from a man with a cart, or heading out for a sneaky lunchtime pint or three to get them through the day.
Logan scuffed to a halt. ‘Gelatinouswhat?’
‘Cube, Sarge. It’s a ten-foot block of acidic ooze that consumes any organic material it finds in the dungeon. Like—’
‘Just...What – is – it: the operation, you ffffff...’ Don’t say it. Calm. Try not to scream at whatever the buggeringfuckthis was. He scrunched his eyes closed and strangled it down. ‘Please, Tufty, donotscrew with me right now. I’ve had nothing to eat, except a couple of manky meeting-room biscuits, since yesterday lunchtime; I’ve had two hours’ sleep; I’m running on caffeine and fumes;’ peeling one eye open to glare at the little twit, ‘and I willgenuinelymurder you!’
Tufty pulled his chin in. ‘Ah...OK: it’s Acting DI Steel’s team doing background on Natasha Agapova and Adrian Shearsmith.’
‘THEN JUST BLOODY SAY SO!’
The lunchtime buzz evaporated, and everyone turned to stare at the shouty police officer.
Deep breath. ‘Sorry.’ Logan massaged his temples. ‘Can we...’ pointing at the stairwell. ‘Please?’
Going pink from the nape of his neck to the tips of his ears, Tufty scurried over there, unlocked the security door and held it open. ‘Sarge.’
He stomped past into the stairwell. ‘Thankyou.’
Halfway up the stairs, in strained silence, and here cameBiohazard, clattering his way down towards them. Carnivorous underwear eating his rectum again. Leaving him a little out of breath. ‘Guv! Guv! Oh, thank shite for that. There’s a—’
‘Should you not be elbows-deep in a post mortem right now?’
‘Got called out of it. We have a...situation. Complication.Thing.’
Was there ever anything else?
Logan headed up the steps again. ‘Why me?’