No name/details registered.
Can get started on warrant for IMEI tracking if you want?
Assuming PAYG was ‘Pay As You Go’, that meant Captain Sleazy was using a burner phone to proposition women,probablybehind his wife’s back. Might have a hard time convincing the Sheriff that was worth a warrant to trace the scumbag’s physical location so they could swoop in and unmask him, though.
Besides, there was an easier way to find out who he was: call him back.
Logan fired off a quick reply:
Thanks Smithy.
Leave it with me.
SEND.
Glenda threw a pained smile in their direction, phone to her ear as she poked at the switchboard. ‘I’m sorry; don’t knowwhat’skeeping Colin.’ She clunked the handset back into its hook. ‘Still not answering.’ Then stood. ‘Tell you what, would anyone like another coffee?’
Tufty sat up straight. Eager as a little black Labrador. ‘Do you have anybiscuits, because someone stole my lunch and...’
The door through to the inner sanctum opened and Colin Miller strutted in. He was in grey linen today, with a pastel-blue shirt – top three buttons open to show off a jangle-clank of golden jewellery and some greying chest hair. ‘Aye, aye. If it’s no’ Aberdeen’s answer to Cagney and Lacey: Crappy and Lumpy.’
‘Colin Archibald Miller!’ Glenda poked the reception desk with an indignant finger. ‘You apologise to these nice peoplerightnow.’
And just like that, all of Colin Miller’s swagger evaporated and his cheeks flushed bright pink. Those black-gloved fingers curling in front of his chest.
Logan grinned. ‘“Archibald”? You kept that one quiet.’
‘Aye, well...’ He cleared his throat. Jerked his chin at the door. ‘You better come with me.’
51
‘Don’t get me wrong – it’s nice to see you useless buggers doing some work for a change – but shouldn’t you be out knocking heads together and asking questions, like?’ Colin Miller twisted a key in the lock, then pushed the door open, revealing a large office with a sacrificial-altar-sized desk that played host to a huge leather office chair and a dour portrait of an overweight man in rolled-up shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and clichéd cigar.
Two, much shorter, far less comfortable chairs sat in front of the desk, so any visitor would be at an automatic disadvantage.
A line of CCTV monitors offered grainy windows onto the Bullpen, Advertising, and Picture Desk, along with four different views of heavy machinery in the print room.
Rows of framed front pages filled the space between the windows – blinds down, casting the room into fusty gloom – while a bank of filing cabinets sat across from a triple-length table with downlighters above it.
Colin yanked on a cord, sending the nearest blind crashing upwards. A beam of light slashed into the room. Making the dust motes glow.
Logan stopped in the middle of the room, doing a slow three-sixty. ‘Your new boss: how long’s she been here?’
Another blind thundered up. ‘Three weeks. Three long,shiteyweeks.’
‘She make any enemies in that time?’
Steel scuffed in, followed by Tufty – the melodramatic wee spud holding his tummy as it popped and gurgled an empty song.
‘Other than all the poor twats she fired?’ Colin clattered the last blind open, brushing dust off his gloves. ‘Oh, aye. This isnae theParish Gazette– we rattle buggers’ cages here.’
Logan commandeered the throne behind the desk and snapped on a pair of blue nitriles. ‘We’re going to need a list.’ Testing the first drawer – unlocked, but full of pens and assorted stationery. ‘She doesn’t show for work, two days running, and no one thinks to go check on her?’
‘What, cos we alllovehersomuch? Natasha Agapova makes friends like Jeffrey Dahmer makes pies.’
Tufty sidled over, leaning in close, keeping his voice low: ‘Don’t look now, but there’s a very nervous-looking burglar waiting outside.’
He wasn’t wrong.