Steel danced back a couple of steps, wiping a damp digit on her Police Scotland T-shirt.Grinning. ‘Trust me: youdon’twant to know where this finger’s been.’ Still wearing her peaked cap.
‘Gagh...Yourevolting...’ Scrambling out of his chair, making dry spitting sounds, trying to get rid of the taste.
The Critical Care Unit’s waiting room was much nicer than the other ones in Aberdeen Royal Infirmary. Probably because anyone stuck in here, killing time till a doctor turned up bearing news of their loved ones, was often about to have the worst day of their lives – and someone thought a bit of soft furnishings would cushion the blow.
So instead of the usual crappy plastic seats, there were half a dozen comfortable armchairs, two couches, assorted coffee tables, a decent-looking plastic pot plant, a water cooler, a vending machine, and a wall-mounted TV screen. Where some stupid quiz show droned away to itself:
‘And remember, you can either use any seconds you win to reduce your teammates’ sentences inTemporal Prison, or bank them for extra time in thePrize Vortex!’
Logan wiped a hand across his tongue. ‘What iswrongwith you?’
‘I’m going to miss our happy little workplace interactions.’
‘Bloody hell...’ He filled a plastic cup with water from the cooler, swilling his mouth out as the gormless-looking bloke on the telly gawped up at the quiz board.
‘Ermm...I think I’m gonna...Yeah, sorry guys: I’m going to bank it.’
‘You hear about Eddy Dunn?’ Steel thumped down into the nearest couch – feet up on a coffee table. ‘Poor old sod drowned in that weir thing, out by the Auchmill Golf Course. Full of Special Brew and jellies. Aye, Eddy, no’ the weir.’
‘Shite...Only saw him yesterday.’
‘He waseightthe first time I arrested him.’ She grabbed the TV remote. ‘Banged-up his dad dozens of times, and his nan, and his grandad too.’ Frowning. ‘What chance did Eddy have?’
‘OK, John, it’s time to beat The Time Vault! Let’s—’
Steel ponked the button and the quiz show disappeared, replaced by some cheesy drama:
‘Oh, Emily, it’simpossible.The bridge is out and there’s no way to get—’
Another crappy quiz show:
‘...three more right answers and you can go for the accumulator round! So, for a blue triangle, what’s—’
Reality-TV thing:
‘But what Clive doesn’t know is that Hannah’s allergic to shellfish—’
And the wheel of mindless pap spun on...
Steel sniffed. ‘Any news on Agapova?’
‘You’re disgusting.’
‘Andyou’rean idiot.’ Pointing the finger she’d stuck in his mouth. ‘What you doing here, when you should be back at the factory, doing a lap of honour for the cameras? Perky Pine’s got the world’s press lined up to celebrate us solving the case.’
He dumped his plastic cup in the recycling and sank into his armchair again. ‘The preening-glory-hound stuff’s never really been my strong suit.’ Yawning and stretching. ‘Besides, shift’s over. This way I get to gohome.’
‘Aye? And how’s that working out for you: sat here, waiting for news, like a big gype?’
‘Same as it is for you.’
She pursed her lips, frowning as an eighties biopic turned into an American sitcom, then another crappy reality-TV thing, then an ancient film with long-dead stars in it...Hershoulders dipped a bit, followed by a sigh. ‘Aye. I’m no’ going to miss this bit of the job.’ Ancient cop show, scripted reality show, American sitcom, reality show...‘Still: better than waiting in the mortuary! That formaldehyde-and-dead-people stink gets right in your crack.’
Onscreen, the wheel had come full circle. That quiz show must’ve finished, because an advert for some celebrity property show was playing now. Then theBBC Newslogo pulsed onto the telly like an angry haemorrhoid. Throbbing in time to a techno beat.
Steel hit mute.
A pug-faced newsreader appeared, doing her serious-look-to-camera as she delivered The Headlines, while an inset graphic showed a train crash somewhere down south.