Ding-buzz.
This time, ‘MMMM...TUFTALICIOUS!’ glowed away in the middle of the screen.
How?
How did the little sod manage to makeLogan’sphone change caller ID every time? All the texts came from the same bloody number.
‘...tangible benefits tokey stakeholdersthat will remain long after the placards have been put away...’
Oliver, from Waste and Recycling, helped himself to the second-last bourbon. He was one of those young go-getter types, with a slick short-back-and-sides, ratty little nose, and a mole on his cheek big as a badger. ‘This is all well and good, Frank, but have you any idea how much crap’s going to be left behind after the march? How am I supposed to clean that up without extra funds?’
Jessica banged the table. ‘That’s whatI’vebeen trying to say!’
Keith smiled at them both, as if they were boisterous but well-meaning children. ‘You have to see thebigger picture, people. With all eyes on Aberdeen this is our chance to showcase the city in apositiveandcooperativelight. I propose setting up an engagement committee to explore—’
‘What if we just cancel it?’
Everyone turned to stare at Logan, as if he’d grown antlers.
‘Think about it:’ counting the points off on his fingers, ‘it’s going to cost a fortune, it’s going to disrupt the city for hours, it’s going to leave a massive mess, it’s going to be a nightmare to police, and it’s got several potential flashpoints for violence, public disorder, and property damage.’
Silence.
Mouthsactuallyfell open.
‘Look, it’s—’
Which is when his phone decided to launch into Bowie’s ‘Space Oddity’ as ‘BEHOLDTHEMAGNIFICENTTUFTY!’ filled the screen. And the wee shiteknewhe was in a meeting.
Logan stabbed ‘DECLINE’.
Keith clutched his lanyard, like a string of pearls. ‘This isn’t apolice state, Chief Inspector! We don’tbanpeaceful protest in this country, though God knows the previous government tried their best. It’s simply—’
‘Here we go,’ Oliver from Waste and Recycling threw his hands in the air, ‘typicalnationalist bias. I think you’ll find it’s the SNP who’ve been in power for—’
‘—suggestion. How can we call ourselves a democratic nation if we curtail the public’s right to—’
‘Don’t be a prick, Oliver.’ Jessica from the Roads Department was on her feet, fists clenched. ‘You know as well as I do that the Scottish Government’s powers are restricted by Westminster’srepressivegrip on—’
‘—matter ofcivic pride, Chief Inspector. And Iinsistthat no move be taken to curtail those inalienable rights!’
Logan held his hands up. ‘I just asked the question, OK? It’s not as if I’m—’
Then the door clattered open and an out-of-breath Tufty stumbled into the room, bringing himself up short before he crashed into Jessica’s back. ‘Eek...’
Keith stuck his nose in the air. ‘Excuse me, but I think you’ll find we’ve got this meeting room booked tilltwelve, so—’
‘Sarge!’ Tufty pulled a face at Logan. ‘Sarge, we’ve got a hot one. On the riverbank.’ Raising his eyebrows for an ominous pause. ‘Something’s washed up...’
Something...?
That could only mean one thing: Charles MacGarioch’s body.
And an excuse to escape The Tenth Circle of Hades.
Logan grabbed his notes, and phone, and pen, and the last forlorn bourbon biscuit, definitelynotgrinning as he hurried for the door. ‘Sorry everyone: duty calls.’
‘But, Chief Inspector, what about our—’