‘Erm...’ The wee loon bounced on his tiptoes, scanning the riverbank, then pointed. ‘That way, Sarge.’
One last wither for the Idiot Rennie. ‘“Charles MacGarioch”...’ Then Logan followed Tufty’s finger, to where twin lines of yellow-and-black tape bordered a trampled path through the weeds, all the way down to the pebbled beach. Climbing over the railing, he took his time, moving sideways like a worried goat, or a cautious haggis, because it was nearly vertical here – arms out to keep his balance on the descent, because there was nothing the lower ranks loved more than a stuck-up DCI tobogganing through nettles on his arse.
20
Logan stepped out onto the click-clatter of little round stones, blinking at the bitter-sharp parmesan stink of fresh vomit.
He skirted the half-chewed spatter, and across the slithery beach, to the traffic cones. Staying behind the glaring-yellow strip of tape as the two uniforms wanked about with the other ends.
PC Ferguson was a nondescript bloke with an underwhelming moustache and all the grace of a tumble-dryer. PC Greig: a good six inches shorter, with a pageboy haircut, sharp little nose, and blinky eyes – making her look as if one of The Beatles had sex with a sparrow.
Ferguson and Greig were both knee-deep in the river, wobbling about, trying to get their Gandalf’s staffs to stay upright in the fast-flowing water. And failing.
‘Hoy!’ Logan waved at the pair of them. ‘What on earth are you doing?’
PC Greig shoogled her stick. ‘Inner cordon, Guv.’
‘Who are you protecting the body from,mermaids? Get out of the bloody water, before you fall in and drown.’
While they splish-splashed back to shore, Logan had a good frown at the body. Back of the guy’s head looked like half a pound of raw stewing steak, mixed with strawberry Angel Delight.
So that’s what the seagull had been after.
Which probably explained the vomit.
Ferguson waded ashore, ‘Hi, Guv. It’s—’ and promptly fell over on the beach. Sending pebbles rattling. ‘Buggering...’
‘You’re bloody hopeless.’ Greig rolled her eyes and hauled him to his feet. Then nodded at Logan. ‘What’s the plan?’
‘Better get the road closed – you can see all this from the lay-by. No entry to Riverside Drive from the Duthie Park Roundabout and...other side of the railway bridge. And get on to the park – I want those gates shut and padlocked.’ He looked up at the bright blue sky and its hungry, circling seagulls. ‘We need a crime-scene tent down here ASAP too, before the TV people turn up with their sodding drones.’
‘Guv.’ And away she wobbled, keeping a firm grip on Ferguson, in case he went Alpha Oscar Tango again.
Soon as they were gone, Rennie slithered over, with Tufty in tow. The peroxide idiot pouted at the body. ‘So if it isn’t MacGarioch, who is it?’
As if Logan was supposed to know.
Time for another withering Paddington scowl.
Tufty held a hand up. ‘I has chased-up Scenes, Sarge. Theyison their way, but did give an ETA of twenty minutes, on account of Ernie has-ing the squits.’
‘Make sure he’s got bicycle clips on his SOC suit then.’ Logan looked out at the shining river. They weren’t that far from the harbour, here. Less than a mile, for sure. Which meant something else to deal with: ‘Is the tide coming in or going out?’
‘On it.’ Tufty whipped out his phone and wandered off, poking away with his tongue sticking out.
Rennie made a show of gettinghismobile out too. ‘AndI’llget cracking on the misper list: see if anyone’s lost a ...’ squinting at the body, ‘six-foot, IC-one, male, dark hair,undercut, last seen wearing black cargo pants, black boots, and a black sweatshirt.’
‘Hmm...’ Logan stepped right up to the cordon. All in black: the guy was even wearing black nitrile gloves – like the ones tattoo artists used. So not wanting to be seen, or leave any fingerprints. Dressed for cat-burglaring. ‘While you’re at it, see if there’s been a string of thefts-by-housebreaking anywhere around here. Could be our victim picked on the wrong property? Householder fights back, things get out of hand, “oh no”, panics, dumps the body.’ Turning to look uphill, at the trees towering above. ‘Whichprobablymeans within three or four streets of the park. You don’t take the guy you just accidentally killed on a magical mystery tour.’
‘Unless you’re in some sort of fugue state, cos of the shock?’
That was true.
Logan patted him on the shoulder. ‘Better make itallof Aberdeen, then.’
Which was when Rennie realised that he’d just vastly increased his workload. A groan, a sag, and off he sodded.
Over in the middle distance, Tufty waved. ‘SARGE!’ Jumping up and down to attract attention. ‘TIDE’S COMING IN!’