Still stuck behind their one-man Tour de France, Rennie’s thumb stroked back and forth across the car’s horn. As if he was trying to arouse it. ‘We’renotgoing back to the station.Call the support team: get one of them to do it. We’ve got bigger haddock to batter.’
Which was true.
After all, Charles MacGarioch’s friends weren’t going to interview themselves. And every single one of them would need talking to.
Tufty’s bottom lip poked out, no doubt mourning that leftover curry, then he whumped back in his seat, and pulled out his phone. Noodling away at the screen. Probably playing some daft game. Because no one could just sitquietlyany more, could they. They always had to beentertained.
Rennie glared in the rear-view mirror. ‘Constable! I said call the—’
‘Has-ing a bash at it online, Sarge.’ Poking and scrolling. ‘Searchity search, search, search...’
‘...and three people were stabbed. The First Minister has called for calm, calling the outbreak of violence this week “a cowardly and racist attack”...’
Logan unfolded the list of Charles MacGarioch’s known associates and scanned down it for the closest address. Then pointed at the traffic lights. ‘Left here.’
Rennie switched lanes, accelerating past Mr Soggy Spandex, then wheeching around the corner onto Rose Street with its collection of takeaways and sitty-ins. Each one a siren’s call to Logan’s empty stomach.
Well, it was a long time since breakfast, and a couple of mouldy meeting-room custard creams didnotcount as tenses.
‘...claim the arson attack on the refugee support centre, in Edinburgh’s Cowgate last night, was inspired by the burning of a hotel housing migrants in Aberdeen.’
There was a sports shop on the junction with Thistle Street, where two women in overalls were removing a big sheet of plywood from a shattered window. Presumably to replace itwith one of the units strapped on the back of their tartan van – the one with ‘Auchterturra Glazing Company Ltd’ down the side.
‘Though most politicians have condemned the events, Ian Wilson-Vale, of Vision for Britain, said:’
A full-on twat bloviated out of the car’s speakers. Like a fart made flesh.‘People are angry that our proud country doesn’t feel like it’s theirs any more. These arelegitimateconcerns, and the government isn’t helping by pretending everyone who feels that way is somehow “racist” or part of the “far right”.’
Sitting in the back, Tufty noodled on. ‘Doodley, dooodley, searchity poo...’
‘Following his comments, Marion Lewis – minister for Culture, Media and Sport – is facing calls to resign after she was picked up on a live microphone after her interview withBBC Breakfast Newsthis morning:’
A tired female voice grumbled out of the radio, the audio muffled and crackling:‘Christ, that man’s a bigoted moron. The real question is: why would anyone elect a racist [BLEEP]-wit [BLEEP]-[BLEEP]ing [BLEEP] like Ian [BLEEP]-For-Brains Witless-Vile?’
‘The minister wasn’t available for comment. But her department did issue the following statement:’
‘Searchity, bingity, bongity, boo, spidgity, spodgity, spudge...’
Rennie rolled his eyes. ‘The idiot’s right about one thing: we should drop him off at the station.’ Nodding in agreement with himself. ‘Biohazard’s going to need all the help he can get. I mean, how are we supposed to set upyet anothermurder inquiry with no flipping officers to staff it?’
With difficulty.
Logan pointed. ‘Straight through at Skene Street.’
‘“...for calm, rather than seeking to divide our country by stoking the flames of isolationism, xenophobia, and hatred.”’
They crossed just as the lights changed, onto Esslemont Avenue, with the austere granite lump of Aberdeen Grammar School on one side and a long run of grim-grey tenement flats on the other.
Rennie slowed to avoid mowing down a middle-aged man with a shark’s fin haircut. ‘Suppose we could get officers to double up, but you know what the press are gonna say if they find out we’re half-arsing it. Unless it turns out our victimwasa rapey pervert. Then they’ll probably give the killer a medal.’
‘What a time to be alive.’
‘...sex scandal engulfing American politics as a third Republican senator is questioned by the FBI...’
Tufty looked up from his phone. ‘Do you want the depressing news, or the depressinger news? One hundred and sixty-three unsolved rapes still on the books.’
‘Christ...’
Rennie boinked a fist off the steering wheel. ‘You know what we should do? Mandatory DNA database for every male in the country. And anyoneenteringthe country too. Soon as you set foot on Scottish soil: DNA swab, thank you very much; into the database you go.’ Sniff. ‘Fingerprints too. That’d help the clear-up rate.’