any more.’
He closed his eyes and thunked the side of his head against the wall. ‘We’ve been over this.’
‘Far be it from me to—’
‘You got me transferred up here! This is your fault.’ He scuffed his way up to the first floor. ‘What am I supposed to do, go AWOL in the middle of a shift? This isn’t CID, OK? Divisional policing doesn’t work like that.’ Took a left at the top of the stairs and stopped outside the blue door: ‘BANFF & BUCHAN ~ INSPECTOR’. A brass nameplate had been slid into the holder above the notice: ‘WENDY McGREGOR’.
‘Wah, wah, wah. Pity poor Logan.’ Steel had another sook. ‘You’re lucky I’m no’—’
He hung up on her. Switched his phone off. Rammed it into his pocket. Stood there, grinding his teeth for a bit.
As if he didn’t have enough to worry about.
Deep breath.
Count to ten.
Shoulders back.
Then Logan reached out and knocked on the Duty Inspector’s door.
‘Come.’
He stepped into the room. About the same size as the one he had to share downstairs, only with a new blue carpet and chairs that didn’t look as if they would self-destruct if you even thought about sitting on them. A round coffee table and a shiny desk. Two pinboards on opposite walls – almost completely covered in maps. And a stunning view from the corner windows, out over Banff harbour and the bay.
The Inspector sat behind her desk, black T-shirt complete with two shiny pips on each of the attached epaulettes. Hair swept back from her heart-shaped face, greying at the temples. She took her glasses off and pointed at one of the visitors’ chairs. ‘You actually turned up? Are you sure you’re feeling all right? Couldn’t come up with an excuse to wriggle out of it?’
Warmth spread between his shoulder blades, tickled the tips of his ears. ‘Operational priorities …’
‘Sit. Sit.’ She pulled out a notepad and a silver pen. ‘So, four months back in uniform.’
He sank into the chair and plonked his folder on the desk. ‘How did you get on at Broch Braw Buys?’
‘Definitely our friends the Cashline Ram-Raiders. In and out in less than two minutes. If you’re in Fraserburgh tonight, do me a favour and pop past. It’s about time we caught these idiots.’
‘I can go now, if you like?’
‘No you don’t. Appraisals.’
Worth a try. He poked the folder. ‘All up to date. A couple of the probationers could do with a bit more supervision, and Greeny in Peterhead needs a boot up the backside, but other than that everyone’s getting on well.’
‘What about you?’
‘I want to get Constable Scott on the diploma course. It’s about time he got promoted to sergeant.’
She smiled at him. ‘No: what about your performance?’
Ah. He sat forward, hands clasped in his lap. ‘I’m doing OK.’
Inspector McGregor pulled a sheet of paper from her in-tray, stuck her glasses on again, and peered at it. ‘“As Duty Sergeant, Logan McRae continues to integrate well with the various sections of B Division. He manages two teams of constables, in addition to his own team of four, and provides appropriate support to the resident sergeants at both Fraserburgh and Peterhead stations. Sergeant McRae assists with managing service delivery to the Local Policing Area and regularly engages with service partners to deal with local challenges. He has excellent interpersonal skills and responds well to direction.”’
Logan didn’t move. ‘Direction?’
A shrug. ‘Well, I had to put something.’ She gave the paper a shoogle and went back to reading. ‘Since he arrived in Banff, clear-up rates have improved in B Division with particular success being seen in tackling the problems associated with drug usage, such as housebreaking, antisocial behaviour, and dealing.’ She put the form down again. ‘Anything else I should add?’
‘Maggie wants a pay rise. Five percent.’
‘Five percent?’ Inspector McGregor curled her top lip. ‘Has she been helping herself to that cannabis we seized last week?’
‘Can you imagine what would happen if she left? Who else is going to fill in all Maggie’s forms, update STORM, manage the productions and the office. Order pens when Hector nicks them all. And she’s the only one who can work the station CCTV.’
The Inspector took off her glasses and huffed a breath onto the lenses. Polished them on the hem of her black T-shirt. ‘Logan, the rest of the support staff will be lucky if they get one percent, never mind five.’
He held up his hands. ‘I promised I’d ask. She—’
The Inspector’s Airwave bleeped. ‘Bravo India, safe to talk?’
She sighed. Sagged a little. Then pressed the button. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Aye, the SEB have turned up at last from Aberdeen. They’re all talking overtime to deal with the ram-raid at Broch Braw Buys. Say it’s going to take at least six hours. You OK to approve?’
Inspector McGregor stared at the ceiling for a moment. ‘Fine. But tell them they’ve got four hours, not six. They’re not dragging this out, twiddling their thumbs on my budget.’
‘Will do.’
She dumped the handset into a drawer and thumped it shut. ‘A bit of career advice, Logan: never, ever, volunteer to be Duty Inspector.’ There was a brief pause as she clattered something out on her computer keyboard. Then sat back again. ‘Right: what about your development actions for the next four months?’
‘War on drugs. I want Frankie Ferris in the cells before summer’s out.’
Something painful crawled across the Inspector’s face. ‘Frankie Ferris. Again.’
Shrug. ‘He’s got two strikes for Class A drug-trafficking. One more and he wins a giant stuffed panda and a mandatory seven-stretch. What’s not to like?’
‘You’re obsessed.’ She shook her head and scribbled it down in her notepad. ‘Any chance you can have something a bit more cuddly too? An increase in community engagement? How about …’ her tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth then she read out what she was writing: ‘“I aim to build stronger ties with the residents of Banff, Macduff, and Portsoy. I feel that leveraging community-liaison opportunities will add value to Police Scotland’s offerings through the exploitation of soft intelligence.”’
Logan stared at her. ‘Leveraging added value?’
‘You’re never going to get past sergeant if you don’t learn management speak. Soon as you hit inspector it’s like waking up in a foreign country where everyone’s got catch-phrase Tourette’s. Last divisional meeting I was at, someone came out with, “How do we incentivize our stakeholders to embrace three-sixty-degree thinking a hundred and ten percent of the time.” Honest to God, not even the hint of a smile.’
Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. Someone had set a rat loose behind his eyes. Clawing and biting.
Nicholson patted him on the arm. ‘Never mind, Sarge, only seven hours to go.’
Kirstin Rattray’s flat sat on the top floor of a lumpen block of grey on Saint Catherine Street. It was to one end of a row of soulless buildings that loomed over the smaller, traditional, Scottish houses on the other side of the road. Threatening to beat them up and steal their lunch money.
It wasn’t so much furnished as … manky. Peeling wallpaper in the kitchen. Cracked tiles in a bathroom