Blind Eye

39

Most of the Monday morning briefing was spent going over the caravan-full-of-guns inquiry: codenamed Operation Tailback. Then came the usual updates and warnings about gang violence, and a bit of gloating from Finnie about Agnes McLeod being in the cells all weekend. They finished with the day's assignments and the announcement that Logan was off on a jolly to Poland for three or four days.

DI Steel grabbed Logan as he tried to slip out. 'What the hell do you think you're…' She caught the head of CID watching her, stopped, smiled, nodded a greeting, then bustled Logan out into the corridor. 'Poland? You forgetting we've got bloody work to do?'

'Look, Bain said-'

'What about those Kostchey idiots: did you get an address yet?'

'Yup.'

There was a pause and Steel stared at him. 'Well? Are you going to tell me, or am I supposed to sodding guess?'

Logan gave her the address Zander Clark had emailed through — a business unit on Greenwell Road, East Tullos Industrial Estate.

'Right.' She hauled up her trousers. 'Get a pool car organized, we'll stake the place out and-'

'I can't. My flight's at five to eleven; got to be at the airport an hour before that.'

'Fine. You go to Poland, see if I care.' Steel poked him with a nicotine finger. 'But if I have to take Detective Sergeant Beardy Sodding Beattie, I'm holding you responsible, understand?' Rennie winced his way into the CID office; face, neck, and ears bright shiny pink. Even the backs of his hands were sunburnt. That, and the blond crown of spiky hair, made him look like an unsqueezed spot. He perched himself, gingerly, on the edge of Logan's desk and said, 'Ow…'

'Nice tan.'

'It's not funny.'

'Should have put on some suntan lotion then, shouldn't you?'

Rennie loosened his collar, wafting his scarlet face with a burglary report. 'Fancy an ice-cream or something? I'm boiling.'

Logan sent Dr Goulding's latest report to the printer in the corner and shut down his computer. 'Can't: have to go home and get my suitcase; Finnie's got a patrol car taking me to the airport in twenty minutes.'

'Ah well… Bring us back some vodka, eh?'

'Speaking of Finnie,' Logan grabbed the printout, 'he about?'

Logan could tell Rennie was thinking: he could smell the burning dust.

'Nope,' the constable said at last, 'got a phone call and went scurrying out of here. Back door I think?'

Logan said his goodbyes, signed out, then sauntered outside, making for the keypad controlled door that led onto Lodge Walk.

The door was ajar. Logan pushed it open, going from bright sunshine into the blue shadow of the alley.

DCI Finnie was just turning back towards the station, stuffing a brown envelope into his inside jacket pocket. He looked up and saw Logan standing there, then frowned. 'What are-'

'Going to get my suitcase.'

'Oh, right.' Finnie said something about interdepartmental cooperation with the Polish police, but Logan wasn't listening. He was looking over the Chief Inspector's shoulder at a spotty youth marching away down the gloomy alleyway and out onto Union Street. The sunlight caught in his bright green hair, making it shine like electric grass. And then he was gone.

A hand thumped down on Logan's shoulder breaking the spell. 'Good luck, I'm counting on you.'

'Oh, right… thank you, sir.'

'Soon as you're back I want you on Operation Tailback. It'll probably be a couple of days before we can make the announcement — about the promotion I mean — but I want you heading up a team ASAP. OK?'

And then Finnie's phone rang. The DCI dragged it out and headed back towards the station: 'What?… No, of course I don't mind waiting three days for a warrant. He's only wanted for armed robbery after all, not like it's anything important…'

Logan stayed where he was, staring down the alleyway to the patch of glowing street at the far end. Green hair. Spots. And a brown envelope.

No doubt about it: background radiation could be a dangerous thing.