22 Dead Little Bodies Read Online Free PDF Page B

to the ref. ‘I met her today at three o’clock! I’ve got a suicide, a road-rage incident, a spate of car vandalism, petty thefts, fire-raising, a shoplifting ring, three common assaults, and a bunch of other cases to deal with. When was I supposed to go visit her poo tree?’
    ‘
Make
time.’
    ‘I delegated the task to DC Andrews.’
    ‘I don’t care.’ Young sat back again. ‘And make sure you never speak to Mrs Black without another officer present. Preferably someone who can film it on their body-worn video.’
    Logan stared at the ceiling tiles for a moment. They were clean. New and pristine. ‘I’m not even supposed to be holding the spoon – it’s Wheezy Doug’s turn.’
    ‘My heart bleeds.’ Superintendent Young prodded the complaint file. ‘What about this man Mrs Black complained about in the first place…?’
    ‘Justin Robson. She claims to have seen him smoking cannabis in his garden two and a bit years ago. Says he’s now festooning her cherry tree with what she calls “dog mess”.’
    ‘I see.’ Young narrowed his eyes, tapped his fingertips against his pursed lips. ‘And how has CID investigated this unwelcomed act of garden embellishment?’
    Logan shrugged. ‘I told Wheezy Doug to go take a look this afternoon. Haven’t had time to catch up with him yet.’
    ‘Hmm…’
    Silence.
    Young pursed and tapped.
    Logan just sat there.
    Tick. Tick. Tick.
    More pursing and tapping. Then: ‘I think it’s about time someone looked into Mrs Black’s neighbour. I want you to have a word with this Justin Robson. Ask him, politely, to defuse his feud with Mrs Black. And tell him to
stop
decorating her tree with dog shit. Or at least wait until Christmas. It’s only August.’
    Wonderful. Makework. As if they didn’t have enough to do.
    ‘Guv, with all due respect, it—’
    ‘Get cracking this evening; I’ll authorize the overtime. Let’s see if we can’t at least
look
like we’re taking her seriously.’
    ‘Sorry, Guv, still no sign of Mrs Skinner or the kids.’
Guthrie sniffed down the phone.
‘You want me to hang on some more?’
    ‘Does she have her own car?’ Logan unbuckled his seatbelt, as DC Wheezy Doug Andrews parked the pool car behind a Volvo Estate.
    Pitmedden Court basked in the evening light. A long collection of grey harled houses, some in terraces of three or four, some semidetatched. Some with tiny portico porches, some without. A nice road. Tidy gardens and knee-high garden walls. Speed bumps. Hello, Mrs McGillivray, I hope your Jack’s doing well the day.
    ‘Hold on … Yes: dark-green Honda Jazz.’
    ‘Get a lookout request on the go. And make sure the Automatic Number Plate Recognition lot are keeping an eye out. Enough people filmed her husband jumping off the roof on their phones; I don’t want the poor woman seeing him splattered across the cobbles on the evening news.’
    ‘Guv.’
    ‘What about the grandparents?’
    ‘Got an address in Portlethen, and one in Stoneywood. You want me to pack it in here and go speak to them? Or hang about in case she comes home?’
    Logan checked his watch: five past six. ‘Abandon ship. Better give his parents the death message first, then see if either set knows where she is. And get on to the media office too – we need a blanket ban on anything that can ID John Skinner till we’ve spoken to the wife.’ Logan put his phone back in his pocket. Turned to Wheezy Doug. ‘We ready?’
    His bottom lip protruded an inch as he tugged the fluorescent yellow high-viz waistcoat on over his suit jacket. ‘Feel like a right neep.’
    ‘It’s what all the stylish young men about town are wearing this season. And if you’d looked into it when I sodding well
told
you to, we wouldn’t be here now.’
    A blush darkened Wheezy’s cheeks. ‘Sorry, Guv.’ He fiddled a BWV unit onto one of the clips that pimpled the waistcoat’s front, like nipples on a cat. The body-worn video unit was about the same size and shape as a