Broken Skin Read Online Free PDF Page A

request for a blue or green Volvo estate: the details are in your briefing packs.' He paused and looked around the room, trying to make eye-contact with as many people as possible. 'The backseat's soaked in blood, so the killer will either try to hide the vehicle, or get rid of it. We need to find it first!'
    He pressed play again and the hooded figure sprinted round the front of the Volvo, opened the rear passenger door, and dragged the dying man from the back seat. Then jumped back into the car and got the hell out of there.
    'This,' said Logan as the picture became a fuzz of static and white lines, 'is the camera at the security barriers ...' The screen settled into a shot of a bright orange booth with a uniformed old man in it, reading a newspaper. He looked up, smiled and waved as the Volvo slowed down. The driver wound down his or her window and slipped the ticket into the machine. A brief pause, the barrier slid up, the Volvo drove off, and the guard went back to his paper.
    'So we have a witness. If you turn to the back of your pack, you'll find an e-fit.' Logan switched off the video and clicked on the projector. Behind him a computer-generated identikit picture sprang onto the screen: round face, big moustache, glasses and a neatly trimmed goatee. 'According to our security guard the suspect has an Irish accent--' A uniformed constable stuck up her hand. 'Yes?'
    'Northern or southern Irish?'
    'He says it was like that thick priest on Father Ted , so southern. Our suspect was calm enough to exchange a few words about the weather, even though he's just dumped someone who's bleeding to death outside A&E.'
    Logan hit the button and the e-fit disappeared, replaced with a post mortem photo of the dead man's face. 'This is our victim. And this is what the killer did to him ...' Click - and everyone in the room squirmed.
    Logan worked his way to the end of the briefing, finishing up with everyone's teams and assignments, then DI Steel creaked to her feet and told them all the Assistant Chief Constable wanted a word. 'Now then,' said the ACC, going for a friendly smile, 'as you know, the health of our officers is of primary importance to us all ...'
    When at long last everyone was gone, Steel slumped into a chair at the front of the room, head back, groaning at the flickering fluorescent lights. 'God, that man's hard work.'
    'I had to start without you.'
    Steel nodded. 'I saw. Well done you. Top of the class. I would've been on time, but the rotten sod was hanging about outside the women's toilets. Pervert. Had to tell him what we were up to.' She worked a hand under her jacket and fiddled about in her armpit. 'Concerned about the health of their officers ... If they think I'm going to take part in their stupid "Fit Like" programme they can kiss my sharny arse!'
    Logan finished tidying up. 'Where do you want to start?'
    Steel checked her watch, thought about it, then said, 'A large white wine. And some chips. And some fags. Nearly knocking off time.'
    'But--'
    'Look, the papers will run the victim's photo and the killer's e-fit tomorrow. All the dentists' surgeries will be closed by now so we can't start searching dental records. We're no ' going to get an ID tonight. The only thing left to do is get the incident room set up, and the admin officer can do that. You and me are going for a pint.'
    'But--'
    'That's an order, Sergeant.'
    'Yes, ma'am.'
    Archibald Simpson's used to be a bank before it became a pub. A huge granite edifice on the east end of Union Street, complete with Corinthian pillars, portico, ornate ceiling, shiny brass fittings, chandeliers, and cheap beer. Being just round the corner from FHQ it was the standard police drinking hole after a hard day's sodding about in the rain.
    Steel made Logan get the first round in, taking her usual seat in the aisle just off the main banking floor, in the corner, under the television. One large white wine, two portions of chips, and a pint of Stella. What he really wanted