Flesh House Read Online Free PDF Page B

there, Sergeant. Good work.'
'Er ... thanks.' Logan shifted out of range, just in case the Chief Constable went in for a teambuilding hug. 'How come McFarlane's so upset about this Wiseman bloke?'
'"This Wiseman bloke"?' Faulds shook his head. 'Didn't they teach you anything in school? Andrew McFarlane was married to Ken Wiseman's sister when all this happened first time round. Which is why he's not too keen on your DI Insch.'
Logan tried to stifle a yawn, but it ripped free anyway. 'God ... Right, search teams ...'
Faulds did the shoulder squeezing thing again. 'Delegate. Pass that lot onto someone else and go get some sleep. You're no use to Insch, or anyone else if you can't function.' He smiled. 'Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll nip along to that PM and take another crack at your lady pathologist friend.'
Logan didn't have the heart to tell him he was wasting his time.

4
I NTERIOR : a cramped office. Two figures out of focus in the background, one emptying a filing cabinet. Chief Constable Faulds stands centre shot wearing a white SOC suit.
T ITLE : Chief Constable Mark Faulds - West Midlands Police
F AULDS : There were corpses all over the country: London, Birmingham, Glasgow, even Dublin. It was like nothing we'd ever seen. He'd break into the victim's houses and butcher them. And I don't mean hack them up, I mean he'd take them apart, turn them into joints of meat. And there was never any clues ... should that be "there were never any clues"?
V OICEOVER : Whatever you're comfortable with.
F AULDS : Feels strange doing this without a script.
V OICEOVER : If you're worried about it, I'm sure DI Insch can--
F AULDS : No, no. Used to do this all the time when I was young. Like riding a bike ... OK, let's take it from "joints of meat". [gives himself a small shake] Every time he struck the papers would give him a new name: the Birmingham Butcher, the Clydeside Ripper. It wasn't till they found Ian and Sharon McLaughlin's remains that he finally got his true name: the Flesher.
[pause]
Does that sound too melodramatic? It does, doesn't it? Shit ... Sorry, I'll start again.
[clears throat]
There were cases all over the country ...
The room smelt of Pot Noodles. It was a small office at the back of FHQ, half-heartedly converted into a makeshift editing suite. Logan stifled a yawn and gazed out of the tiny window. It wasn't much of a view - just a small square of waterlogged car park and the stairs down to the mortuary. You couldn't even see the sky from here.
He'd managed to grab a couple of hours sleep back at the flat, all alone in a cold and empty bed. The place just wasn't the same without Jackie.
There was a strangled vwipping noise as Alec rewound the tape and then Faulds' voice crackled out of the TV monitor: 'Shit ... Sorry, I'll start again.'
Alec hit pause, scribbled something down on his notepad, then shovelled another forkful of rehydrated noodles into his mouth. 'Mmmph, mmmph, mmm?'
Logan turned away from the window. 'You've got juice all down your chin, and I can't understand a word.'
Alec chewed, swallowed, then went in for another forkload. 'I said, "do you want to see the press conference?"'
'Not really.'
'No?' Alec tapped a couple of buttons on his bizarrely coloured editing keyboard and Faulds' face was replaced by a crowded room full of journalists. DI Insch, one of the media officers, and Aberdeen's very own Chief Constable were sitting at the front of the room, fielding questions like, 'Why was Ken Wiseman ever released?','How many people has the Flesher killed?','Why didn't Grampian Police make a stronger case against Wiseman in 1990?' and that perennial favourite,'Will there be a public enquiry?'
The camera panned to focus on DI Insch's big pink head. He did not look happy.
Alec pointed at the screen with his fork. 'Look at the expression on his face. Enough to give you nightmares.'
'Welcome to my world.'
'He always been a grumpy fat bastard?' Alec scraped out the last of the noodles, then upended