LITMIR.BIZ

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pulled on a serious schoolteacher voice, the authority undermined a teeny bit by her Kiwi accent, ‘before we do anything rash, perhaps we should take a step back and think about this dispassionately.’

      ‘“Dispassionately”?’ Jane shook her head. ‘It’s a PR disaster. Forget “Fingerprintgate” or “Sex-In-The-Woods-gate”, every major news outlet will be lining up to jam spiky things up our backsides! Great big spiky—’

      Young hit her with his printout. ‘All right, Jane, we get the picture.’

       ‘I’m talking pineapples here!’

      Bevan tried the voice again. ‘That’s no reason to indulge in knee-jerk reactions.’

      ‘Jane’s right, Julie.’ Young held up a hand. ‘I know, I know. But DI King has become a liability. He’s a diseased limb: we have to amputate before the infection spreads and takes the whole body with it.’

      ‘Who’s to say a judicious dose of antibiotics couldn’t work every bit as well?’

      She had a point.

      Logan joined in, going for calm and reasonable: ‘DI King says he only joined the PASL to impress a girl.’

      ‘Hmph.’ Jane curled her lip. ‘We’ve all done strange things for love, but you should really draw the line at joining a terrorist cell. How am I supposed to spin that?’

      ‘He was sixteen.’

       ‘He was an idiot!’

      ‘Most sixteen-year-old boys are.’

      Bevan nodded. ‘All I’m saying is that if we throw DI King to the crocodiles because he was a horny teenager, that’s it for him. The press will tear him apart. No more career. Even if he changes divisions – they’ll find him and drag it all up again.’

      ‘They’re going to tear him apart anyway. We got lucky today: the Scottish Daily Post bumped their exclusive, but they’re going to print it sooner or later, and when they do …’ She banged a hand down on the table. ‘This is our chance to get ahead of the story and act like we’re on the front foot for a change.’

      ‘But—’

      Jane turned to Young. ‘Suspend him now, and it’ll look like the Post are reacting to our diligent man management. We won’t put up with this kind of thing, etc.’

      ‘That’s not—’

      Young held up his hand again. ‘What’s the point of having a Professional Standards if we can’t use them to hack a festering limb off and cauterise the wound?’ He waved the printout at them. ‘My department’s not coming down with gangrene!’

      Logan sucked a breath in through his teeth. ‘Seems a little harsh.’

      ‘Or, alternatively,’ Bevan pursed her lips, frowning, ‘and hear me out here: we could take a different route. What if we do full disclosure? Lay it all out for them in a frank and open interview with DI King. “How I stopped being a bigoted tosspot and learned to love the English.”’

      On the screen, Jane narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m listening.’

      ‘We’re always telling people how racism and homophobia and sectarianism and anti-Semitism and Islamophobia are wrong, yes? Surely, if people are prepared to change we should celebrate that, not keep kicking them because they used to be racist. Celebrate that change.’

      There was silence and frowning.

      Then Young turned to Jane. ‘Well?’

      ‘Hmmm … I might be able to sell that, but we’ll need some insulation in case it all goes tits up. Something to stop our fingers getting burned.’

      ‘Agreed. If DI King can catch whoever abducted Professor Wilson, it’ll vindicate NE Division for keeping him on the case. Even better if he can get the Professor back alive.’ A nod, then a scowl. ‘But if he can’t, we look negligent for not suspending him. And I, for one, am not bending over for a pineappleing.’

      Jane bit her top lip for a moment, staring off into the middle distance. ‘How about this: we put someone in to “support” him? That way, if he fails, we’ve at least got plausible deniability.’

      Ah the joys of Police Scotland politics. Setting some poor sod up to take the blame if it all went wrong – but the top brass would grab the glory if it all went right. Nothing ever changed.

      Logan shook his head. ‘And who’s going to be the lucky scapegoat?’

      The smile Jane gave him was half crocodile, half serial killer. ‘Well, who better than someone from Professional Standards? That would show we’re serious about it.’

      Bevan stiffened in her seat. ‘Ah … Perhaps that’s not—’

       ‘And who better than a bona-fide police hero? Someone with a Queen’s Medal?’

      What?

      Logan stared at her. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a minute: I only got back to work yesterday!’

      ‘I like it.’ Young nodded. ‘Yes. McRae brings a lot of press goodwill with him.’

      ‘But—’

       ‘This way, if DI King turns out to still be a … what was it, “bigoted tosspot”? You can yank him off the case, Logan. And if he’s not, but he fails anyway, you can vouch that he’s really tried his best.’

      Not a chance in hell.

      Logan turned to Bevan, eyes wide.

      Come on, say something. Tell them!

      She took a deep breath. ‘Agreed.’

      Agreed?

      ‘No, not agreed. I’m not—’

      ‘Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a Tulliallan Goon Squad descending in twenty minutes to moan about these arson attacks.’ Young stood, his top half disappearing off the TV. ‘Keep me informed.’

      ‘Bye.’ Jane’s evil smile widened a couple of inches as she pointed a remote at the camera. Then the screen went blank, leaving Logan and Bevan alone in the room.

      He got to his feet. ‘Well thank you very much.’

      ‘Oh come on, Logan, don’t be like that. You were happy enough keeping an eye on DI King yesterday.’

      ‘“A watching brief”, you said!’ Throwing his hands out. ‘This isn’t even vaguely the same thing.’

      ‘Logan, you’re—’

      ‘You hung me out like a pair of damp socks!’

      A sigh. ‘I’m sure it won’t be as bad as—’

      ‘I only got back to work yesterday and you’ve got me set up as the scapegoat’s scapegoat!’

      Bevan went very still. ‘Logan, I know we’ve not worked together before, so I’m going to pretend you didn’t just talk to your superintendent like that. I appreciate things haven’t exactly been easy for you over the last year, but there’s only so far I’m willing to bend. Are we clear?’

      Oh great, so now it was his fault?

      Bloody, buggering …

      He gritted his teeth. ‘Yes, Boss.’

      ‘There we go. All forgiven and forgotten.’ She stood and clapped her hands. ‘Now, why don’t we go sing “Happy Birthday” to Shona, cut the cake, then you can go support DI King. I’m sure he’ll be glad of the help.’

      There

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