22 Dead Little Bodies Read Free

the Nutter Spoon of Doom must—’
    ‘I’m on the no-go list. Apparently I’m in collusion with McLennan Homes and the Planning Department to launder drug money for the Taliban.’ She held out the spoon with its glowering stuck-on face. ‘Sorry, Guv.’
    Logan backed away from it. ‘Maybe someone in uniform could—’
    ‘They’re all banned from talking to her. She’s got complaints in against everyone else.’
    ‘Everyone?’
    ‘Yes, but…’ Baird waggled the spoon at him. ‘Maybe she’ll like you?’
    Logan took the Nutter Spoon of Doom. It was only a little bit of wood with a photo Sellotaped to the end, but it felt as if it was carved from lead.
    Oh joy.

3
    Logan stopped outside the visiting-room door. Took a deep breath. Didn’t open it.
    The reception area was quiet. A bored PC slumped behind the bulletproof glass that topped the curved desk, poking away at a smartphone. Posters clarted the walls, warning against drug farms in cul-de-sacs and walking home alone at night. An information point cycled through views of Aberdeen. And a strange smell of mouldy cheese permeated the room.
    No point putting it off any longer.
    He shifted his grip on the thick manila folder tucked under his arm, opened the door, and stepped inside. It wasn’t much bigger than a cupboard, with a couple of filing cabinets on one wall and a small opaque window that didn’t really overlook the rear-podium car park.
    Mrs Black was sitting on the other side of the small table that took up most of the available space. She narrowed her eyes, tugged at the hem of her skirt, and sniffed – turning that long nose up towards the ceiling. Her short grey hair shimmered as if it had been conditioned within an inch of its existence. Then the glasses came out of the bag clutched to her chest. Slipped on with all the pomp and circumstance of a royal wedding. Voice clipped and dark. ‘I have been waiting here for nearly an
hour
.’
    Logan suppressed a sigh. Did his best to keep his voice polite and neutral. ‘Mrs Black.’ Stepped inside and closed the visiting-room door. ‘I’m sorry if my trying to catch criminals and keep the streets safe has inconvenienced you in any way.’
    Her lips pursed. Pause. Two. Three. Four. ‘He’s doing it again.’
    Of course he is.
    Logan thumped the manila folder down on the little table. It was about as thick as a house brick, bulging with paperwork; a red elastic band wrapped around it to keep everything in. Then he settled into the room’s remaining seat and took out his notebook. ‘Right, we’d better take it from the beginning. You said, “He’s doing it again.” Who is?’
    Mrs Black folded her arms across her chest and scowled. ‘You know very well, “
Who
”.’ A small shudder. ‘Justin Robson.’ The name came out as if it tasted of sick. ‘He’s … He’s covering my cherry tree with …
dog mess
.’
    ‘Dog mess.’
    ‘That’s right: dog mess. I want him arrested.’
    Logan tapped his pen against the folder. ‘And you’ve seen him doing it?’
    ‘Of course not. He’s too careful for that. Does it in the middle of the night when Mr Black and I are sleeping.’ Another shudder. ‘Up till all hours listening to that horrible rap music of his, with all the swearing and violence. I’ve complained to the council, but do they do anything? Of course they don’t.’
    ‘You do know that we can’t arrest someone without proof, don’t you?’
    Both hands slapped down on the desk. ‘
You
know he did it.
I
know he did it. Ever since I did my
public duty
and reported him he’s been
completely
intolerable.’
    ‘Ah yes.’ Logan removed the elastic band and opened the folder. Took out the top chunk of paperwork. ‘Here we are. On the thirteenth of April, two years ago, you claimed to have seen Mr Robson smoking cannabis in the garden outside his house.’
    The nose went up again. ‘And did anyone arrest him for it? Of course they didn’t.’
    ‘This isn’t a totalitarian