Blind Eye by Stuart MacBride Page A

swivelled back and forth on his seat a couple of times. 'We're not ignoring evidence just because it disagrees with the profile. Email those faces to Dr Goulding, tell him I need an update ASAP. And get some posters made up: I want them all over Aberdeen by close of play. "Have you seen these men?" etcetera.' He looked at Logan. 'Anything else?'
'The older one had an Eastern European accent. He definitely wasn't local.'
Pirie curled his top lip. 'Every time there's a new victim we get an anonymous phone call. Usually on the victim's own mobile. Voice is muffled, Slavic accent. We're pretty sure it's a put on: he sounds like Mr Chekov from Star Trek . Dr Goulding thinks our boy's either mocking his victims, or using them as a cipher.'
Finnie waved a hand at him. 'Oh, thank you, that's very helpful. A "cipher": that's really going to help us catch the bastard.' He snatched the printouts from Pirie and stuck them in the middle of the desk. 'DS McRae, I want you to set up a meeting with Dr Goulding. Go through everything that happened today.'
Logan groaned. 'But, sir--'
'As soon as possible, Sergeant.' He stared off into the distance for a moment. Then smiled. 'Has anyone spoken to Simon McLeod's next of kin yet?'
'Ah...' Logan could feel the blush rising in his cheeks - he'd been putting that particular task off since getting back from the hospital. 'Actually I thought that would be better ... coming from someone more senior.'
'Excellent.' Finnie levered himself to his feet. 'I think it's time for us to indulge in some real police work, don't you gentlemen? Pirie, get a pool car sorted. We're going to pay our respects.'
The traffic was dreadful, a stop-start procession of people trying to beat the rush hour and failing miserably. 'Lazy bastards,' said DS Pirie from the driver's seat. 'Look at them all. Why does no one work till five o'clock any more?'
Logan sat in the back, watching the sunshine glinting off a pale white blob in skinny jeans and an 'UP THE DONS!' T-shirt. Her arms were already starting to go lobster-red. Aberdonians just weren't designed for the sun.
Finnie turned round in the passenger seat and handed Logan a clear plastic evidence pouch with a sheet of paper in it. 'We received this in the morning post.'
You still will not do anything!! You are CORRUPT. You sit there in your tower of SIN and you let THEM run around free from consequence. You complain when the SHEEP do not behave themselves, but you do nothing about the foreign wolves!
The last one screamed like a woman when I cut out his eyes. The next one will too!!! You will wade in the blood of dogs!!!
'Fingerprints?'
'Same as all the others.' Pirie's voice was clipped, his face an ugly shade of pink that clashed with his hair. Still sulking - it probably didn't help that Finnie had made him drive, instead of Logan. 'No prints on the letter or the envelope, and no fibres either.'
Finnie handed over a second evidence bag. This one had the envelope in it. 'Posted day before yesterday in Aberdeen.'
Logan read through the letter again. 'So are the Polish people supposed to be dogs or wolves now?'
DS Pirie glanced over his shoulder. 'I think the fact this guy has a tendency to mix his metaphors is the least of our problems, don't you?'
Finnie smirked. 'So, tell me: does the great Detective Sergeant Logan "Lazarus" McRae have any startling insights to share with the class? Come on, this is why I brought you on board, remember? Chance to redeem yourself?'
'Well... He's definitely unhinged. No sane person uses that many exclamation marks.'
'That's your startling insight? The man who gouges people's eyes out and burns the sockets is "unhinged"? Pirie, call the Press and Journal : tell them to hold the front page.'
Bastard.
'OK... Postage dates. This was posted day before yesterday, right? What about the others? Is there a pattern?'
'Pirie?'
Finnie's ginger-haired sidekick shrugged. He was tailgating a Renault Megane with a 'HONK IF YOU'RE HORNY' sticker in the back