Page 87 of Better the Devil

‘Cheers,’ Tyler said, shifting aside to let the sergeant pass.

He waited for the door to swing closed again, then tapped his watch and looked imploringly up at DCI Logan.

‘What’s taking so long, boss? She’s been in there for ages.’

‘It’s been about half an hour, son.’

‘Exactly! What, are they holding her hostage or something?’

Logan glanced across to the cluster of desks in the middle of the room, where Hamza and Ben sat huddled around Hamza’s PC.

‘You know it’s going to be at least an hour, aye?’ Logan ventured. ‘Maybe two?’

‘Two hours?!’ Tyler screeched. His face paled. ‘How? What have they got to talk about for two hours? I’ve not got enough stuff to say!’

‘Relax, son. They’ll be asking you questions.’

‘Aye, but unless the first one is, “Can you count to five thousand really slowly for us?” then I’m not going to be able to fill two whole hours!’

‘Tyler.’ Logan put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, pinning him in place so he’d stop dancing on the spot. ‘You’ll be fine. Alright? You can talk shite for Scotland, son. Filling two hours will not be a problem, believe me.’

The detective constable seemed to relax a little at that. ‘Cheers, boss. That means a lot. I mean, I know you were slagging me off.’

‘Wee bit, maybe,’ Logan conceded.

Tyler smirked. ‘But thanks. You’re right. Two hours is nothing. No bother.’

‘That’s the spirit. And who knows? Maybe you’ll get that counting question, after all.’

Tyler held up both hands, with his index and middle fingers crossed. ‘That’s the dream.’ He tilted his head back in the direction of the door. ‘That sergeant have anything to say on Joe Robertson?’

Logan shook his head. ‘Not really. He’s worried about him, though. Said he was scared. Embarrassed.’

‘You think he’s…?’ Tyler drew a thumb across his throat.

Logan chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. ‘Let’s hope not,’ he said, then he turned back to the Big Board, unpinned the A4 square of glossy paper, then turned it around to reveal the face of Bosco Maximuke again.

‘I’m bringing him in,’ Logan declared, eyeballing the black and white mugshot. ‘He knows more than he’s letting on. I’m going to get it out of him. Make him talk.’

Over at the desks, Ben turned to Hamza, then shot a meaningful look in Logan’s direction.

Jack was already reaching for his coat. Already steamrollering towards the exit.

‘I’ll go get him myself. He says he’s found God. Well, I’ll put the fear of Him into the Russian bastard.’

‘Um.’

Hamza’s chair rolled back from the desk as he stood up.

‘Um, I don’t think that’s wise, Jack.’

The name came out as a half-stammer, like the DI was tripping over it.

Logan stopped. Turned. Stared.

‘Sorry?’

Hamza glanced down at Ben, who now sat with his chin resting on a clenched fist, fully invested in whatever was on the computer’s screen, and wilfully oblivious to the conversation unfolding around him.