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blue biro.’
    ‘How would
you
feel if one of your relatives went missing and someone scrawled all over
their
picture? Jack Simpson’s a nasty wee git, but he deserves the same treatment as everyone else.’
    ‘It wasn’t me!’
    ‘Like working with a bunch of three-year-olds …’
    Still: had to admit that the photo of Liam Barden did look a bit like the guy who’d gone into the store. Heavyset, balding from the back, toothy smile. ‘Only problem is, what’s happened to his moustache?’
    ‘Maybe he shaved it off?’ Nicholson unbuckled and climbed out into the sunshine. Pulled her hat on. ‘You coming?’
    ‘And why’s he dumped Inverness Caley Thistle for AFC?’ Logan joined her on the pavement. Held out the sheet again. ‘See?’
    She frowned at the picture. ‘Not illegal to support more than one club. Besides, think how stoked his wife and kids will be if we find him.’
    Which was more than could be said for Jack Simpson. Missing for ten days already and not even his mum wanted him back. If he hadn’t owed his granny money, he probably wouldn’t even have been reported missing.
    Logan turned the page. ‘And why does no one update these things?’ He rummaged through the zip-pockets on his stabproof vest. Frowned. Took out his notebook. Put it away again. ‘Sodding Hector.’ He held out a hand. ‘Lend me a pen?’
    She handed one over and Logan drew a thick X over the face of a little boy on the bottom of page four. ‘We found Ian Dickinson four days ago.’
    ‘You take my word for it – next one you can score off is Liam Barden.’ Nicholson straightened her cap and marched into the Co-op.
     
    Logan took a lick of his ice lolly, working his way through the raspberry coating to the cheap vanilla inside. Sun warm on the back of his neck. ‘Well, it was worth a go.’
    ‘Could have sworn it was him.’ Nicholson worked her left arm around in a circle – Cornetto making chocolaty dribbles in her other hand as they wandered down the hill.
    ‘How’s the shoulder?’
    A shrug. ‘Still say we should’ve arrested the vandalizing wee sod.’
    ‘Then we’d have to take him all the way to Fraserburgh for processing, and that’s you and me off the streets for at least two hours. With Deano and Tufty still up the hospital, who’s going to look after the good people of Banff and Macduff?’
    ‘That’s not the point, he’s—’
    ‘All the kid did was draw a big willy on a billboard. Some people might think our prospective Conservative MSP looks much better with a big willy sprayed all over him. At least Citizen Geoffrey’s taking an interest in the political process.’
    Four bleeps sounded from his Airwave handset.
‘Sergeant McRae?’
    Another lick of lolly. ‘Go ahead, Maggie, safe to talk.’
    ‘Are you forgetting someone?’
    They crossed over to the other side of the road. ‘Am I?’
    The reply came back as a hiss.
‘Inspector McGregor! I told you, she needs to do your appraisal.’
    Damn. ‘How pissed-off is she?’
    A wee dog barked and barked and barked as they passed, pogoing up and down behind a little wrought-iron gate.
    ‘You said you’d be back here by twenty-to. And it’s nearly five.’
    ‘We’re …’ Another lick of lolly, catching an ice-cream tear. ‘We’re in the middle of something here, Maggie. Can’t we reschedule for tomorrow?’
    Silence.
    Around the corner and onto Low Street with its bars and shops and cafés.
    ‘Maggie?’
    ‘You want me to dignify that with an answer? And you’re supposed to put in a word for me – how are you going to do that if she’s in a foul mood?’
    ‘OK, OK. Tell her … half past five.’
    Past the Cats Protection League and the whisky shop.
    ‘All right. I’ll try. But make sure you’re not late.’
Maggie signed off.
    The gift shop next door had obviously started selling papers, because a little folding placard thing sat on the pavement outside it: ‘L IVERPOOL S HOOTING ~ P ICTURES E XCLUSIVE ’.
    He’d barely