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big white letters on a bright red background: OF COURSE HE ' S B****Y GUILTY - THE LITTLE S*** ATTACKED ME! attributed to PC Jackie Watson (28) with a couple more choice sentences further on in the article about how 'little b******s like him should be banged up for life'. Logan groaned. No wonder Eric said Jackie should call in sick - she was in for one hell of a bollocking when she reported for duty. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Which would be in about fifteen minutes. 'Crap!'
    He dialled the flat, hoping to God she hadn't left for work yet. She hadn't.
    Jackie picked up the phone with an angry, ' What? '
    Too late. 'You've seen the paper then?'
    ' I've seen the lounge! We're living in a bombsite! '
    'Oh God ... Look, do you remember talking to a journalist?'
    ' What? I've got to get ready for --'
    'It's in the Daily Mail : "Of course he's bloody guilty - the little shite attacked me". Sound familiar?'
    There was a moment's silence from the other end of the phone and then the swearing started. Lots and lots of swearing. ' Bastard never said he was a journalist! '
    'Who?'
    ' That greasy little fuck in the pub last night - remember? I told you he bought me a drink, was all "oh, I saw you on the telly", and "what a great job you policewomen do" and "can I have your phone number?" Bastard !'
    'You know what's going to happen, don't you?'
    ' Count Bloody Dracula .'
    'Eric thinks you should call in sick.'
    Jackie laughed. Short and hollow. ' Fat lot of good putting it off will do ...'
    'No, I suppose not.'
    'So what we got?' DI Steel loomed over Logan's shoulder, peering down at the report in his hands, her breath reeking of stale cigarettes and extra-strong mints.
    Logan sighed and started ticking things off on his fingers: 'Sixty callers say they know who our victim is, but none of them agree. We've got seven teams of two going through them. As for the suspect, there's five men on the sex offenders' list who look like the e-fit: two rapists, one paedophile, a flasher, and guy who sexually assaulted a priest.'
    'Yeah?' Steel smiled, 'Makes a change from them molesting choirboys I suppose.'
    'Don't think any of them are likely though: flashers are all mouth and no trousers; the victim was too old to be of interest to a paedophile; both rapists only attacked women; and the priest fiddler's just come out of Peterhead, so he's under a supervisory order. According to his handlers he was locked up in his hostel when our guy was dumping his victim outside A&E.'
    She stared off into the middle distance for a bit, then said, 'Better interview them all anyway. Even the priestophile. If nothing else it'll look like we're doing something.' Steel lowered her voice to a whisper. 'You heard from Watson yet?'
    'No.' As soon as Jackie signed in she'd been escorted straight up to Professional Standards.
    'Shame you can't get that Weegie journo of yours to cover for her.' But the days of Colin Miller doing favours for Logan were long gone.
    'So, you want me to get those guys picked up?'
    Another thoughtful pause, then, 'No. Let's go see them. If I'm no' in the office this mornin' I can't have my medical for that stupid "Fit Like" programme.' She twirled her cigarettes in her hand. 'Put it off for long enough and they might forget all about me.'
    It took the inspector fifteen minutes before she was fed up with the first rapist. And only seven before she leaned over and whispered, 'How about we accidentally kick the shite out of him?' at the second's house. And the flasher wasn't up to much, not after DI Steel shouted, 'Let's see it, then!' as soon as they'd been let in through the front door. Iain Watt was probably taller than he looked, standing hunched into himself, thinning brown hair, cardigan, overweight, mid thirties. The archetypal Mr Nobody, living in a big empty house on Don Street that overlooked the main route students took between the halls of residence and Aberdeen University. As Steel stood at the lounge window, a handful of