‘Yes, I know that means you’re paying for this call, Miss, but—... Yes. I do understand that...’
Tufty dumped his re-boxed phone in the ‘COMING TO COLLECT’ crate and wandered over to the array of mobiles charging on his desk. Picked a slabby Nokia smartphone at random, unplugged it from its lead, and powered it up.
‘Bobby... No, Bobby it’s—... Bobby! I’m looking for a scumbag who microwaves people’s dogs if they don’t pay him back. He’s no’ going to be easy to forget.’
Lund settled back in her seat. ‘Hello? Who am I speaking to please?... Mr Morrison, this is the police, we’ve found your mobile phone...’
The Nokia came to life with a binglety-bing. Wasn’t even locked. He poked at the screen, selecting ‘PEOPLE’, and scrolled through till he found the entry called ‘HOME’.
He set it ringing.
‘Yes, I know... No, we just need you to come down to the station and pick it up, Mr Morrison.’
A click sounded in Tufty’s ear. Then, ‘Yes?’
‘Hello?’
‘Hello?’ A man’s voice. Not all that bright sounding.
Harmsworth bounced his forehead off the desk. ‘I know money doesn’t grow on trees, Miss, but we’re trying to return your phone.’
Tufty stuck a finger in his other ear and moved away to the opposite side of the office, by the whiteboard, where it was slightly less noisy. ‘Who am I speaking to?’
‘Look, is this some sort of PPI marketing nonsense, because—’
‘It’s the police. Was your phone stolen recently?’
‘Oh? You found my phone? Right. Well, don’t suppose it really matters now: got a replacement. Was due an upgrade anyway.’
‘If you come down to Queen Street you can fill in a claim form and get it back.’
‘But I don’t really need... Actually, you know what?’ Doing his best to sound super nonchalant. ‘There’s probably photos and things on there.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Sentimental reasons. That kind of thing.’
Which probably meant filthy, filthy pics of his girl-and-or-boyfriend.
‘You’ll need proof of purchase and the serial number so we can make sure it’s definitely yours, otherwise we have to go through a whole big red-tape exercise to prove ownership.’
‘Right. Yes. I’ll pop down tomorrow-ish and pick it up. Thanks.’
Tufty hung up and waved at the others. Pointed at the phone and gave them a big cheesy grin. Then wrote the words ‘DIY PORN!!!’ on the whiteboard in big red letters.
Steel’s eyes widened. She got up from her desk and hurried over, still on the phone. ‘Yeah well, ask around, Bobby, and maybe those parking tickets will disappear.’
Harmsworth pointed at the mobile in his hand and rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, I do understand that, Miss, but—... No... Yes.’
Lund gave them the thumbs up. ‘Just come past tomorrow and that’ll be grand.’ She stuck the phone back in its little cardboard evidence box and dumped it in the ‘TO BE COLLECTED’ crate. Joined them at the whiteboard. ‘Come on then.’
Tufty opened up the ‘PICTURES’ menu and a bunch of folders filled the screen. No names, just dates. He picked one at random and opened it. Flicked through the contents.
A bunch of blokes staggered their way through a drunken night out. Next folder: a middle-aged couple taking a Rottweiler for a walk along Aberdeen beach.
Steel hit him. ‘You said there was porn!’ Then back to her own phone. ‘No, no’ you, Bobby. This idiot here.’
He tried the next folder... ‘Bingo.’
The screen filled with a topless woman in a fancy tiled bathroom — long blonde hair, mole on her right cheek, pouty red lips. Then the same woman from various intimate angles all the way to bare-arse naked as he scrolled through the pics. Then the same woman unzipping the photographer’s trousers.
Barrett blushed. ‘Oh my ears and whiskers.’
The next ones were even more explicit.
‘Ooh, no wonder he wanted his phone back!’
Steel widened her eyes, eyebrows raised all the way up to her disastrous hairline. ‘Bobby? I’m going to have to call you later.’ She snatched the mobile from Tufty’s hand and leered at the screen. ‘I may need some alone time...’
Duncan sat on the park bench, rubbing at his forehead while Ellie banged on and on and on and on...
Didn’t matter what day it was, she always had something to bitch and whinge about.
Little children squealed and roared and laughed and giggled as they chased each other around the playground. Hung upside down from the swings. Scooted down the slide on their backsides. Twirled and yelled and screamed on the spinning roundabout.
Look at me, Mummy! Look at me, Daddy!
Oh to be five again. When the only things you had to worry about was how many marbles you could fit up your nose and how dinosaurs brushed their teeth with those stubby wee arms of theirs. When the scariest thing in the world was running out of chocolate biscuits and the monster that lived under your bed.
Well you know what? The monster that lived under his bed had nothing on Ellie.
God knew how something as lovely and warm and wonderful as Lucy came out of that frozen, frigid monster’s fanny.
She was still at it. ‘... you should’ve known better. For Christ’s sake, Duncan!’
‘How is this my fault, Ellie? You’re the one who—’
‘And if you think you’re getting her for the holidays, you can bloody well whistle.’
‘No. No, that’s not fair and you know it!’
Lucy roared past, both arms held out, making aeroplane noises, curly blonde hair bouncing out behind her. ‘Look at me, Daddy! Look at me!’
‘Yes, Daddy can see you, darling.’ Back to the phone. ‘You’re being completely unreasonable, Ellie.’
‘Don’t you take that tone with me, Duncan Nicol. She’s my daughter and if I say she’s coming with us to France, she’s coming with us to France.’
Lucy made another pass, strafing the dog-poo bin. ‘Rrrrrrraaaaaawww... Dugga-dugga-dugga-dugga! Neeeeewwww... BOOOM!’
‘It’s called “joint custody”, Ellie. Joint!’
‘Are you watching, Daddy?’ Lucy was looking back at him, eyes so big and bright, smile so wide. Not paying any attention to where she was running. ‘Are you watching—’ She crashed into the bushes and went headlong, disappearing into the greenery with a squeal.
Duncan jumped to his feet. ‘Lucy? Lucy!’
‘What’s happening? Has something happened?’ Ellie’s voice got even shriller as he ran over to the bushes. ‘Duncan, what have you done to our baby?’
‘Lucy! Lucy, are you... Oh thank God.’
She crawled out of the bushes on her hands and knees, little bits of rhododendron poking out of her curls.
He swept her up. Kissing her on the forehead and cheeks. ‘You silly sausage. Are you OK?’
She nodded at him, eyebrows down, mouth clamped into a line — her serious face. ‘I fell down.’ Then she glanced over her shoulder at the undergrowth and back again. ‘Daddy? There’s a lady in the bushes and she’s all crying and sticky.’
Lucy held up her hands. They were clarted with blood.
Oh no. No. Oh no...
She almost slipped out of his arms. The phone bounced off the grass at his feet, Ellie’s voice barely audible.