Blue Vengenance: A Logan Thorne DCI Scottish Detective Thriller

by Duncan Wallace

  “Oh-- sir, the lab is in possession of CC Brown’s body,” Candice called out. “They’re ready for you.”

  I looked at Harding and sighed.

  “You couldn’t have told me this information five floors down?" I asked Candice.

  "What would you have done?” Candice pretended to look surprised. “Pressed the emergency stop?”

  The sergeant glared at my partner, turned on her heels, and pushed into the women’s bathroom.

  Harding looked at me apologetically.

  “Ever the graceful loser, right, sir?” Harding asked rhetorically.

  My partner started to walk towards the elevator, but I put a hand on her arm and shook my head.

  “Not now, Harding,” I said. “I need you to write up today’s report.”

  The DS blinked in faux-surprise.

  “But, sir, I wouldn’t want to take your favourite job from you!” she joked.

  “Just follow my orders blindly, won’t you?” I teased as I started towards the stairs. “Or I might just bring in Candice to replace you.”

  I’d decided to take the stairs in part to avoid any more time with Candice, but I also wanted to dodge any awkward conversations in the lift regarding Brown’s murder. The boss was dead, and everyone was greedy for information. It was easier to just bypass the situation entirely than to fend off the questions of seasoned interrogators. Besides, I preferred the silence of the stairwell to the wretched music.

  The air grew cooler as I walked deeper into the station, and the pile carpet gave way to worn wood floors. The paint grew dingier as well and flaked away from the concrete walls. I nodded to a couple of people but slipped away before they could ask anything. I plunged into the stairwell, and wrinkled my nose at the stale smell.

  The metal stairs shuddered beneath my feet and more than one bulb was burned out. Water dripped from somewhere, and near the second floor, I could smell the fresh scent of a recently smoked cigarette. Most people avoided the stairs, which was why I liked using them. It gave me a few moments alone with my thoughts, and after a day like today, a chance to stop and gather myself. There would be pressure to close this case quickly, and there wouldn’t be much quiet time until we had.

  I exited the stairwell at the first basement level. I took a left, and then a right, along a route I knew all too well. There were no signs down here, but then it wasn’t an area designed for visitors. I caught the scent of cleaning fluid as I turned down a short hallway and then stepped through a set of double swinging doors.

  I was in the gentle, motherly hush of the Forensics Department, where so much of our evidence was recovered. Floors and walls were tiled, and a drain sparkled in the middle of the floor. Hard plastic chairs sat against one wall, beneath a row of narrow windows. The sun was setting, and orange light trickled across the Edinburgh skyline. It would be dark by the time I went back to CID.

  I knocked on the pathologist’s office. No answer, but I pushed the door open a crack anyway. The light bulb was flickering but nobody was in, so I stepped inside and cleared my throat loudly. I glanced towards a second swinging door on the left that led to the autopsy suite, but I’d learned long ago not to just barge in. It had taken me nearly a year to get back in Dr. Liu’s good graces after that faux pas, and another six months before my cases were no longer pushed to the back of the line.

  The office portion was supposed to be Dr. Liu’s alone, but she liked to share it with everyone, and so the walls were covered in family photos and children’s drawings from every member of her staff. I checked to see if there was anything new on the wall and then turned at the sound of the second door creaking open. Dr. Liu pulled her mask off and banged the light switch with her fist. The light stopped flickering, and she grinned at me. She had a lovely, angular face, framed by black hair that had been pulled back into a tidy bun, and eyes that lit up whenever she smiled. I felt myself grinning back and then nodded towards the switch.

  “Are you sure that method is electrician friendly?” I joked.

  “Don’t rub it in, Thorne,” she shot back, “You know that doctors have terrible practical skills.”

  “True enough,” I agreed. “So, what have you got for me?”

  “Nothing yet,” she replied.

  “So why am I here?” I asked in surprise.

  “I thought you’d want in on the action,” she said and waggled her arched eyebrows at me.

  I paused. I had been present during autopsies before, but not one where I knew the deceased. Could I really stand back and watch as Brown was cut open, and I was able to see his motionless heart? But the opportunity to soak up the evidence before it was filtered through red tape and reports was too enticing to resist.

  “Have you got a pair of those for me?” I asked as I pointed towards the scrubs.

  “Yes, Logan,” she sighed. “I have something you can wear to protect your ensemble. You’re such a fashion victim. Always have to follow the crowd.”

  I was startled at first, since we almost never used first names. She always called me Thorne, and I addressed her as Doctor, or Liu in a pinch. But then I caught her comment on my fashion sense, and I could only nod.

  Liu opened a cabinet and pulled out a clean set of scrubs, which she passed to me. I stepped into the loose clothing and then took the mask Dr. Liu dangled in front of my face. I tried to tie the mask myself, but Liu tutted and tied it tighter. I could smell her perfume as she leaned in closer, and I was surprised that she wore a scent like buttery flowers.

  “We already took samples for toxicology,” she said. “And we should have some initial results soon.”

  “That’s good,” I replied. “Did you include a test for diazepam in that?”

  “I did,” she said. “I saw it on the list that the EMT’s provided.”

  “We found a bag near the body,” I explained. “But I don’t think it was his.”

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Ready,” I agreed.

  We stepped through the squeaky door and into the autopsy lab. It was cool and quiet, and every surface gleamed spotlessly. I knew that every table was cleaned after each autopsy to prevent cross-contamination, and that the entire lab was vigorously polished every night. The room smelled like industrial cleaner, though something darker and earthier lingered beneath that, and unlike the office, this room was brightly lit. There was a wall of glass, where detectives could watch without getting too close, though I preferred to be in the room during the autopsy.

  The unmistakable shape of a human body was already on one of the tables, a plastic sheet placed over it in a last bid at dignity. I stood by the table for a moment and then moved to the side as three more scientists entered the lab. They wore identical uniforms of full-length white scrubs with a green crinkled foil apron over the top. Their gloves looked as thick as animal hides, and the rounded goggles gave them a slightly alien look. They moved with precision as each person went to their stations and then looked towards Dr. Liu.

  At a nod from their boss, the only other man in the room picked up a large camera, while the two women moved to either side of the table. The women removed the plastic in one swift motion to reveal CC Brown, splayed naked on the table with his head resting on a white block. I swallowed, took a deep breath, and told myself that it was just like any other autopsy.

  The camera flash went off once, twice, too many times to count, and I struggled to adjust my vision to the constant flashes. Liu turned on the microphone above the table and began to speak in measured tones. She stated the date and time and then identified everyone who was in the room. Next, she named Brown, and then gave a brief description of his physical appearance.

  A computer beeped, and Liu gave it an irritated glance. One of the women moved over to the counter and poked at one of the keys.

  “Toxicology is in,” she announced.

  I was impressed at how fast the results had come in, but then this was the CC. Everything else would have been pushed aside to see this done. Liu stepped aw
ay from the table and walked over to the counter. The other woman stepped aside as Liu started to scan the results.

  “You’re the one who said it wasn’t suicide?” Dr Liu asked me, her dark eyes shiny under the hazardous yellow light.

  I shifted my weight to the balls of my feet and cleared my throat.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because you are right, there are no drugs in his system.” She glanced at me curiously. “How did you know?”

  “Long story,” I muttered through my mask. I was relieved. But was I relieved? Was it better for Brown to have been murdered? I still hadn’t sorted my own feelings on the subject.

  The beautiful doctor turned her attention back to the body. She pointed out a large, yellow bruise on one of his legs, and a small scratch on one of his knuckles. She squinted as she studied the face and leaned in closer.

  “There’s particulate here,” she announced.

  One of the women handed her a small paper evidence bag, and Liu began to scrape the particles into the bag. A moment later, she pulled back quickly and looked at the other two women.

  “Can you smell that?” Liu asked.

  The blonde female scientist finished taking a vial of blood and put her face close to my ex-boss.

  “I can smell something,” she said.

  “Is that unusual?” I asked from the corner as I itched to join in.

  “This specific smell is,” Dr Liu replied. “Very unusual indeed.”

  The man put down his camera and sniffed, too.

  “It’s nutty,” he said and looked to Dr Liu.

  Her eyes widened, and she leaned in again.

  "Almonds?” she mused as she took another sniff.

  I felt the scientists’ bodies stiffen and the tension rising in degrees.

  “Almonds?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

  The four scientists took a step back and exchanged worried looks. Dr Liu inched towards a large, red button on the wall. I suspected that button was only pressed in emergencies.

  “Surely not,” the man said and seemed to look around for confirmation it was all absurd.

  “What is it?” I demanded.

  “It could very well be cyanide,” Liu replied. “But I need to confirm it’s in the body and not in the room.”

  I stood still and tried to hold my breath. Cyanide surely meant that Brown was murdered, and also that the killer wanted that fact to remain a secret by throwing in the illusion of suicide. A person who didn’t know of Brown’s allergies. Why? Who wanted Brown dead? I tried to mentally recall all of the enemies he could have, but it was too long a list.

  Dr. Liu eased Brown’s mouth open and swabbed the inside.

  “It’s definitely internal,” she said in a quiet voice, as if talking to herself.

  The other three people in the room relaxed noticeably, and the cameraman began taking pictures again.

  “You know, if you hadn’t caught the suicide cover-up, we wouldn’t have rushed this autopsy so much,” Liu commented as she stood up.

  “So?” I asked and shrugged.

  “Cyanide doesn’t last long in the system,” Liu explained. “If this had come in as a suicide, we wouldn’t have performed the autopsy so quickly, and the poison would have disappeared from the body. Even if we performed the test for cyanide, it wouldn’t show up.”

  “But it will now?” I asked.

  “If we apply a specific test it should, yes,” she replied.

  The blonde woman had moved in to take a sample swab while Liu was talking, and I saw her frown and then remove a gloved finger from Brown’s mouth.

  “Dr.,” she muttered, “there’s something else in here.”

  The others gazed at each other in disbelief, and I had the feeling that this was the most exciting thing to happen in this room in some time.

  Dr. Liu selected a pair of small metal tongs from the surgery tray and eased them gently inside the mouth. When she pulled the instrument back out, a damp curly piece of paper dipped in blood came with it.

  “This is becoming more and more bizarre,” Dr. Liu said and wiped her forehead with the crook of her arm. She passed the tongs to the man, who then walked over to a chemical bath. I started to follow, but the other four people turned to me and simultaneously shouted, “no!”

  “You should not come any closer,” Liu insisted as she held out a warning hand. “There could be poison circulating in the air.”

  “But you're close,” I protested.

  “We’ve already been exposed to any possible contamination.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn't have let you in.”

  Liu glared at me until I retreated to my spot against the wall. Satisfied that I was safely out of range, Liu nodded to the man. I saw him place the paper on a tray, and then he selected a glass bottle from the shelf. The others closed around him, and I growled in frustration as my view was cut off.

  “Hang on,” the man said slowly. "I think there’s writing on this paper.”

  They couldn’t stop me from coming forward then. I would have tackled them all to the ground to read that note in its original form..

  “What does it say?” I asked breathlessly.

  Dr. Liu read the note over her assistant’s shoulder, and I saw her lips silently mouth the words.

  “Aloud, if you don’t mind,” I said stubbornly.

  Liu took the tongs from her assistant and carried the scrap back to the autopsy table. She gently placed the paper next to Brown’s pale, stiff hand, where it would be easier to read under the bright light. The camera flashed again, but I ignored it and leaned in closer.

  Your filth depends on you now.

  The handwriting was scrawled and messy, so I guessed that the culprit had used their opposite hand to write. Then I realised that three leaves were drawn underneath the words, with one leaf crossed out.

  The leaf was wide and edged with thorns. A thistle. And then horror dawned on me as the Scottish Police logo floated in my mind, and I saw those same thistles protecting the crown.

  Filth.

  Dr. Liu’s shocked face met mine, and I guessed she had understood, too.

  “They’re after the cops, then,” she said, and her voice seemed to echo in the quiet lab.

  I felt the information slice through me, like she'd run that scalpel over my skin, and I realised this case far from over. If I didn’t catch the killer, another police officer would die.

  Chapter 4

  I turned on my heels and ran out from the lab. I heard Dr Liu shout after me, but I didn’t stop to listen clearly. What did she expect me to do? Stay down in the lab for a safety test? Waste time on a health check? There was no way I could remain locked in the lab after seeing the words on that paper.

  My shoes pounded on the bare floors, and I ripped off my mask, dropping it on the ground. I leaned against the double doors and eased off the white boots. I dropped the booties, too, as breadcrumbs if anyone wanted to find me and threaten disciplinary action for bolting from a probably toxic room. I ran past the forensics’ staff room and felt many pairs of eyes stare at my retreating figure.

  Should I take the lift or the stairs? It was shift change, and there would be crowds of people on every floor waiting to take the lift. I ran back to the stairs and grasped the cool, metal bannister.

  My gaze ran up the six flights ahead, and I cursed. I cracked my neck and took the steps two at a time, never more grateful for my high fitness levels. As I ran up the fourth floor stairwell, the door suddenly swung up, and I dodged before it smacked me in the face. A woman’s apologetic face peered from the other side.

  “Oh, my god, I’m such a radge… Are you ok? Did I hit you?” she asked hurriedly.

  I noted she wasn’t in uniform, and that she held her handbag close to her chest. Was she a civilian? In my heightened emotional state, I couldn’t quite remember the purpose of level four. Was it the traffic department?

  The woman stared at me, possibly concerned she mig
ht have knocked out my power of speech as I hadn’t responded to her question.

  “Aye, I’m fine, ma’am, don’t worry,” I spoke in my best placating-the-public voice. I realised that she looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t place her.

  I smiled and took off up the stairs again, looking back in time to see the woman watching me with interest. Then her familiarity smacked me as the door nearly had. She looked like Denise. They shared the same jade green eyes, wavy, dark hair, and the freckles which burst across their cheeks. I looked back again, but she was already on her way down. I decided that they hadn’t been that similar, and that I’d only thought that because of the day’s events. Reassured, I ran up the rest of the stairs.

  I threw open the double doors leading to CID and looked at my watch. The run had taken me three and a half minutes, which was not a bad time even with the interruption. I stopped for a second to catch my breath and leaned against the pinboard tacked with the faces of mispers. As I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead, the occupants of the closest desks turned to stare at me, and I realised I hadn’t chosen the most subtle of entrances. I ignored them coolly, as I always did.

  We referred to the entrance of the CID department as ‘The Pit’, though it reminded me more of a newsroom with its lack of privacy and monthly desk rotations.. It was generally busy enough in our day to day work, but add a dead Chief Constable, and the office had turned chaotic in response. The room was hot with too many bodies pressed into one space, and I realised that junior detectives from the other local precincts had been called over. I gulped at the thought of more cops being in the building, because it meant a pool of potential victims so large, I wasn’t sure if even I could handle it.

  I looked at my fellow officers as they fielded phone calls, typed up reports, and scurried from one desk to another. My chest squeezed tight with anger thinking of someone calling these people filth, or worse, that I might find one of their bodies soon.