Blue Vengenance: A Logan Thorne DCI Scottish Detective Thriller

by Duncan Wallace

  Someone across the room waved in my direction, and I saw that it was Harding. She had taken over one of the desks, and she was crouched behind a precarious-looking pile of reports. She must have noted a worried expression on my face because she tried to beckon me over. I held up a hand and indicated I would speak to her later, then walked towards the offices.

  Beyond The Pit were the private offices where the senior detectives held court. Only DI’s and above were accorded a room back here, and these days, even the DI’s had to share an office. I’d been lucky and had enjoyed a room to myself even when I was a DI, and I’d managed to hold onto the same space even after my promotion to DCI. It was much quieter back here, and I drank in the silence like a cold drink.

  As I walked past my office, I noticed the door handle was tilted up, and so I double-backed to check it was still locked from when I’d left work on Saturday for the weekend. The door was unlocked. Curious. I often let Harding use my computer as I had better access to the database, so perhaps she’d used my computer. But that was still strange, because although she was the only person I’d given permission to enter my office, she generally preferred asking me first.

  I went inside my office to check it out. The room looked the same as it always did, bare and devoid of many personal items which was how I liked it. I’d found that during cases which required regular interaction with the family of a victim, it didn’t help to stare at photos of my own.

  I scanned my desk, which seemed exactly as I’d left it, with a scattering of paper, the mug full of pens, and that stupid cactus. But some niggle still persisted that a person had been in my office, so I clicked the mouse of my laptop. The screen burst into life and showed the admin page where I typed in my password, and underneath the box said I had two attempts remaining. That seemed especially curious because Harding knew my password as well as she knew her own PIN.

  Two detective investigators rushed past my office, their faces panicked while murmuring to one another, and though I couldn’t make out their conversation, I felt pulled into the gravity of the situation again. I needed to inform ACC Clarke that police officers were under threat, so I pushed the computer sneak to the bottom of my to-do list, walked out, and turned left towards the senior bosses.

  In the linoleum hallway, I paused to glance towards the empty office at the end. The placard on the door still read Chief Constable Brown. The placard was very shiny, as if recently polished. I was glad ACC Clarke had kept her office and hadn’t moved into Brown’s yet, despite the inevitability she’d get his job, and the much larger office that came with it. I couldn’t have dealt with another person inside Brown’s office yet, sitting at his curved desk and removing the photographs of Denise. It would have felt too disrespectful.

  Without checking if anybody else was in the room, I yanked open ACC Elizabeth Clarke’s door. I remembered she was the boss now, and thought it was lucky nobody else was in the office as I didn’t imagine she’d appreciate the interruption.

  I shut the door behind me and pressed my back to the thick, wooden door as Clarke stood up from her chair. Though she was clearly trying not to appear shocked at my entrance, I’d still seen the split second of surprised concern ripple across her delicate features. She couldn’t hide anything from me.

  Before that day, I hadn’t actually been sure that Brown and Clarke had got on, but when I looked at Clarke’s face it was clear that she’d been crying. Her blue eyes were wet and bloodshot, but unlike the receptionist downstairs, Clarke immediately tried to compose herself.

  “What on earth is going on?” she demanded in her clear, crystalline voice. Clarke was the posh sort of Scot, born right in Morningside amongst the four-storey terraces. Her accent was hardly there unless she’d been drinking, or was especially angry or upset, and when we first met, she’d laughed that she couldn’t understand my Glaswegian burr. I had joked that I could at least survive without a local Waitrose.

  Today, I also detected an undertone of resentment in her voice. She was in charge now, and I couldn’t just burst into her office without an appointment. But after what I’d seen in forensics, there was no time for civilities, and I hoped Clarke would be able to look past it.

  “I’ve just been down in the lab for the autopsy, and--” I rushed to say.

  “You’ve what?” She glared at me. “You are absolutely forbidden from being in the lab during autopsies.”

  “I’ve done it before,” I protested and immediately regretted it. Brown hadn’t forbidden it, but only because that would mean having a conversation with me, and he’d always chosen the option not to speak.

  “Christ alive, who even let you in there?” She asked.

  I paused. I didn’t want to get Dr. Liu in trouble, not after all the favours she’d done for me in the past. I decided to cash in on my reputation for rule-breaking instead.

  “You really think I need anybody’s permission?” I asked and hoped that would suffice as a reason, and that she wouldn’t ring Dr. Liu for a shout as soon as I’d left.

  My boss ran three fingers through her long, dark-red hair, as though I was adding to an already significant pile of stress.

  “Well, you won’t be doing that again, so I hope you enjoyed it,” she said.

  I felt the conversation had steered away from my intention, and so tried to bring it back.

  “We do have more important things to discuss here,” I said.

  “Excuse me, but I set the agenda for any meetings,” she said angrily. “Got that?”

  “This is no time for a power play,” I warned as I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

  She sat down hard in her chair, as though suddenly exhausted, and brushed a wayward strand of dark-red hair from her face.

  “Fine,” she muttered. “What is it? And if you could bear in mind that I’ve had a very long day already.”

  I took in the tired lines around her eyes, and the manic, sleepless look on her face. I knew she probably saw the same thing when she looked at me, and for a brief moment, we were kindred spirits.

  “I was in the lab with Dr Liu and--” I said.

  The blue-eyed beauty shook her head.

  “You already said that,” she pointed out. “Why don’t you just skip to the end, rather than linger on the parts which make me want to chew my own thumbs off?”

  “There will be more deaths,” I blurted out. “More dead coppers.”

  Clarke’s eyes widened and then narrowed in sly suspicion.

  “Okay, we may need to rewind a bit after all,” she said, and then walked over to the door, pulled it open, and leaned her head around it.

  “What are you doing?” I asked in frustration, thinking this was another stalling tactic.

  “I’m calling DCI Richards in,” Clarke replied. “Don’t you think he should be here, too?”

  “Christ, not him,” I groaned. “We should just talk alone, for now at least.”

  I didn't like DCI Richards because I didn’t think he deserved the title he had, and I felt a natural dislike for lazy people. Richards was a pain in my side because the junior detectives complained that Richards left all of the case-work to them, before returning to the group at the last minute, just in time to steal the credit.

  Clarke raised her eyebrows suggestively, and I hoped to God she wasn’t thinking of the night we’d shared last year.

  “Jesus, not like that,” I said in response to her expression.

  “Just checking,” she said as a small smile played on her lips. She strolled back to her desk, sat down, and then shuffled a few pages around.

  “Dead cops, remember,” I said as I threw up my hands.

  “Yes, I heard you,” Clarke rubbed her eyes. “It’s just difficult to believe so far. Okay, start from the beginning.”

  “Do you want to know everything, or only the parts that won’t make you angry?” I asked.

  “Just start talking,” she ordered.

  “Right, you must know about the suspicious circumstances surroundin
g Brown’s…” I began to speak before Clarke cut me off.

  “Of course, I know that it wasn’t suicide,” she snapped as she started to drum her fingers on the desk.

  I inhaled deeply, and then reminded myself of the lives that were in danger and the need to convince Clarke of the threat..

  “So,” I was able to continue calmly. “Dr. Liu found a piece of paper in Brown’s mouth, and it had a message written on it.”

  Clarke stopped drumming her fingers, and I knew I had her full attention finally.

  “And what is the message?” She asked as she peered at me.

  “It said ‘your filth depends on you now.’ There were also three thistles drawn underneath, with one crossed out.”

  Clarke frowned, and her fingers started to tap out another rhythm on the desk.

  “Are you sure it’s thistles?” she finally asked.

  “Very sure, ma’am,” I replied. “I’ve stared at our logo enough times to recognise the leaf.”

  Clarke looked pleased I had used the formal address, but I was less sure if she grasped the real danger we might all be in.

  “And you think this means the culprit is targeting police officers?” she asked after what felt like a century had passed.

  “Well,” I snapped as I ran an exasperated hand through my wild hair. “Of course, I do. The note specifically said filth. I don’t need to tell you that is derogatory slang for--”

  “For cops,” Clarke interrupted as she sat up straighter. “No you don’t need to tell me that. And the thistles are from--”

  “From our very own logo,” I supplied.

  “Well,” Clarke said as she rubbed her neck. “This is very problematic indeed.”

  I heard movement out in the hallway, and Clarke and I both turned to check out the disturbance. More detectives rushed from their offices, and I saw Clarke watch them until they disappeared.

  “So,” the redhead said, her voice clear and strong, and I saw that the Boss switch had flicked on inside her. I wondered if she looked at the detectives and pictured their dead bodies, like I had before.

  “Let’s say we accept this working theory that--” she mused.

  “It is not a theory,” I cut in.

  “Until it’s proven, and is accepted by someone other than you, it is just a theory,” she replied. “So, this theory of yours is that the Scottish police, and we assume those specifically from this district, are in danger, and that Chief Constable Brown was merely the first of the victims.”

  “Yes, exactly.” I was glad she’d said the words out loud, but it felt far more dangerously real now that another person had spoken it. “How should we tell them? We don’t want them to panic, of course, but we need to stress that they remain vigilant at all times. How long would it take to lockdown the station?”

  Clarke waited for me to finish talking, but she didn’t appear to have registered anything I’d said. I expected her to jump up and start issuing orders, but she remained in her chair and looked faintly bored.

  “We don’t tell them anything,” she murmured and looked up at me.

  “What?” My blood immediately ran hot, and I felt my anger rising again.

  I couldn’t quite believe what she’d said. I half expected it to be a joke, and that she’d smile and call me gullible, and I’d be relieved though pissed off she’d wasted more time.

  “We haven’t confirmed the information yet,” she explained. “I haven’t even seen this message. As good as you are, Logan, I can’t lockdown this station on the theory of a DCI. Informing these cops that they are being targeted will inevitably spark a panic that I am just not comfortable lighting quite yet..”

  I stepped closer to her desk. I couldn’t recognise the woman sitting in front of me. She looked like Clarke and sounded just the same, but this was the talk of a different person.

  “So, you’re just going to let them go out on the streets, completely unprotected?” I demanded.

  “Of course not,” Clarke snapped. “You think I’d do that? I’ll put this station on high alert and inform officers to wear protective gear at all times and to investigate only in partnerships.”

  Her expression changed from anger to regret, and her mouth turned downwards into a scowl.

  “But--” I started to protest.

  “You still don’t know me at all,” she said as she gave me a long look.

  “I don’t think that’s enough,” I complained. “We should lock down this station, nobody in or out.”

  “I disagree, and luckily it’s my call, Thorne, not yours,” she said and folded her arms across her chest.

  I was reminded of my earlier conversation with Robert Crinkle and wondered if he felt as frustrated as I did right then. No, Crinkle was a different ballgame. I was trying to save lives. He just wanted to sell papers.

  “And, I might add, you are absolutely forbidden from discussing your theory with anyone.” Clarke looked at my face, and I wondered if she saw skepticism. “I mean it, Thorne. If I hear even a whisper of a rumour, I will personally blame you.”

  I sidestepped her demand because I was not a liar, and I fully intended to tell DS Harding all of this as soon as I saw her.

  “So when exactly do you think is a good time to inform our officers of their own impending doom?” I asked instead. “Don’t you believe they have a right to know? They’re trained officers, not children. They know what to do in these situations.”

  I believed the crux of that argument was why I felt so grieved by Clarke’s response. Could I go back to The Pit and look into the faces of women and men who weren’t trusted to control their own behaviour? I didn’t believe a person should have the power to withhold information which could stop a person from being killed.

  Clarke stared at me over her clasped hands, and I knew she was dissecting everything I had just said. She frowned, and I took that to mean that she had realized that I had made no promises about sharing my theory.

  “When we have proof that your interpretation is correct,” she said as she twisted the gold bracelet that encircled her wrist.

  She’d worn that bracelet every day since I’d known her, and I knew that twist was a sign that she’d reached a decision and wouldn’t budge. I leaned back against the door again in frustration, because this conversation had not ended the way I’d expected it to.

  “Well, ma’am,” I said angrily. “I even wish you’d brought Richards in right about now.”

  I looked down and saw my hands tremble in anger, so I shoved them into my pockets. It wouldn’t help if Clarke realised how personally affected I was, and then chose to take me off this case.

  “Well,” the redhead mused. “I never thought I’d hear those words from you.”

  I turned to open the door, and I heard Clarke shift in her chair.

  “Was there anything else you needed to inform me?” she asked in a casual voice.

  I looked back at my boss, and her eyes met mine. There was a good deal more information, like the poison used and the marks on the body, but Clarke would learn all that soon enough from the report... And right then, I just wanted to run from the room, find DS Harding, and track down the bastard that had done this.

  “No,” I replied. “There’s nothing else.”

  We exchanged glares for a moment, and then I walked out of the office and back towards The Pit.

  The tail end of my conversation with Clarke re-played in my mind as I went to find Harding. I wondered if Dr. Liu had called upstairs when I had run out of the lab and told Clarke what we had found. If she had, did that make it better or worse that she still insisted that she needed more proof of a threat? It was conceivable that Clarke had known exactly what I’d say, before I’d even walked through the door, and she’d faked her reaction. I knew she was capable of lying. I’d known about it a long time ago. But what game could she be playing now?

  The Pit stank of sweat and stale coffee, just as it always did. I spotted Harding at her desk, her fists clenched as cops crowded
round her. Harding and I were a known partnership, and I guessed that she’d be slammed with questions about the graveyard more than I was, because they weren’t afraid of her.

  People moved aside as I walked across The Pit, their facial expressions ranging from curiosity to suspicion. I expect some cops were wondering how I’d found Brown’s body so quickly, and no doubt stories were already spreading about our legendary hatred of each other. If only the fools knew the truth, but it was too late to explain that now that Brown was dead. No one would believe my stories about our broken friendship.

  Maddy’s face broke into relief as she saw me approach, and the uniformed sergeants surrounding her broke apart.

  “What’s the craic?” I asked casually.

  The officers glanced at each other.

  “Nothing, sir,” a short, pot-bellied man said, “we were just asking DS Harding about--”

  “That’s right.” I interrupted. “She is DS Harding, and it looks as though you’re stopping her from working.”

  The officers mumbled dissent under their breaths, but none were brave enough to speak up. I smiled and kept my eyes on the sergeants, because I knew Harding would be on the verge of laughing, and if I looked at her, we’d both start and never stop.

  “Now, Harding, if you don’t mind coming with me for a minute?” I said in my snootiest voice. “We’ll have to talk over food though, I’m starving.”

  I risked a look at my partner, and I saw that she had caught something in my tone. She looked deadly serious, and she nodded to show she’d heard. I moved away from the desk, and I heard Harding’s heels tap across the floor behind me.

  “What is it?” the brunette murmured once we had escaped the bustle of potential eaves-droppers in The Pit.

  But there were still too many people for me to feel comfortable discussing what Dr. Liu had found and Clarke’s decision. A messenger brushed by us, and a woman with two children in tow looked around at the chaos. Two detectives waited for the elevator, while a third stood by the window and talked on his mobile phone.