Blue Vengenance: A Logan Thorne DCI Scottish Detective Thriller

by Duncan Wallace

Jenkins turned to Harding and I and offered his hand.

  “Hopefully, we won’t meet again,” he said.

  “I think that’s a pipe dream,” I replied sadly.

  Jenkins nodded and then collected his bag. He scanned the area for anything else he might have forgotten and then picked his way back through the rubbish bags. I watched him walk away, then slip on the wet ground, catch himself on a large recycling bin, and wipe his hands hurriedly on his trousers.

  “Strange man,” Harding said.

  “Indeed,” I agreed.

  I was about to ask the examiners whether they could open up McLuckie’s mouth, when I heard Jenkin’s voice bellow down the alleyway again.

  “Gentlemen!” he called out.

  “I think he means you,” I said to the SOCOs. I heard them sigh even through their layers of protective gear, and they walked back to the cordons.

  I tapped my feet in a puddle as we watched Jenkins and the SOCOs talk to each other.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Harding asked.

  “I want this to hurry up,” I complained. “Jesus, we haven’t got time to stand around and wait for the paperwork to be signed.”

  “You want to see if there’s a message?” She had lowered her voice though there was no one else in the alley at the moment.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Don’t you? It could take forever!”

  Harding looked over her shoulder where Jenkins still held the attention of the forensics team.

  “I think we have a few minutes,” she said as she raised a meaningful eyebrow.

  I stared back. “What’s gotten into you?” I asked in amazement.

  “I want to catch this guy as soon as possible,” she replied, and I saw the glint of Harding’s steely, focused eyes.

  “But at least use these,” the brunette added and passed me a pair of gloves.

  “So you haven’t quite had a personality transplant,” I said as I snapped on the gloves.

  “Okay, let’s do this quickly.” I said. “Have you still got those tweezers from earlier?”

  She checked her pocket and nodded. She passed them over in a wad of tissues, just in case anyone happened to look our way.

  “Sir, the guys look like they’re signing the paperwork,” Harding added.

  I nodded and knelt down, careful to balance on my heels rather than my knees. I eased the mouth open as carefully as Dr, Liu had handled Brown in the lab and peered inside. It was hard to see anything even with the bright lights, and I only had a few minutes at best. Still, I carefully inserted the tweezers and felt around. At first, I thought the mouth was empty, but then I felt the tweezers brush something. Very carefully, I pulled the object out from McLuckie’s mouth. It was a folded piece of paper.

  “Shit,” I whispered to myself. For once, I hadn’t wanted to be proven right.

  A wet strand of hair fell into my eyes, and I slicked it back frustratedly. Harding seemed to be gazing, motionless, at the curl of paper between the tweezers. I thought of how much worse this was going to be than I ever imagined.

  The first thing I noticed was that the material looked identical to the paper found in Brown’s mouth. It was thin, old and yellowed slightly with age. It was a specific choice, but a choice that might help me narrow down the culprit pool. But then I wondered if this was a deliberate red herring and that maybe the killer wanted us to pursue this lead fruitlessly.

  “Is there a message?” Harding asked in worry.

  I stiffened and realized that I’d been entirely engrossed in my own examination.

  “Surely there is, right?” she pressed.

  “You shouldn’t assume anything,” I warned.

  As carefully as I could, I unfurled the paper.

  Harding leaned in closer, and I could feel her breath on my neck.

  “‘It is evil to kill the young’...” her voice trailed off. “Oh, god, there’s a thistle, too.”

  “Slashed right through,” I confirmed.

  “Here,” Harding said as she dipped her hands into her pockets once again. This time, she pulled a plastic baggy from the depths.

  I dropped the message inside and sealed it, then used my pen to fill in the collection data. I stood up and saw that more officers were gathered near the alley now, and Jenkins must have finally gotten the paperwork signed, because the forensics team was marching our way. I whistled and waved one of the constables over. The man trotted to our side, and I handed him the bag.

  “Get this straight to the lab,” I ordered. “Don’t stop for anyone. Ask for Dr. Liu, and tell her Thorne says it’s urgent. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  I watched as he disappeared through the fire door they’d wedged open. I turned to find Harding rubbing her eyes and I figured that she would feel tired soon, and she would start to flag. But I had never felt more awake, despite having been awake for sixteen hours already. The possibility of a lead could fire me up more than any amount of caffeine.

  “So,” I asked. “Do you know how old McLuckie was?”

  “Older than me, but younger than you,” she replied with a shake of the head.

  “Who isn’t?” I grumbled to myself.

  I heard Harding snicker, but when I looked in her direction, she had her serious face on again.

  “So you wouldn’t have called him very young, then?” I asked.

  “No,” she confirmed. “Not really.”

  “So doesn’t it seem strange that the killer referred to him as such?” I asked.

  “Well, people say that about killing children,” she pondered. “That it’s evil, I mean. But obviously, Stuart isn’t a child… Wasn’t.”

  “It’s a bit early to start using past tense,” I reassured Harding with the case. “Maybe they mean it’s evil to kill somebody’s child, because to a parent, their child is always young in their mind?”

  “I wouldn’t really know,” Harding said. “But everyone is someone’s child. So that doesn’t leave much for us to go on.”

  “Hmm.” I scratched my chin. “Okay, so we have two notes from the killer. That means each one is equally significant because so far, it’s the only communication we have with him. So just keep the words in your mind, okay?”

  More SOCOs had started to arrive and the alley was becoming cramped. A woman with short curly hair shot us an evil glare, and I took the hint. We walked back through the blinding lights and ducked under the yellow tape that had finally gone up. I saw that a perimeter had gone up around the station as well, and that the police that I could see were now armed and wearing their bulletproof vests.

  I took a last look down the alley and watched the forensics crews as they moved beneath the bright lights. There was already a little stack of evidence bags, and I imagined they would have a mountain of the plastic baggies before they were done. I didn’t hold much hope that the murder weapon would be found. I was beginning to build a psychological profile of the killer, and carelessly throwing down his weapon was not part of that profile.

  “Now what?” Harding asked as she looked around. “There must be something we can do?”

  “We go back upstairs,” I said. “And we work the evidence.”

  The only way in and out of the station now was the main door, because all other exits had been blocked off, except the one in the alley that was now part of a crime scene. We pushed our way through the crowd of onlookers and through the doors. We stood in the foyer for a moment to catch our breaths and soak up some of the heat. Water dripped from our coats and left a small lake on the floor. The receptionist, the night shift replacement for the one we’d seen earlier, glared at us. She then took a wet floor sign from the cupboard, walked over to us, and placed the sign between us. When she was satisfied with the sign’s placement, she sniffed and returned to her spot.

  “Do you think it’s a prerequisite that all of our receptionists are overly-dramatic?” I asked Harding.

  She smiled, and I was pleased to see she’d cheered up. We crossed
the floor, leaving a trail of water in our wake, and stopped in front of the lift. The door pinged, and we stepped inside as soon as it slid open. Thankfully, someone had shut off the music, so we rode in silence back to the fifth floor.

  Back up in CID, I found the mood had visibly sombered. The daytime cops had finally gone home, so the office was emptier. The night staff sat at their desks and clutched polystyrene coffee cups in their hands that they barely sipped.

  “I’ll be back in a moment,” I whispered to my partner.

  I managed to escape from The Pit without answering any questions and stepped inside the men’s bathroom. It was mercifully empty, and I pressed my forehead to the cool, clean walls. I felt the unanswered questions throb like a headache, and I just wanted to skip forward to the end of the movie, when all is revealed. I took a deep breath, splashed some water onto my face, and checked myself in the mirror. Not too bad, I decided, given how long it had been since I’d actually slept.

  I opened the door and found ACC Clarke waiting for me outside the bathroom.

  “Ma’am,” I mumbled.

  I could have sworn that Clarke had aged since our last conversation. Her eyes had lost their sparkle and were creased with deep lines I didn’t remember.

  “Just come with me,” she ordered.

  I pictured myself making a break for it, but I nodded and fell into step behind her. Part of me was genuinely interested in seeing how Clarke would defend herself. Or maybe she wouldn't even try. There was a very real chance she would pretend our conversation had never happened.

  We went into her office, and I shut the door. The room smelled strongly of jasmine and citrus, as though she’d recently sprayed perfume.

  “So,” my red-haired boss said as she sank into her chair. “Obviously this is a complete shit show. I wish I could crawl into bed and write this day off as a nightmare.”

  “With all due respect, ma’am, you weren’t the one who discovered two dead cops,” I noted.

  I thought I saw a glimmer of sympathy in her green eyes as she looked back at me, though there was anger there as well.

  “Yes, you’re right,” she replied. “Which is why I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Pay raise?” I joked. “Now that there’s fewer people to share the pot?”

  “Maybe, if we survive this,” the ACC responded.

  I wasn’t sure if she’d caught that I was joking, and I watched her turn a speculative gaze on The Pit.

  “So you’re on my side now, are you?” I asked without reserve.

  “Logan,” Clarke sighed as she shook her head. “There are no sides.”

  “Yes, there is,” I snapped. “There is us and then there’s him, the killer.”

  “And what does that mean?” she asked, eyebrows raised in shock. “You think I’m with him now, do you?”

  “You didn’t seem too concerned with us earlier, ma’am,” I added.

  “Well, yes,” she admitted with reluctance. “Clearly I was wrong, and I’m a terrible, terrible person.”

  Clarke tried to sound flippant, but I heard the remorse in her voice.

  “McLuckie--” I began.

  “You think you could do a better job, do you?” she cut in. “Is that what this is about?”

  That one blindsided me, and for a heartbeat, all I could do was blink.

  “No?” I replied. “I would just prefer that I don’t find any more bodies. That’s what this is about.”

  Clarke rested her face in her palms.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry.” She looked at me. “I’m under a lot of pressure, Logan, a hell of a lot. And I need your help.”

  “Do you now?” I snorted.

  “Yes,” she said straight. “I need you to solve this case.”

  “That’s always my goal,” I replied.

  “Yes, I know,” my new boss sighed as she waved her hand in the air. “But there are no limits this time. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

  “Whatever I need?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

  “Overtime, toxicology tests, whatever it takes, no expense spared,” she replied. “Just promise me one thing, Logan.”

  “And what would that be?” I asked with suspicion. I imagined she’d want most of the credit for solving this case to bolster her own odds of becoming as CC.

  “Only involve those you trust,” the redhead said to me. “We can’t have this case running away from us.”

  Clarke had managed to surprise me again, and I studied her more closely before I answered.

  “I only trust one person--” I said.

  “I can’t help you with day to day case work,” Clarke cut in. “I have so much on my plate.”

  “--and she’s in the other room,” I finished my sentence as though Clarke hadn’t spoken.

  She looked at me in disbelief for a moment and then laughed, but it was a humourless, hollow sound.

  “Is that so?” she asked. “When did that happen?”

  I shrugged.

  “You know I could give you a formal warning, right?” she said, her tone laced with contempt. “You can’t speak to me like this.”

  “You could, but you won’t,” I replied. “Who else would lead this case?”

  I watched as Clarke’s cheeks reddened, and she became visibly angry. She tucked her long hair behind her ears and inhaled deeply, as though I had stolen all the oxygen from her.

  “Just get out, Thorne,” she snapped. “And find me a killer.”

  I guessed we were back on last name terms, then.

  “Gladly,” I said as I turned on my heels and walked out. I was halfway down the corridor when I heard her voice call out again.

  “I want updates hourly!” she yelled.

  I stalked into my office, twisted the blinds closed for some privacy, and tried to ignore the anger I felt. Clarke always seemed to bring it out in me, which is why CC Brown had made a point of keeping us apart. Now she was my boss, and there would be no way to avoid her. I sighed and turned my thoughts to the case.

  Part of my anger towards Clarke was because she had ignored my warning, and now another officer was dead. But I had to admit, the killer was accelerating quickly, and if I pushed aside my feelings, I recognised that he would have found a way to take out McLuckie even with our safety measures in place. It felt like the culprit was mocking the police, killing McLuckie right under the station’s nose, as if not even a building full of armed cops could stop his mission.

  I sighed and massaged my aching head. The headache was worse than before, so I opened my junk drawer and pushed around the contents until I found a packet of paracetamol. I popped the tablets from their silvery jacket and swallowed them dry.

  Ten deep breaths later, and I could feel my blood pressure start to drop and the throb was nearly gone. I thought about returning to The Pit, but I wasn’t up for the questions yet. My computer’s light winked at me, and I decided now was a good time to get some background on the victims. I clicked the laptop trackpad, and remembered my suspicion from earlier that someone had tried to access my computer. The screen looked the same, though, and nothing seemed to have been moved. Still, I would make sure to lock the office when I left.

  I flicked through my emails, skipping over any useless promotions, when I saw an email from Netflix, ‘Logan we’ve just added a movie you might like’. I clicked. It was a film I hadn’t seen before, some 80’s tough guy movie. The hero must be an old man now. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to pick that film, so why had it been recommended? I’d ask Harding to explain it.

  There was a knock at my door. I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes, but there was another knock.

  “What?” I called out in anger.

  The door edged open, and my partner stepped through it.

  “Oh, sorry, Harding,” I said. “I didn’t realise it was you.”

  “Who else would it be?” she asked.

  “Maybe someone trying to kill me?” I deadpanned.

  Harding sat in the
chair on the other side of my desk.

  “Right, about that...you don’t have any whiskey hiding in here, do you?” the brunette asked in hope.

  “This isn’t a television show,” I reminded her. “But I do have…”

  I reached under my desk to my mini fridge. She leaned her neck over to see what I was doing. I took out a small can of coke. It was deliciously cold in my hands, and I wanted to press it to my forehead. I threw the can at DS Harding, who caught it easily in one hand.

  “Will that suffice, your majesty?” I joked.

  “Since when did you have a mini-fridge in here?” she asked with glee. “That’s so 90s.”

  I pulled a face at the 90s comment, but Harding only popped the can open and waited for my answer.

  “Since I moved in,” I said. “Obviously it’s my personal property, so don’t get any ideas.”

  “Right.” Harding said and rolled her eyes. “They can’t even afford to fix the second hand-dryer for the ladies, I doubt anyone would buy me a fridge for my non-existent office.”

  “Not even in lieu of a paycheck?” I teased.

  “Then there wouldn’t be any food for the fridge,” Maddy pointed out and then sipped. “That’s better. I can already feel the sugar rotting my insides. Delicious.”

  “By the way,” I told her, “we’re on the case. Officially.”

  “Weren’t we already?” she asked and sipped her drink again.

  “Apparently it wasn’t official,” I said. “But now it is. By the way, did you get anywhere with the security camera in Lochend?”

  Harding rolled her shoulders and set the coke on a pad of paper on the desk.

  “No,” she said, “it was turned off, like you said.”

  “That figures,” I grumbled. “I didn’t want to be right.”

  “So… who else do you want on the case?” the brunette asked, and got out her notebook.

  “Christ, nobody,” I replied.

  “You want us to solve this by ourselves?” she asked as her eyebrows climbed to her scalp. “With no other help?”

  “Yes,” I said. “You remember what I said back in the alleyway? We have to be careful with this case. I don’t see any other way to ensure nothing is compromised.”

  “Wow,” Harding said in a stunned voice. “Okay. I suppose we’d better get started.”