Blue Vengenance: A Logan Thorne DCI Scottish Detective Thriller

by Duncan Wallace

  “Knew it,” Madden said quietly as if to himself. “I knew I’d be needed again, eventually.”

  He stared out the window, and I took the opportunity to meet Harding’s stare. She nodded in encouragement, but I saw resentment in her eyes from Madden’s dismissal of her and her abilities.

  “Mr. Madden,” I called.

  He turned his attention back to me and flicked the lighter on and off again.

  “Do you remember the two principal detectives in that case?” I asked. “DCI Brown and DS McLuckie?”

  “I remember Brown alright, but I wouldn’t have if he wasn’t in the papers right now,” Madden said. “I didn’t think there was much to him. Bit soft.”

  I pursed my lips in surprise. That wasn’t how I remembered Brown at all, and I doubted anyone else who’d ever met the DCI would agree with Madden, either.

  “Now, DS McLuckie,” the old man mused. “That’s a bit more difficult. What did he look like again?”

  “He would have been in his late twenties at the time,” I said. “He had a beard and--” I struggled to visualize McLuckie’s face.

  “He was about the same height as you, Mr. Madden, and he had cropped dark hair, sometimes wore glasses,” Harding finished as she knotted her hands together.

  “Oh, I remember him, alright,” Madden groaned. “He was an opinionated eejit. Very headstrong.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harding smile.

  “He and the man in charge--” Madden said.

  “Brown,” I cut in because I thought CC Brown deserved that much.

  “Aye, Brown,” the investigator said. “He and the young’un were always arguing about how to handle the suspects and what to ask them. I remember Brown always acting very by the book, and the young man, well… less so. It seemed very obvious to me why Brown was like that. He was always receiving calls from the higher powers, and I tell you what, he looked more nervous talking to them than he ever did in Kennedy’s company.”

  I remembered in a sudden flash that Brown had been promoted three weeks after the case was closed. And not long after that, McLuckie was sent down to Complaints.

  “What did they disagree on?” I asked and watched my partner discreetly make notes in her book.

  “Oh, Christ,” the man replied. “What didn’t they disagree on? Anything under the sun. But I would say, most of their arguments started around whether Kennedy was guilty or not.”

  “What?” I asked, taken aback. “How so?”

  “McLuckie wasn’t so sure that Kennedy had acted alone,” Mr. Madden explained. “Kennedy was a weak man, only around 5’7, and skinny like a child. McLuckie didn’t think Kennedy could overpower the women, and none of the victims had any defensive wounds. There were no signs of forced entry into the houses, either.”

  “Couldn’t Kennedy have threatened the victims with a weapon?” I asked.

  “Maybe,” the investigator said. “McLuckie asked him about it over and over in interviews, but he never admitted to having a weapon. He said he didn’t need one.”

  “Did you agree with McLuckie’s theory?” I asked.

  I remembered how Harding described the DNA found at the victim’s house. Some had matched Kennedy, but there was more that had never been matched to anyone.

  Madden shrugged his skeletal shoulders.

  “I didn’t see a shred of actual proof to suggest an accomplice,” he admitted. “But that wasn’t part of my brief. I just had to follow Kennedy and gather information. But, there was something odd…”

  Madden’s voice had trailed away, and I realised he enjoyed being at the center of the case again, even if it was only for a short while.

  “What was that?” I encouraged the older man.

  “Brown wouldn’t hear out any of McLuckie’s theories,” the investigator continued. “Brown kept saying ‘I just want this case over,’ but I think what he really meant was, they wanted the case over. His bosses, I mean. The public was terrified, and they really wanted it wrapped up. Brown would call me day and night. It was irritating. Just because he worked all hours didn’t mean that I did.”

  I smiled in recognition. Brown had always been that way.

  “There was an awful lot of media attention buzzing around us,” Madden added. “Three beautiful young women killed by the same man? And a taunting, Jack the Ripper style murderer? Oh, aye, the press were all over us.”

  “Did McLuckie ever share his suspicions with you?” I asked.

  “We didn’t exactly socialise, and the kid was half my age,” he said and shrugged. “Alright, more than half.”

  “But you must have been curious?” I pressed. “A good investigator like you would have wondered.”

  I heard my partner snort, but when Madden and I looked in her direction, she waved a hand in front of her face.

  “Sorry,” Harding said. “Just some dust.”

  Madden scowled at her, but then he cocked his head in thought when he turned back to me.

  “Now that you mention it, we did have a drink together once,” he said.

  “Oh?” I asked as my heart thumped.

  “It wasn’t planned or anything,” Madden said. “We’d just bumped into each other one night in the pub. Both of us were drinking alone on a weekday evening. He bought me a pint. I was surprised that a young man like that was a solitary drinker, but I guess you can never really understand a person.”

  “True enough,” I agreed.

  “Especially not with this generation,” Madden added with a nod towards my partner.

  Maddy rolled her eyes, but Madden didn’t catch it.

  “Now, let me think,” he mused and rubbed his chin slowly. “It was the day Mr. Kennedy was charged. That I remember very clearly because I’d been given the last half of my paycheck.”

  “Ah, yes,” I said when Madden’s silence dragged on.

  “Terrible business,” Madden went on. “Dangling a man’s money over him like a carrot. But it’s the way it’s always been done.”

  “But you did okay,” I said as I looked around the room, though what I really wanted was to shake the story out of the man.

  “That I did,” he agreed with a nod.

  “So… this theory,” I prodded.

  “McLuckie looked so morose, sucking down his lager like it was mother's milk,” Madden replied. “I told him to cheer up, told him that he’d put away a very bad man when half the city was breathing down his neck. Everyone was applauding them. But he was having none of it.”

  I tugged my sweaty shirt collar away from my neck. I wasn’t sure if the temperature had risen further, or if just I was warm with excitement. I looked at Harding, and I noticed a bead of sweat drop from her jawline. So maybe it had gotten hotter.

  “It all came out, then,” the old investigator continued. “He said he wasn’t sleeping because of the guilt. He asked me if I’d ever had doubts about the criminals I’d helped put away. That made me uncomfortable, see, because I’ve always found it’s better off not to think about it, and I told him that much. But he talked like I wasn’t even there. His eyes had gone mad.”

  At this point, I wondered if Madden had become carried away with his own story. For a man who couldn’t recall socialising with McLuckie, he could certainly remember a lot of small details.

  “I tried to calm him down,” Madden said. “I told him there was nothing he could do, and even if by some stretch of a miracle he was right, and there was another man involved, Kennedy was a bad guy. We’d got his DNA, for Christ’s sake. And have you seen his record? Even if he was framed for that murder, he would have committed a terrible crime eventually. McLuckie couldn’t understand that at all. He said that due process hadn’t been honoured. Then he said ‘I can do something. I can reopen the investigation.’”

  The man shook his head and emitted a creaky whistle of air. Harding scribbled furiously in her notebook, but Madden hadn’t seemed to notice, too wrapped up in the drama of his own story. I watched the little flame spark fr
om his lighter. On. Off.

  “That shocked me, it did,” he continued. “And I knew his boss wouldn’t go for it, the amount of times he’d rushed me for reports? There was no way! McLuckie asked my help to look into two of Kennedy’s friends I’d seen him with a lot. I would have agreed because I felt sorry for the lad, and he was so worked up. But then McLuckie said he couldn’t pay me. That he wasn’t allowed to authorise funds for an investigator. That insulted me, it did. I wasn’t a bloody charity case. So I said no and left him sitting alone with the dregs of his beer.”

  Madden shrugged. Harding gripped onto the cushion in her lap, and I saw that her eyes were shiny with tears. I wondered if she was picturing McLuckie like I was, guilty, scared, all alone, and unable to talk to anyone.

  “And then Kennedy was killed, the trial didn’t happen, and I never saw McLuckie again,” Madden said and frowned. “But he was a good lad and a good cop. It’s an awful thing that happened to him.”

  I pushed my damp hair back and considered what he’d told us. Was it really possible that Brown, of all people, had shut the case because of pressure from on high? Had McLuckie been right, and another killer had been walking free all this time? But why wait all this time to strike, and why strike out against the men who had arrested Kennedy?

  “Do you remember which friends he was referring to?” I asked

  “Oh, no,” he said and shook his head sadly. “You’re talking to an old man here. All I remember is Kennedy worked with one of them, and I only know that because I tailed him a lot.”

  I felt my eagerness begin to deflate like an old balloon.

  “Can you remember what they looked like at all?” I asked. “Any information would be helpful.”

  The old man scrunched up his eyes, then he exhaled loudly, as though the act of trying to recall information was physically taxing.

  “Blond hair, taller than Kennedy, maybe,” he said. “I’m sorry, investigator, I wasn’t focused on the friends so I didn’t remember their faces.”

  “Would you happen to have the case report around here?” I asked. “It would be so helpful to look at.”

  I looked at the cluttered room and just knew that the file had to be here somewhere. Madden must have kept every scrap of paper from every case he’d ever worked.

  “Sorry, pal, I stopped keeping my cases about five years ago,” he confessed. “Didn’t want them to fall in the wrong hands.”

  I gestured at the piles of papers, and Madden waved a dismissive hand.

  “These are all so old, they're of no interest to anybody,” he lamented and then smiled sadly. “Like me, I suppose. Anyway, these past cases are more interesting because I couldn’t use the internet to help.”

  Madden looked at my partner like the internet was all her fault.

  “It’s too easy now,” he grumbled. “There’s no fun in it.”

  I wiped my damp forehead and wondered how I could track down Kennedy’s old friends. And maybe a killer who had escaped once before.

  Chapter 9

  There were three loud knocks on the door, and everyone in the living room jumped. Madden started to shuffle towards the door, but I scrambled to my feet and managed to reach the door before him. It had been a policeman’s knock, but that didn’t mean one of Kennedy’s old friends couldn’t be standing on the other side.

  “Inspector,” the two uniforms greeted me.

  It was the protection detail I’d set up for Mr. Madden, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Thanks for coming so quickly, lads,” I said and smiled.

  “Oh, Christ,” Madden grunted. “Is this a raid?”

  “No, sir,” Harding said. “They’re here to keep an eye on you.”

  I winced at her word usage, and as I could have predicted, Madden exploded.

  “Keep an eye!” he shouted. “I’m not a wee’un, young lady.”

  I didn’t have to look at my partner to know she had blushed a deep shade of red.

  “We know you’re a very capable man,” I reassured Madden. “It’s just a precautionary measure until this case is over.”

  “Why would anyone be interested in me?” he asked.

  “Well...” I hemmed as I looked at my partner.

  She gave an imperceptible shake of her head. I didn’t want to scare the old man, but I also needed him to take the protection seriously.

  “We have reason to suspect that anyone involved in the old Kennedy case could be a target now,” I explained.

  “So you’re hiding the junior officers, too?” he asked with a thick layer of skepticism. “The prosecution?”

  “Yes,” I lied. “It’s just a safety measure, sir. Nothing to worry about.”

  The old investigator scowled.

  “And how long would these little boys be hanging around me for?” he asked.

  I shot a look at the sergeants. They didn’t look that much younger than me. To their credit, their faces didn’t betray a flicker of resentment.

  “Not long, sir,” the short one said. “And we promise we’ll stay out of your hair.”

  My gaze inched towards Madden’s bald head, and I hoped he wouldn’t take it as an insult.

  “You won’t even know we’re here,” the other officer said with confidence.

  “We’ll see about that,” Madden muttered. “Fine! I can tell I’m not winning this row anyway.”

  “No, sir, that wouldn’t be wise,” I said and smiled. “We all have guns.”

  The officers quickly hid their grins as Madden returned to his living room. I signalled to my partner, and she stood up gratefully. She found her shoes, slipped them back on, and then we left the two sergeants with their charge.

  Maddy Harding didn’t say a word as we climbed back down the garden stairs. It was a relief to be out in the fresh air again after the suffocating heat of Madden’s living room and the ghoulish decorations on his wall, which had left me unable to forget the victims’ names.

  I guessed Harding was upset that the old investigator had taken such a dislike to her, and so I let her stew in silence. She would share her own feelings soon enough, and sure enough, she exploded as soon as she had shut the car door.

  “What a disgustingly creepy old man,” she declared in an angry voice.

  “Yes,” I agreed. “A strange kettle of fish.”

  I put my keys into the ignition but didn’t turn it on, as I knew Harding needed to clear her chest.

  “It’s not just that,” she pressed. “It was the dismissiveness, how he looked straight through me but played the old pal act with you.”

  I noted her British accent had sharpened, and she sounded exactly like the wealthy Southerner she was.

  “He was just a…” she said as she struggled to find the correct word to convey her outrage. “A sexist old fool.”

  In the mirror, I watched a car drive past us. It was a cherry-red Audi, and the driver never even looked at us. The car continued to the next road and made a right hand turn.

  My partner must have noticed something questionable in my expression, because she then glared at me.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “Nothing,” I said and sighed.

  Another car slowed down beside us. A yellow Fiat with an older woman behind the wheel. I was rather amazed at how many cars had suddenly appeared on the street, but perhaps the neighbours were driving by to take a look at Madden’s house and the police car parked in front.

  “Did you agree with his behaviour?” she snarled.

  “Christ, no.” I protested. “Of course not. But…”

  My partner groaned in response, and I shook my head.

  “No, hear me out first,” I said. “I’m not trying to justify his stupid prejudices and rude behaviour. But you need to learn how to deal with witnesses like that. What if you’d been on your own? Do you think he would have told you anything?”

  Harding huffed and folded her hands across her chest, but after a few moments, she slowly shook her head.

 
“I know it’s not fair that you’d even need to put up with that sort of behaviour,” I said. “But there are always going to be people with those attitudes, and if you want to be a great cop, you need to manipulate it, rather than take it personally.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” she said.

  “True,” I agreed. “But I’ve had my fair share of rudeness. And you know what the secret is?”

  Despite herself, she eyed me curiously.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Just pretend you like them,” I said. “Pretend like they’re your friend, and they need somebody to talk to. You have to be as interested as if your real friend was having an emergency.”

  “That’s all it takes?” Harding asked in amazement.

  “Well, in basic practice, yes,” I said. “The theory is a little more complicated, of course. But people just want to think they’re in a safe pair of hands. And whatever you do, don’t show your true feelings. You can buy a punching bag if you need one, to help you vent your real feelings later.”

  Harding looked out the window at the tidy house across the street, and I could see she was giving serious consideration to what I’d said.

  “Okay,” she said. “That makes sense.”

  I turned on the ignition and felt a surge of relief that she’d calmed down so quickly.

  “He gave me the creeps,” the brunette said again.

  “The clippings?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she replied. “But it’s more than that. The whole flat was consumed with either victims or criminals. Like he said, it was full of ghosts.”

  “I’m not sure how much we can trust a man who lives so fully in the past,” I murmured as we drove past Holyrod Park.

  Harding didn’t respond, so I glanced at her and saw she was watching a children’s football match in the park. A boy scored and thrusted his hands up into the air like a professional. The rest of the team threw themselves on his small body.

  “What did you think anyway?” I asked. “You knew McLuckie better than me, does that behaviour seem like him?”