Blue Vengenance: A Logan Thorne DCI Scottish Detective Thriller

by Duncan Wallace

“Yes,” Harding agreed straight away. “He was very principled and a big believer of appropriate justice.”

  “Appropriate?” I asked.

  “In terms of the severity of the crime, and how many people are affected by it,” the brunette explained. “He didn’t buy into strict sentences for drug offenders when the pharmaceutical companies always get off scot-free. That sort of thing.”

  “You agree with that, do you?” I asked and eyed her.

  “I do,” my partner replied. “Don’t you?”

  “Ahh, I don’t mix work and politics,” I said. “Church and state, keep it separate.”

  I clipped my phone into the cradle attached to the air vent and plugged it in to charge.

  “Do you know why he ended up in Complaints?” I asked.

  “He didn’t talk about it,” she replied. “He once claimed the move was stress-related. He said he wasn’t feeling strong enough for Serious Crimes anymore. But I didn’t believe it.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “He loved the job,” Harding said and shrugged. “You could see it in his face when he talked about work. There’s no way he voluntarily moved departments. Actually, he reminds me of you in that way, sir.”

  “That’s a compliment, Maddy,” I said and smiled. “Thanks.”

  I was about to ask Harding to find out where Kennedy had worked before his arrest when Stacey’s name flashed on my phone.

  I bit my lip and looked at my partner.

  “Go ahead,” she said. “I won’t listen.”

  “Yeah, right,” I mumbled.

  Stacey’s smooth, buttery voice filled up the car, and I felt the stress of recent days fall away.

  “Logan?” she asked, and I detected the anxiety in her tone.

  “I’m fine,” I reassured her as I knew what this call was about. We didn’t often speak during the week except for night time texts, so I guessed she had followed local news.

  “Are you working on this case?” she asked.

  I hesitated and wondered if it was kinder to lie and say no.

  “Yes,” I admitted. “But it’s completely fine. I won’t take any risks.”

  “Are you carrying around, you know,” she paused. “Protection?”

  I stifled a laugh. Stacey hated guns, and especially hated that I had shot one before. She must really have been worried about me to ask.

  “Yes, but I don’t think we’ll need it,” I soothed. “It’ll be over soon. I’ll make it up to you.”

  I heard a lightness enter my voice, the kind of gentleness only Stacey could bring out in me. But I still kept my eyes firmly on the road and away from Harding’s expression.

  “Just be careful,” Stacey pressed. “Please.”

  I hung up and hoped Stacey wouldn’t hear about the hit-and-run from the night before. I’d never hear the end of it if she did. I snuck a peek at my British DS, then, and I saw that she was carefully examining her nails. It all seemed a little too casual.

  “What?” I asked defensively.

  “I didn’t say anything!” she protested.

  “I know you’re thinking something,” I said. “You’re practically screaming it.”

  “Honestly, it’s nothing,” she said with a shrug. “I just think it’s nice you’ve got someone to worry about you.”

  “That’s not all you’re thinking,” I grumbled.

  “Okay,” Harding conceded. “There was something else. I just wasn’t aware you had such a soft side.”

  She grinned, and I gripped the wheel tighter.

  “Make sure to keep that quiet,” I warned.

  “Right,” Harding said as she rolled her eyes. “God forbid your macho reputation be tainted.

  “Can you please do something useful and find out about Kennedy's old workplace?” I asked with a sigh.

  “I can do that,” the brunette agreed.

  My partner tapped away at her phone, and I turned my attention to the road. I checked every lot and road we passed for a green Toyota, but all I saw was a silver Prius and a blue hatchback that was at least as old as my partner. I felt starved for answers, and yet all I seemed to find were more questions. Usually, at this point in the investigation, I’d have a couple of solid leads under my belt. Right then, all I felt was that I had a lot of near misses with vehicles.

  “Sir,” Harding said as I pulled into the station car park. “Before his arrest, Kennedy worked at The Caledonian.”

  Our eyes met for a moment, and then I jumped as a curled hand tapped on my window. I looked around and then groaned.

  “Who is that?” Harding asked.

  “Jack O’Connell,” I complained.

  She furrowed her eyebrows in thought.

  “That stoner kid?” she asked.

  Jack grinned and waved through the glass. I rolled the window down, and he thrust his cheerful face close to mine.

  “Who's your friend?” he asked with a smile.

  “This is my partner, DS Harding,” I replied.

  “Oh, partner?” Jack asked as his face fell.

  “Erm, no, Jack,” I said and bit back a smile. “Work partner.”

  “Oh!” he brightened.

  I felt Harding’s elbow in my ribs. She started to open the car door, but I put my hand on her wrist.

  “Hang on,” I muttered. “He’s a talker. I don’t want him to get carried away.”

  I turned back to the boy.

  “What can I do for you, Jack?” I asked.

  “It’s more that I can do something for you,” he said.

  “Oh?” I inquired.

  “Mr. Greenburg was in the shop after you this morning,” Jack said with a mischievous smile. “He said that you’re no IT grunt. You’re a cop.”

  I groaned internally at Mr. Greenburg’s meddling.

  “Sorry, Jack,” I said. “I didn’t want you to think I’d report you for smoking.”

  “Oh, that,” Jack said and waved dismissively. “That’s barely illegal.”

  “Well, actually…” Harding cut in.

  I shook my head at her.

  “I said to Mr. Greenberg that I’d suspected as much,” Jack said. “You were asking far too many questions for a tech guy.”

  “Well, good for you,” I replied. “You caught me.”

  “So anyways,” Jack carried on. “It turns out my friend Sarah was filming last night. She’s an online content curator, and so she’s always got her phone out.”

  “What the hell is an online content curator?” I interrupted.

  Jack frowned at me.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked.

  “Not exactly...” I replied with a frown of my own.

  “You definitely couldn’t pass as an IT guy,” Jack snickered.

  Harding snorted as well, and I gave her a quick glare.

  “What does this online curating have to do with me?” I finally asked.

  “She was filming that night, and so, Sarah caught that car speeding away,” Jack said in triumph. “She said she can send you the footage.”

  “Do you know if she caught the reg plates?” I asked.

  “No idea,” Jack said as he shrugged. “She’s into edgy, unfocused shots. It might be blurry.”

  “Right,” I said as I tried to puzzle out what anyone would want with edgy, unfocused shots. “Well, that’s great.”

  I was beginning to realise this Toyota might not be the lead I wanted, and I wondered if I should spend any more time on it.

  “Do you want my number?” I finally asked Jack when he didn’t move away from the car.

  “Can do,” he replied. “Or DS Harding’s number would do? You’re probably too busy to examine videos.”

  I swallowed a laugh.

  “Sure,” I replied. “DS Harding, give the boy your card.”

  My partner glared at me while Jack leaned against the car and grinned happily, none the wiser. Harding dug through her bag and finally handed the boy a card, one that looked like it had been crumpled up at some point. J
ack didn’t seem to care. He read the number, then he smiled at us before he slouched back across the lot.

  With the barista gone, it was safe to step out of the car. Harding grumbled all the way through reception, the lift, and up to CID. I tried to ignore her, but I could feel her eyes drilling into my skull.

  “I’ll never be able to get rid of that kid now, sir,” she complained.

  “Rubbish,” I said. “He’ll stop bothering you eventually.”

  “And when will that be?” the brunette asked as we navigated the desks in The Pit. “I’ll never be able to visit that shop again.”

  Her phone beeped, and she took it out.

  “Look at this!” she groaned. “It’s already starting.”

  “It was great to meet you xx,” I read aloud from the screen. “Does he think that was a date?”

  It beeped again.

  “This is Jack O’Connell by the way,” Harding read aloud. “We just met out in the parking lot.”

  “Ah, smart boy,” I said.

  “Like I could forget,” she muttered under her breath.

  I shushed her as DCI Richards walked towards us with a pastry in one hand and flecks of pastry on his chin.

  “Thorne,” he said and nodded at me. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

  “Ah, I’m pretty busy on a case,” I replied and shot a look at my brunette partner, but she was too busy glaring at her phone.

  “It’ll just be a minute,” Richards said and then brushed off his face.

  His fingers came away covered in pastry flakes, and he grinned sheepishly at me. I tried not to seem too disgusted.

  “Okay,” I said in reluctance and touched the corner of my eye.

  Richards ushered me into his office. I’d managed to avoid the place so far, since I preferred to meet with him on neutral ground, like the staff room. So it was like stepping onto foreign soil for the first time when I crossed the threshold.

  Unlike mine, Richards’ office was cluttered with personal items. His wife and three children grinned at me from the back of a steam train and at the poolside of a water park. There were also stilted, black and white photographs of a man and woman I assumed to be Richards' parents. They didn’t smile, though his mother came close in a photo taken atop Edinburgh castle.

  Richards offered me his smooth green leather guest chair. It looked expensive, but pieces of the leather had been picked away, and I had a vague memory that it once sat in the CC’s office before he’d redecorated. I declined since I didn’t want to waste any more time than necessary on whatever Richards had to say.

  “So what can I do for you?” I asked him.

  “It’s this business with the ACC...” Richards' voice trailed off and he fidgeted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “Right,” I said, and I hoped my face remained impassive.

  “I was hoping I could count on your support, Logan,” the DCI stated as he slipped his blazer off.

  His shirt was ringed with sweat around the armpits despite the fact that there was barely any heat in the building, yet another victim of budget cuts. Was Richards ill? I looked closer at his quivering face, which was as pink as the sausage in his roll. The man was the same age as me, but he looked ten years my senior.

  “Support for what?” I asked. I knew exactly what he was talking about, but I wanted my fellow DCI to say the words.

  Richards flushed and fiddled with a paperclip.

  “I want the job,” he stated. “Clarke’s job.”

  “Clarke hasn’t been confirmed yet,” I reminded him. “There might be no ladder rung for you to climb up.”

  There were several other ACC’s in running for the top spot, but everyone seemed to forget that.

  “But she will,” the DCI protested. “The bosses want a woman in so they can tick that particular box.”

  “You mean, Clarke is a diversity quota rather than a deserving candidate?” I said and raised an eyebrow.

  I hated these old school detectives, who still questioned women being in charge. I’d once seen Richards buy Clarke a half pint in the pub without asking. Thankfully, their prehistoric attitudes usually meant they’d be floundering in the bottom of management until retirement.

  “No, I didn’t mean that, I just,” Richards floundered as his pink face deepened to the colour of gammon. “She’s very deserving, but it helps her case that she’s a… you know.”

  I decided to let him off the hook. Besides, I couldn’t stand his squirming anymore.

  “A woman,” I said. “Right. Well, DCI Richards, I would, of course, be happy to support your claim. Sort of. But let’s just see how things go first, shall we? There’s no need to jump the gun.”

  “Oh, of course,” he said and frowned in confusion.

  I could see that he wasn’t sure if I was on his side or not. Richards glanced at the photo of his family and seemed to find strength there. He straightened his spine and finally looked me in the eyes.

  “Does that mean that you will--” he started to ask.

  “Sorry, DCI Richards, I really need to get cracking,” I cut in as I turned back to the door.

  I darted away before he could ask anything else and made my way back to my office. I found Harding settled into her usual spot with her phone in one hand and a cup of water in the other.

  “Nice chat?” she asked as I walked in, her voice laden with sarcasm.

  “Aye, very useful and not a waste of time, at all,” I muttered.

  “So, I’ve got the footage from O’Connell’s friend,” the brunette said.

  “Already?” I asked. “That was quick.”

  “I know,” she admitted. “I think he’s trying to impress me.”

  “Can I see it?” I asked.

  Harding got up from her chair so I could sit down at her computer screen. She leaned over me to double-click an email attachment.

  The quality of the video wasn’t grainy like I’d expected. In fact, it was as crystal clear as a blockbuster film. Jack appeared on the screen, grinning, a fat cigarette clutched between his thumb and forefinger that I chose not to examine closely. There was an older man, too, in his late twenties, I guessed, who stared moodily into the distance. The camera zoomed in on his furrowed eyes.

  “Any chance we could move this along?” I asked Harding. “I’m not a fan of arthouse cinema.”

  She laughed and began to skip the video ahead. I watched the fast-forwarded images blur past, and then I saw a shot of the car park.

  “Wait!” I called out. “Stop there.”

  I leaned in to the screen. There was the edge of the car park, but all the spaces were empty. Two street lamps lit up the darkness. Then, a car backed into the frame and one of the empty spaces. I saw the red brake lights glow once, and then the vehicle shot off as the wheels skidded loudly on the wet tarmac.

  And that was it for the car. The camera tilted towards the floor, and the final shot was of a large puddle.

  “I knew this was a dead end,” I groaned.

  “What do you mean, sir?” Harding asked in surprise. “We’ve got something to go on.”

  I skipped the video back and paused on the still of a puddle.

  “Look,” I said,l and pointed at the screen. “It’s not raining.”

  “But--” the brunette started to protest.

  “It only stopped raining after the attack, when we were with the body,” I reminded her. “Remember?”

  My partner rubbed her eyes.

  “So this was after the murder,” she conceded.

  “Yes,” I said and sat back in the chair. “But we still need to look into this car.”

  “I’ve already forwarded the footage to my friend in Transport,” Harding said.

  “Good,” I said. “Okay, while we’re waiting, we need to follow up on McLuckie’s theories about--”

  A tap on the door interrupted me, and before I could respond, Clarke stepped into the room.

  “What’s the point in knocking if you’re just going to walk in?�
�� I grumbled.

  Clarke inhaled loudly while Harding stared at me.

  “Can you come into my office, Thorne?” the ACC asked between gritted teeth.

  I gestured at the papers, and at Harding, who alternated between both of our computers.

  “We’ve got a lot going on,” I hinted.

  “It wasn’t exactly a request,” she warned.

  “Why did you ask it, then?” I asked with an edge of sarcasm.

  Harding glared at me and then kicked my shin under the table.

  “I was just about to get a drink from the break room,” Clarke said as she tried for something more amiable. “You haven’t stopped needing water, have you?”

  “Not quite,” I muttered.

  Harding kicked me again, and so I stood up and followed the ACC from my office. I stopped in the doorway and mimed for Harding to continue working, and I ignored the anxious look on my partner’s face.

  Thankfully, the officers in The Pit ignored us as I trailed after my boss. They seemed far too distracted by a fantasy football sweepstakes bet, but following a sharp look from Clarke, the PC clutching the paper shoved it into his desk drawer and bent over his keyboard.

  The redhead closed the break room door behind us. Inside, it stank of sweat and old lunches, and a loose tap dripped slowly in the corner. I folded my arms as she walked to the vending machine, and she pretended to study it.

  “Lucozade?” she asked.

  I nodded and then noticed her smile.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I’m just glad I can still recognise a little bit of you.”

  “I’m not the one who has changed,” I pointed out.

  “No?” she asked as she made the selection and scanned her contactless card.

  “I’m surprised you still have to pay,” I said.

  “I have to at least pretend I’m one of you,” she joked.

  She turned to face me, and she seemed pleased for a moment. Our eyes met, and I could still feel the tension between us, though the ACC tried to smile.

  “Here you go,” she said as she handed me the Lucozade.

  “Thanks,” I said. “Aren’t you having one?”

  “I have a fridge in my office,” she confessed.

  I smirked.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” I said as I shook my head.

  “So,” the redhead started. “I thought you could provide your superior with an update.”