Blue Vengenance: A Logan Thorne DCI Scottish Detective Thriller

by Duncan Wallace

  “Locally?” she asked.

  “Not quite,” I conceded.

  “There you go,” the brunette said. “We’ve got cause to bring him in. I can’t believe we haven’t done it sooner.”

  “I wanted to give Andrew and Grant enough time to contact each other,” I said. “I want them to make a mistake so I can use it against them.”

  “Sir…” Harding started to say. “I don’t think we have a choice.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I sighed as I glanced at my phone and saw there was nothing from Scott. “Okay, here’s what you do. You ring Andrew’s phone, and ask him to come down to the station. Act casual.”

  “And when he asks why?” the brunette wondered.

  “Tell him it’s a routine matter,” I said. “And that we just need to ask him some questions regarding a recent crime in the area.”

  “Think he’ll believe it?” Harding asked.

  “Yes, as long as you sell it,” I said. “No, hang on, say the crime happened near his home. If we say it happened near this office block, he might start asking his colleagues if they’re being questioned, too.”

  “Right,” she nodded.

  “Okay,” I explained. “You should go outside and ring him, as if you’re standing on his street right now.”

  “Good thinking,” she said and made to get out of the car.

  “Harding!” I called. “Remind Cooper he’s not being cautioned, and this is entirely voluntarily. We don’t want him to bring in a solicitor and hide behind ‘no comment’ all evening.”

  I waited in the car while Harding climbed out and found a relatively quiet spot to make the call. My fingertips jittered impatiently on the dashboard as I watched her talk, so I turned on the radio to distract myself. The 4 p.m. news was on, and the reporter began with ‘Local police are still bewildered by a recent spate of…’ I quickly shut it off before I heard anything else and watched my partner walk back to the car.

  “Okay,” Harding started to say as she slid back into her seat. “We’re on.”

  “Did he buy it?” I asked.

  “I think so,” she replied. “We’ll see in a minute.”

  She nodded at the The Caledonian’s oak double doors. We waited in silence for several minutes but the doors remained resolutely shut.

  “Did you tell him it was urgent?” I asked.

  “I said he should come right away,” the brunette replied.

  I sighed and examined the street. The buildings were Georgian, in classic Old Town style, making the drab newspaper offices look out of place.

  “Sir!” Harding called out and interrupted my day-dreaming. “There he is.”

  Sure enough, Andrew Cooper hurried out of the doors, and I squinted at his face. He looked nervous, a little out of breath, and his restless hands played with his tie. But that could be general anxiety at being summoned to a police station. It didn’t always point to guilt.

  “We need to beat him to the station,” the dark-haired Brit warned me.

  “Please,” I said and rolled my eyes. “That’s the easy part.”

  I called up our department on the race back to the station.

  “CID,” the voice greeted.

  “Whose that?” I asked.

  “PC Bain speaking,” the cop responded.

  “This is DCI Thorne,” I said. “I need a favour.”

  “Sir?” he asked.

  “A civvie is going to arrive soon, and he’ll ask for DS Harding,” I explained. “Andrew Cooper. I need you to get a couple of photos of CC Brown and DS McLuckie, and tack them to the corkboard opposite the waiting area. And when Cooper comes up, ask him to sit down there.”

  There was silence on the other end.

  “And then inform me he’s arrived,” I said.

  “Right, no problem,” the copper replied.

  “Good,” I said. “You’ve got about ten minutes.”

  “Has that worked before?” Harding asked after I’d hung up.

  “Yes,” I said as I drove through winding side streets. “We suspected a teacher had abducted one of his students, so we put missing posters all over the school. He confessed and said he couldn’t bear seeing the face all the time.”

  “Wow,” Harding replied and warmed her hands next to the little radiator. “Let’s hope this is as simple.”

  We’d only just made it up to CID, and into the break room before the PC poked his head round the door. Harding and I were still gulping air, and the PC gave us a concerned look.

  “Sir?” he asked. “There’s an Andrew Cooper here?”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Tell him I’ll just be a minute. You remember what to do?”

  The PC nodded and left, and Harding walked towards the door a moment later.

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Erm,” she said, hesitant. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “Let him sweat for a minute,” I said. “I want him to get a good look.”

  Harding nodded and pulled out her phone to check her messages.

  I studied the vending machines several times, and then I signalled Harding to return to The Pit while I walked slowly towards the reception area.

  I found Andrew Cooper fidgeting nervously on his chair and with his eyes locked on his knees. I walked over to him, and he looked at my shoes for a moment before lifting his head.

  “Mr. Cooper?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  Andrew Cooper had a rounded, puppy-ish face that I could imagine bursting into tears quite easily. His dark hair was shaved, and he had a sour complexion which made him look ill.

  “I’m DCI Thorne,” I said. “Do you want to come with me? There’s a room available.”

  “Thorne?” he asked. “I spoke to DS Harding on the phone.”

  “I’m taking over from her,” I told him. “I run this department.”

  I saw him frown as confusion rippled across his features. He wore the type of heavy aftershave more suited to an adolescent, and when he stood up, I noticed his bulky frame and the shirt which clung to his stomach.

  “Thanks for coming in so quickly,” I said as I led him across The Pit and into a narrow, cold corridor where the interrogation rooms were.

  “No problem,” Cooper said. “What happened on my street? I haven’t heard a word about it.”

  “Oh, right,” I replied. “That was a mix-up. We’re not here to discuss that.”

  “Okay,” he said in an uncertain voice, and I wondered if that was that fear, or just plain nerves? “So what is this about?”

  “Let’s sit down first,” I said. “Then I’ll explain properly.”

  I opened a metal door into a room brightly lit by the afternoon sun, with a small patchwork sofa, and two large armchairs. A radio hummed softly in the corner. I let Cooper take a step inside before I corrected him.

  “Oh, sorry, Andrew,” I apologised. “Wrong room.”

  He looked back at me in surprise and then huffed and walked out.

  “We’re just down here,” I said.

  I led Cooper further down the corridor and opened a small door at the end.

  “Watch your head,” I offered. “The ceiling slopes.”

  I watched Andrew’s eyes dart around the room. It was a very different space from the previous one. It was much smaller and the LED panel lamps on the ceiling lit up the room in an unpleasant, washed-out yellow-colour. There were no windows with a view of the outside world, and no way to tell how much time had passed. I pointed Andrew towards the only furniture in the room, which was made up of a plastic table, a fold-up chair, and two cushioned seats. Andrew made a beeline for the more comfortable chair.

  “Oh, I need you on that one, I’m afraid,” I said and pointed to the folded chair. “It’s better for the recorder.”

  Cooper grumbled but sat down. I pulled the cushioned chair into his eyeline.

  “Just give me a minute, Andrew,” I said and made an apologetic face.

  I left the room and shut the door behin
d me. Harding was waiting in the corridor.

  “Okay, in about five minutes, I need you to bring me Cooper’s folder,” I told her.

  “But he doesn’t have one,” she said. “He has no criminal record.”

  “I know,” I said. “But we want him to think there is evidence against him. Create one, and make sure it’s thick.”

  “Sir?” the brunette asked.

  “When you whack it on the table, I want it to sound like bloody Game of Thrones,” I said.

  She smiled and then turned to leave.

  “Hang on,” I said. “Have you read it?”

  “No, sir,” she asked, surprised. “Have you?”

  “Nope,” I said and shook my head.

  “Okay, so... shall we talk about this later?” she asked again.

  “I just wanted to kill a few more seconds,” I explained. “Make sure Andrew is feeling worried.”

  I checked my watch.

  “Right, you can go now,” I said. “Come back in five minutes.”

  Harding tapped down the corridor, turned the corner, and vanished. Only then did I go back inside the room.

  Andrew was fidgeting on his plastic seat again. He rubbed the small of his back, and he tapped one foot impatiently against the hard concrete floor. I walked slowly across the room and pulled out my own chair. It scraped loudly on the floor, and I saw him wince at the sound. I just hoped he wouldn’t gather the presence of mind to ask for a solicitor before I had my answers.

  “Are you thirsty?” I asked. “Would you like a glass of water, or anything?”

  I could see his lips were cracked with thirst, but he still refused with a shake of his head. Interesting.

  “So, Andrew…” I began.

  “Andy,” he cut in.

  “You prefer Andy, do you?” I asked. “Okay, sorry.”

  “No problem,” he said and looked down at his hands.

  I wondered if he was picturing cuffs wrapped around his wrists like I was.

  “I’m just waiting for your file, then we can get on with the questions,” I said. “It won’t be long. Can’t get the staff these days.”

  Andrew tried to maintain eye contact with me, but I could tell it made him uncomfortable, so he returned his attention to his hands, as though something fascinating was on them.

  “How do you like it at the newspaper?” I asked. “I’ve heard you’re quite the journalist.”

  “Who told you that?” he asked as he frowned. “I haven’t had a byline yet.”

  “I know a couple of people there,” I said as I smiled. “They told me all about you.”

  I paused for a beat, and he looked at me suspiciously. Apparently, Andy didn’t believe anyone at his office would have anything nice to say about him.

  “It was all good things, of course,” I assured him.

  Andrew didn’t respond.

  “I used to want to be a journalist, you know,” I said in a cheerful tone. “Like you.”

  “I’m not a journalist,” he replied.

  “Oh, of course,” I apologised. “I forgot.”

  I noticed him shiver.

  “Are you cold, Andrew?” I asked in faux innocence.

  “Andy,” he muttered.

  “Sorry about the temperature,” I said. “The budget cuts have stripped us of heating.”

  There were two loud knocks at the door, and Andrew lifted his head curiously.

  “Come in,” I called out.

  Harding entered with a thick stack of files clutched to her chest. She walked over to the table, then paused and dropped the files dramatically. The loud noise shuddered through the room, and I noticed the quick spark of fear in Andrew’s eyes.

  “That’s my file?” he stammered. “What could be in it?”

  I sighed loudly and picked up the blank folder.

  “You know one of the main jobs of being a detective?” I asked him. “I’ll tell you, because you’ll never guess. Paperwork. Look at all this lot.”

  Silence.

  “Thank you, DS Harding,” I said, though I didn’t look at her.

  She crossed the room and left.

  “Should I have a solicitor?” he asked as he eyed the stack of files.

  I frowned and pretended to think.

  “You’re not under arrest, so I shouldn’t think one is needed at this time,” I replied in a casual voice.

  I caught Cooper’s gaze as he thought about my statement.

  “For now, at least,” I added.

  He froze like a captured rabbit.

  “Just a little joke, Andrew,” I chuckled.

  The lights flickered above us, and Cooper rubbed his eyes.

  “I’m getting a headache sitting here,” he complained.

  “We won’t be long,” I reassured him.

  “Okay,” I clicked the recorder. “The time is 16:30 on Tuesday, the 4th of October. Present is DCI Logan Thorne and…”

  Andrew just looked at me.

  “This is where you state your name,” I encouraged.

  “Oh,” he said. “Okay. Andy Cooper.”

  “We need your full name actually,” I said.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Andrew Cooper,” he wobbled.

  “And your date of birth?” I asked.

  “25th April, 1992,” he replied.

  “Great!” I said. “Let’s get started.”

  A clock ticked loudly above Cooper’s head. It had been my idea for the interrogation room, and I’d asked for the noisiest clock possible. Someone had found one that made a dull thunk every time one of the hands moved, and it was currently working its magic on Cooper. He jerked slightly every time the minute hand clonked.

  “And for the purposes of the tape, do you know why you’re here?” I asked.

  “No,” Cooper said, and blinked. “You haven’t told me yet.”

  “Surely you’ve worked it out by now,” I chided.

  “I really don’t know…” he protested.

  “Okay, fair enough,” I surrendered. “I just thought a journalist would have established that already.”

  “I’m not a journalist,” the dark-haired man muttered again.

  “Bit louder for the tape, please, Andrew,” I warned.

  He fell silent again.

  “So, let’s start with your relationship with Ralph Kennedy,” I said.

  Andrew looked taken aback, and his eyes darted towards the recorder.

  “Andrew?” I asked again.

  “I wouldn’t call it a relationship,” he replied.

  “Your friendship, then,” I offered instead.

  “We weren’t very close,” he said. “We just worked together.”

  I sighed, picked up the blank pieces of paper, and looked through them.

  “That’s not what it says here,” I admonished. “It says that you were one of Kennedy’s closest friends.”

  He cleared his throat again. “Well, it’s lying.”

  “Your computer records are lying?” I asked and raised an eyebrow. “That would be a first.”

  I flicked to another sheet.

  “Okay, yeah, we were mates,” he conceded. “But that was a long time ago.”

  “How long were you mates for?” I asked.

  Cooper’s pupils flickered to the right as he considered my question. It was a common tic that helped me establish a baseline for when he told the truth.

  “We started hanging out after I started at the paper,” he said. “So, six months, maybe?”

  “You were quite the trio,” I said. “At least, according to these reports.”

  “Trio?” Cooper blinked.

  “You, Kennedy, and Grant Gibson,” I said.

  He pursed his lips.“I haven’t seen Gibson since last year,” he insisted.

  “Really?” I asked and widened my eyes in shock. “That’s not what other people have said.”

  “Erm,” the young man hesitated. “No comment.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Andrew,”
I chided. “Do you want to play that game? You’re better than that, surely.”

  He sat in stony silence for a moment and refused to look at me.

  “Andy,” he finally whispered.

  “Sorry, I misspoke,” I said. “I didn’t mean other people, I meant, that’s what Grant told us.”

  “You…” Cooper stuttered. “You spoke to him?”

  “Just this afternoon,” I said and smiled. “He says hello.”

  Cooper’s mouth gaped open.

  “Why don’t you stop pretending that you’ve got nothing to do with him, because we both know it’s not true,” I warned. “Tell me about the murders committed by Ralph Kennedy.”

  “I didn’t have anything to do with those!” Cooper shrieked. “I didn’t know about it until he was arrested.”

  I frowned and clicked my pen up and down.

  “I didn’t say you were involved, Andrew,” I said. “I asked you what you knew about them.”

  “I wasn’t trying to say…” Cooper said as he chewed his nails. “But it’s a bit stressful in here, with the faulty lights and stuff.”

  “Right,” I said. “I'll get someone to look at those.”

  I waved at the large, black screen.

  “There’s someone in there?” he asked.

  “Someone?” I chuckled. “There’s quite a few people.”

  I could imagine Harding alone, watching this charade play out as she sat on the creaky, swivelling chair. I hoped she was taking notes.

  “So you were going to tell me what you know about the murders,” I encouraged.

  “Just what everyone else knows,” Cooper replied, biting at his nails further.

  “And what’s that?” I asked.

  “Well,” he started to say. “That Ralph broke into their homes and strangled them.”

  “By them, of course, you mean Lily Allsop, Nina George, and Sarah Dare.” I said, emphasising the names.

  Cooper blushed and looked down at the table.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Them.”

  “And that’s all you know?” I asked. “Just that your friend strangled those women?”

  Cooper shrugged in an attempt to seem nonchalant, but his shiny eyes told me another story.

  “I guess,” he whimpered.

  “How did you feel when you found out what he’d done?” I asked. “Surprised?”

  “Well, yeah,” Cooper replied in a confused voice. “Of course, I was.”