‘No, think about it: I pull a fast one at the handover, I keep the stuff but give them fake pills. Nick films it on his phone, so it all looks cool. See? We gave the guy the stuff, so it must be them what stole it, not us. We’re in the clear.’ Fowler bit his bottom lip. ‘All’s fair in love and dealing, right?’
‘All’s fair? Have you any idea what Reuben does to people who steal…’ Logan narrowed his eyes. Wait a minute: give the guy the stuff? The guy. Not Logan. Steven Fowler had no idea who he was. ‘What about this guy you were meant to deliver the package to?’
‘What about him? Probably some drug-dealing scumbag. Not like anyone’s going to miss him.’ Fowler raised his nose. ‘If you think about it, I’m doing society a favour.’
He didn’t have a clue.
‘Who is he: the guy who’s getting the package? Name?’
A shrug made the SOC suit crackle. ‘First parking spot, west of Portsoy, half two Tuesday morning is all I got. No names.’
The details were exactly the same as Urquhart had given him. Only Urquhart had trusted Logan with Stevie Fowler’s name.
He really didn’t know.
A smile crept across Logan’s face.
Fowler pulled his chin in and sat back. ‘What? What’s so funny?’
Maybe he could get away with this after all?
Harper sighed her way back into her seat. Clicked the button on the recording unit. ‘Interview recommences at one thirty-seven.’
Logan gave her a grin. ‘Mr Fowler would like to make a statement, wouldn’t you, Steven?’
He twisted his head to one side, shoulders up. The sideways quiff was developing a distinct droop. ‘Yeah.’
‘Just tell Detective Superintendent Harper what you told me.’
Fowler puffed his cheeks out, then nodded. ‘OK, here’s the thing…’
Harper stared down the corridor as Fowler was led back to the cells. Then she turned to Logan. ‘How did you do that?’
He closed the interview room door. ‘Got lucky, I suppose.’
‘No. I was only gone for six minutes and when I got back, there he was singing like a parakeet. You did the same thing with Martin Milne.’
‘You want to take a quick pop at McDowell too? Let him know Fowler’s trying to dob him in as the brains of the operation.’
Tiny creases appeared between her eyebrows. ‘Why are you still a sergeant?’
‘Say, fifteen minutes to grab something from the vending machines? Then I’ll get McDowell into number three.’
‘You should be a DI by now, at the very least. You’re three times the cop that wrinkly disaster is.’
Logan shrugged, then headed towards the stairs. ‘Tried being a DI once, didn’t like it. Either you’re a dick and make someone else do all your paperwork and rosters, or you’ve got sod-all time to do any investigating.’
She shook her head, following him up to the canteen. ‘You really do take after Dad, don’t you?’
‘No idea.’
38
Dark fields whipped past the Big Car’s windows, banks of grey snow lining the road.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Steel didn’t bother to stifle the yawn that made her head look like a flip-top bin. ‘Knackered.’
‘Well you should have gone home when I said, shouldn’t you?’ Logan pressed the button on his Airwave. ‘Sergeant McRae to Constable Nicholson, safe to talk?’
There was a pause, then, ‘Aye, aye, Sarge.’
‘How’s it going, Calamity?’
‘Like a grave. Not a creature is stirring, not even a druggy. Must be the weather.’
‘Good. Tufty behaving himself on his last night in nappies?’
‘He’s brought in fancy pieces. And I mean, really fancy.’
Steel thumped Logan on the arm. ‘Make sure they save some for us. I’m starving. Had nothing to eat but two packs of Wotsits and a Toffee Crisp since midnight.’
‘Wanted to check in and make sure everything was all right.’
‘Thanks, Dad.’
‘We’ll be back in time for threeses.’ He let go of the button.
The tarmac glittered with frost that flared in the headlights then disappeared back into the night.
Steel dug her hands into her armpits. ‘Have you got a deep-fat fryer back at the house?’
‘No.’
‘Chip pan?’
‘No.’
‘What kind of Scotsman are you?’
More fields.
They drifted through the limits at Crudie, dropping to fifty. Not that there was much of it: the place was little more than a scattering of houses spread out along the road. If it weren’t for the dirty big signs at either end with ‘CRUDIE ~ PLEASE DRIVE CAREFULLY’ on them you’d barely know it was there.
Logan glanced across the car. ‘I saw the interview, by the way. You and Jack Wallace.’
‘Oh aye?’
‘Seemed like a lovely man. You know, apart from all the sexual assaults and treating women like they’re punchbags.’
‘Wallace is a prince all right.’ She shook her head. Then turned and stared at Logan. ‘You’re Napier’s bitch now, aren’t you?’
‘Well what did you want me to do, refuse to help him? That wouldn’t look suspicious, would it? At least this way I’m on the inside, I can … finesse things.’
She slid further down in her seat, then plonked both feet up on the dashboard. ‘Blah, blah, blah.’
‘Look, Napier says he’d be just as happy exonerating you. And it’s not like you actually did anything, is it?’
No reply.
Logan glanced at her again. ‘Did you?’
‘Course I didn’t.’ She pursed her lips and hummed for bit. ‘Once upon a time, in the fabled granite city of Aberdeen, there lived a man named Jack Wallace. Now Jack Wallace wasn’t a very nice man, in fact he was a complete and utter bastard. He liked to attack women, beat, and rape them. It made him feel big and clever.’ Steel turned her face to the window. ‘One sunny evening in May, Wallace drugged and raped a seventeen-year-old girl called Rosalyn Cooper. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he filmed it on his phone and used it to blackmail her into a “relationship”.’ Steel made quote marks with her fingers. ‘So he could keep on raping and battering her without having to bother shelling out for drugs.’
Logan tightened his grip on the steering wheel. ‘He filmed it?’
‘Now Rosalyn thought her mother and father would blame her for the attack, and they would throw her out of the house and never speak to her again. And Wallace told her everyone would call her a slut and a whore and she’d never get a job or any friends ever again. And she was so scared and traumatized, she actually believed him.’
Steel dug out her e-cigarette and took a long slow drag, setting the tip glowing bright blue. ‘Then one day, a brave knight rode in on a big white horse with a sharny arse, and she said, “Come on, Rosalyn, you’re no’ to blame here. It’s that scumbag Wallace who’s at fault. We’ll do him for rape and make sure he gets locked away for years and years and years.” But Rosalyn was too scared to press charges, because if she did it would all come out and her parents would know and they’d never love her again. And the brave knight told her they could get round that. They could make it work. But she was too scared.’
‘What happened?’
Steel blew a line of steam at the windscreen. ‘It wasn’t even the first time he’d done it. The first poor cow he filmed ended up in a secure ward doped up to the ears because spiders kept crawling out of her fingertips. Completely – and utterly – broken.’ A small laugh broke free, but there was no humour in it. ‘So Rosalyn did the only thing that made sense to her: she climbed into a very hot bath with a bottle of vodka and a craft knife. Her little brother found her next morning. Apparently he sees a therapist twice a week now.’
More fields.
They passed the turn-off to Gardenstown.
Logan shook his h
ead. ‘So get a search warrant, find the phone, and show the footage to the Procurator Fiscal! Get the scumbag charged.’
‘You really think I’ve no’ tried that? Can’t get a warrant on the word of a dead girl.’ Another line of steam hit the windscreen. ‘And even if I could, what’d that prove? She’s drugged in the video: she’s no’ fighting back, and it’s no’ as if she can testify in court, is it? We’d never get a conviction.’
More fields – wide, flat and rolling beneath the icy moonlight.
‘Tell you, Laz, I’ve never had a better day than when I turned up at Wallace’s house to give him a hard time and found a ton of kiddy porn just sitting there on his laptop.’ This time the laugh had a lot more joy in it. ‘I mean, a slideshow for God’s sake! Wee shite was probably gearing up for a good wank when I turned up and spoiled the romantic mood. And now he’s got six years of spanking his raping wee monkey cock in a prison cell. Assuming he can get it up without staring at images of abused kids, or beating the crap out of some poor woman. Serves him right.’
Hard to argue with that.
Steel grinned across the car at him. ‘You know what? I’m in such a good mood I’m even prepared to put up with oven chips, if you’ve got any?’
Logan peered out of the bedroom window at the street below. Steel wound her way along the road, having had to settle for cheese on toast and a large Balvenie instead. When she’d disappeared from view, he shut the curtains and pulled out his mobile.
Dialled John Urquhart.
The phone rang and rang and rang. Then finally, ‘Mmmph? Hello? What?’
‘You can tell Reuben the delivery’s off.’
‘What? Who’s…’ A cough rattled out of the earpiece. ‘Mr McRae? What time is it?’
Logan’s eyes flicked to the clock-radio – 03:32. ‘The delivery’s off. Stevie Fowler got himself arrested in a drugs raid four hours ago.’
Urquhart yawned, then swore. ‘He got himself arrested?’
‘He was never going to deliver the package, it was all a scam so he could steal the drugs and sell them to a local dealer.’
‘Oh, Reuben’s going to love that. Is there—’
‘And before you ask: no. He’s confessed in front of a detective superintendent from the Serious Organised Crime Task Force. There’s no way in hell he’s walking free.’
Urquhart made a noise like a deflating mattress. ‘That’s … unfortunate. And did Mr Fowler happen to mention where he’d got the package from in the first place?’
‘And where he was meant to deliver it. Good job he didn’t have my name, or I’d be in the cell next door by now.’
‘And the package is…?’
‘The kilo and a half of amphetamines? He’d already sold it. It’s evidence.’
A sigh. ‘Mr McRae, you know how Reuben’s going to react, don’t you? He doesn’t like people who steal from the organization.’
‘Really? Because I don’t like people who threaten my kids and SEND THUGS ROUND TO KILL ME!’ Logan slammed his palm into the wallpaper.
‘I understand where you’re coming from, Mr McRae, but you really have to put that behind you and move on.’
‘Move on?’
‘Seriously, dude, chill. I had a word with the Reubenator and smoothed things out. Told him he can’t kill you ’cause you’re the executor for Mr Mowat’s will. He bumps you off and everything’ll take forever to sort out.’
‘And what happens after the will’s executed, he sends someone else?’
‘That’s how the system works: the big dog eats the small dog. You don’t like getting bit? Be the bigger dog.’
Logan settled onto the edge of the bed. ‘I’m supposed to just forget about it?’
‘No, you’re supposed to bite back.’ A pause. ‘So, we’ll see you tomorrow?’
Tomorrow?
Oh, right, the reading of the will. ‘Don’t think I’ve got any choice.’
Not now.
Logan hung up and switched off his phone.
He stood there, frowning down at the bed. Then knelt beside it and fished out the polished wooden box. Should really give the gun a proper wipe down, make sure there were no fingerprints on it.
Tomorrow was going to be a big day.
— Monday Dayshift —
I, being of sound mind and body…
39
‘And we finally have some good news.’ Standing with her back to the whiteboard, Harper pointed the remote. The screen on the wall opposite filled with a satellite image of the coast. Gardenstown was marked with a big arrow, as if no one in the room would know what the place was.
The two arms of the harbour made a broken triangle, poking out into the sea like a cartoon nose and jaw – with mooring jetties for teeth.
Harper pressed a button and a red laser dot appeared, then swept towards the harbour entrance. ‘We got a phone call from Martin Milne at half six this morning. Malk the Knife’s people have been in touch.’
A rumble of conversation went around the room.
Standing against the wall, by the door, Logan shifted from one foot to the other. Something hard and spikey was frolicking across his back, digging its claws into his spine. He took another swig of water from his mug. Didn’t seem to matter how much he drank today – his mouth was still like a desert, head throbbing like an overripe boil full of burning pus.
‘Narveer?’
Her sidekick stood and read from a sheet of paper, voice slightly rounded and mushy. Forced down a bruised and swollen nose. ‘At four o’clock this afternoon, the Jotun Sverd will leave Peterhead harbour and rendezvous with a private yacht sixty miles east of Bora in the Moray Firth. The crew will take on board a number of sealed crates and conceal them in containers already on board.’
The screen changed to a photo of a small supply boat – about a third as big as the usual neon-coloured monstrosities – with superstructure at the front and a railed loading bay at the back. Like a floating pickup truck. It probably would have taken two full-sized containers, but they’d managed to fit about eight of the smaller ones on it, each emblazoned with ‘GEIRRØD CONTAINER MANAGEMENT AND LOGISTICS’ and their angry Viking logo.
Logan took another swig.
It wasn’t as if he could blame a hangover. One whisky and that was it.
No, the churning sensation in his stomach and head was probably down to what he’d hidden beneath the passenger seat of his rusty old Fiat Punto. Sealed away in a freezer bag, sealed inside another freezer bag, with a brown-paper evidence bag over the top of that.
One semiautomatic pistol of Eastern European extraction, with a full magazine of bullets and a silencer.
All ready to bark in Reuben’s face.
‘The Jotun Sverd will then make its way north of Gardenstown and wait there until six o’clock tomorrow evening, when it’ll come into the harbour and be met by a Transit van. Malcolm McLennan’s men will then unload the merchandise and take it away.’
He ran a hand across his face, it came away damp.
‘Thank you, Narveer.’ Harper pointed the remote and the aerial view was back, but zoomed in so the harbour filled the screen. ‘We will be positioned here,’ the red dot swept to the left-hand side, ‘here,’ right, ‘and here. A secondary unit will cover the access roads in and out of Gardenstown.’
Everything had seemed so clear last night. He wasn’t doing it for himself any more, he was doing it to stop Reuben sending someone after Jasmine and Naomi. He was doing it to save Steel from another beating. He was doing it to stop a turf war between the Aberdeen mob and everyone else. He was doing it because no one else would and it needed to be done.
It really did.
It was all decided.
So why could he barely breathe?
‘You’ll get your team assignments tomorrow.’ Harper put the remote down. ‘Now, any questions?’
Steel sidled up next to him, kept her voice low. ‘You all right?’
/> Someone’s hand went up – Becky. ‘Did we get a result last night?’
‘Yes and no, DS McKenzie. Two individuals arrested at the Welshes’ house have confessed to selling class A drugs and are giving up their supply chain, thanks to Sergeant McRae.’
Everyone turned to look at him. Lots of nods and smiles.
His stomach lurched, saliva flooding his dry mouth.
Don’t be sick. Don’t be sick.
He swallowed it down.
‘As for Ricky and Laura Welsh, it’s “no comment” all the way. So far there’s nothing concrete to connect them with Ma Campbell or the murder of Peter Shepherd. That doesn’t mean we’re going to stop digging though.’
‘Seriously, Laz,’ Steel put a hand on his arm, ‘you look like you’re about to blow chunks.’
‘I’m fine.’ Liar.
Harper held up her hand. ‘Right, you all know what you’re doing, so go out there and do it.’
The assembled hordes shuffled from the room.
Harper and Narveer settled at the conference table, scrawling notes across piles of actions. Steel wandered over to the window, mobile phone clamped to her ear.
Logan blew out a shaky breath. ‘Well, if you don’t need me, I’m going to—’
‘No you don’t.’ A sniff, then Harper straightened up. ‘Sergeant, while I appreciate your assistance last night, I want you to get something perfectly straight: I expect members of my team to turn up for work sober and functioning. Not hungover and useless.’
‘I’m not hungover.’
‘How am I supposed to catch Peter Shepherd’s killers if my officers are the walking dead after last night’s binge drinking?’
‘I’m – not – hungover!’
‘And while we’re at it, what did I say about you coming to work in plainclothes? I was perfectly clear: you’re—’
‘Hoy!’ Steel held the phone against her chest. ‘Much though I hate to break up this family bondage session, your big brother’s telling the truth. Mr Grey-and-Sweaty here looks like a puddle of sick because he’s off to bury his girlfriend today. Hence the ugly suit.’
‘Ah.’ Harper closed her mouth.
‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to have phone sex with my wife here. I’ll tell you all about it later, if you like, Super? Blow-by-blow?’
In the Cold Dark Ground Page 35