‘Morgan Mitchell.’
‘I have … spoken with the person she’s alleged to have assaulted. Turns out it was all a misunderstanding. He slipped and fell. Banged his head. And when she helped him up, he confused the order of events. He’s apologized and withdrawn the charges.’
Logan stared at him. ‘What about Roy Forman?’
Insch dug a bag of carrot sticks from his pocket and stuffed one into his mouth, crunching and frowning at the same time. ‘The Hardgate Hobo? What about him?’
‘She killed him. She lured him away with a bottle of booze, drove him out to the middle of nowhere, and burned him. All for your bloody film!’
‘Don’t be an idiot. The gentleman she allegedly assaulted has dropped the charges. Now let her get back to work.’
Back to work …?
Logan jabbed a finger in Insch’s chest. ‘You knew!’
‘I have no idea what—’
‘Don’t, OK? Just …’ He marched away half a dozen paces, then back again. ‘Roy Forman died, screaming in agony.’
The only sound was the rain, making drum-rolls on Insch’s umbrella. ‘Morgan Mitchell – didn’t – kill – anyone.’
‘She was there the night he was abducted. She says she was with Nichole Fyfe, but what do you want to bet Nichole was so stoned you could’ve paraded half the circus up and down in front of her and she wouldn’t have noticed?’
Insch’s face was growing darker, the muscles along his jaw rippling. ‘And I’m telling you—’
‘All that bollocks about “You can’t just turn up and drone out your lines, you’ve got to inhabit the part. You’ve got to live it.” She killed Roy Forman just so she’d know what it felt like.’
He clenched his eyes shut, two trembling fingers pressed against the folds of skin at his neck – taking his pulse. A thick vein throbbed on his forehead. ‘Morgan wouldn’t—’
‘You said it yourself.’ Logan poked him in the chest. ‘She’s a method-acting nutjob. She thinks this performance is going to catapult her to superstar—’
‘NO!’ Spittle flew from Insch’s mouth, accompanied by little flecks of chewed carrot. ‘MORGAN MITCHELL DIDN’T KILL ANYONE!’
Logan took a step back. ‘She did it, and she thinks we can’t touch her.’
‘She …’ Air hissed in and out of his nose, like a broken bellows. ‘I’ve sunk everything I’ve got into this bloody film. We can’t afford to go back and reshoot every single scene Mrs Shepherd—’
‘What the hell happened to you?’ Logan turned on his heel and marched back towards the station. ‘You used to be a police officer.’
‘Look, Inspector McRae, if you’re just going to sit there and scowl at my client, I don’t see any point in continuing this interview.’ Anthony Chung’s lawyer gathered together his paperwork.
‘Maybe if your client said something other than “no comment”, Mr Blake, we’d actually get somewhere.’
Sitting on the other side of the table, Anthony Chung just smiled at him.
Fine.
‘Constable Buchan: do the honours.’
‘Interview suspended at ten fifty-two.’ She reached forward and switched the audio and video off.
Blake stood, but his client stayed where he was.
Anthony’s American accent was beginning to fray around the edges, a hint of Scottish creeping in. ‘You go. I want to have a word, with The Man. Off the record.’
‘I have to advise you not to say anything to the inspector—’
‘I’m cool.’ The smile became a grin. ‘They know I didn’t kill anyone.’
‘Don’t tell him anything.’ The lawyer pointed a chewed finger at Logan. ‘If I even think you’ve tried to coerce my client, I’ll have you suspended quicker than you can say “misconduct”.’
‘Constable Buchan, escort Mr Blake to the canteen. And make sure he doesn’t steal any spoons.’
As soon as the door closed again, Anthony sat forward in his seat. ‘Is she OK? Rowan?’
‘Bit late to worry about that now, isn’t it? After what you made her do?’
‘She was so … happy, yeah? All these years her mom’s treated her like she’s a little kid or something: telling her where she can go, who she can speak to, who she can love.’ Anthony shook his head. ‘You know she slit her wrists when the old bitch said she couldn’t see me any more? The pills weren’t working, she was miserable the whole time. So yeah: I made her happy.’
‘Is there a point to this, Anthony? Or are you just showing off as usual.’
‘She was like a zombie on the pills, she hated it. Lumbering through the weeks like she wasn’t even there.’ He wriggled forward in his seat. ‘You never love someone enough that you’ll do anything for them? And I’m not talking about a box of candy and some flowers, or dinner and a movie, I mean change the whole world just ’cos it makes them glow?’
‘You made her kill people.’
‘Yeah, you’re all outraged and shit, but I’ve never seen her that alive before. You know? She’s living the dream.’ He smiled. ‘And you can’t do her for the murders – she wasn’t in her right mind. It’s not her fault.’
‘No, it’s not.’ Logan stood. ‘It’s yours. And do you know what? As we’re off the record: you’re going down for at least eight years, and the people you stole from? They’ll have someone inside waiting for you.’ He held up his hands. ‘I’m not trying to threaten you, or pressure you into making a deal, I’m just letting you know you’re well and truly screwed. You’re responsible for every one of those deaths, and the poor sods who got crippled. You won’t last a month.’
Anthony picked at a chip on the tabletop. ‘I …’ He licked his lips. Looked up at the camera, sitting dead high up on the wall. ‘I did it all for her.’
‘You tell the guys in the shower block that. The ones with the homemade knives.’
A little chunk of Formica peeled away beneath his fingernails. ‘I need you to look after my mom and dad.’
Logan leaned back against the door and folded his arms.
‘I mean, when the McLeods find out it was me stealing from them, they’re going to go after him, aren’t they?’ Anthony gave a little laugh. ‘Course they are. They’ll think he told me where the other farms were, but he didn’t. I followed him to work one day, saw who he spoke to. Then I followed them. Took a couple of weeks, but I worked out how the operation fits together.’
‘Your dad works for the McLeods?’
Of course he did. Simon McLeod said he’d paid a fortune getting the best in the business over to grow for him, and according to the US Justice Department, Raymond Chung had form for growing cannabis in San Francisco.
Logan groaned. ‘Is that why your father told us the body we found was yours? He wanted his masters to think you were dead, so they wouldn’t go after you?’
Anthony stopped picking. ‘I never stole from Dad’s farm. Simon and Creepy Colin McLeod – you wouldn’t believe how bad they’ll mess you up if they think you’re not looking after their merchandise. That’s why I never touched the weed Dad was growing.’
‘Let me guess: everyone else was fair game?’
‘He had nothing to do with the thefts, it was all me.’
‘What a great son you are. Very thoughtful.’
‘He doesn’t deserve to get fed to the pigs.’ Anthony drew himself up. Shoulders back. ‘You get him and Mom into witness protection, and I’ll totally tell you where all the McLeods’ farms are. You can shut down the whole operation. That’s got to be worth something, right?’
Rennie whistled. ‘And he’s giving us everything? The McLeods are going to love that.’
Logan kept going up the stairs. ‘Every time he targeted a new farm, he’d ID one of the drones and get Agnes to pay them a visit. Told her they were witches so she’d torture the details out of them. Then they go in, avoid the booby traps, and steal all the cannabis they could fit in their truck.’
‘They’re going to rip him a new one the minute he sets foot in Craiginches, aren’t they?’
‘Of course they are. That’s why I’ve got him going in as a vulnerable prisoner.’ Logan pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it over. ‘You’re always moaning that you never get the credit for anything, so I’m giving you the happy job of going out there and telling Mr and Mrs Chung their little boy’s not dead after all. And then take the two of them into custody. It’s—’ The phone blared. Logan pulled it out. ‘McRae.’
‘Is this ASAP enough for you?’ It was the forensic lab guy he’d given a hard time to earlier.
Logan stuck the phone against his chest and shooed Rennie away. ‘Don’t just stand there.’
He waited until Rennie scurried off before going back to his mobile. ‘Look, I’m sorry about—’
‘We got a DNA match off your necklacing victim. And before you get all sarcastic again, I know the samples went in on Sunday, but the one we matched it to didn’t hit the system till yesterday evening.’
All the moisture disappeared from Logan’s mouth. ‘Yesterday evening?’
Please …
‘A Morgan Mitchell.’
He grinned. Maybe there was a God after all.
She kicked and screamed, teeth bared, snapping at the arm of the uniform dragging her off the set. Scarlet hair flashing in the movie spotlights.
Zander Clark slumped in his director’s chair, hands over his head.
The rest of the cast and crew just stared.
Insch marched over, throwing his arms in the air, shouting.
And Logan stood there, in the middle of Soundstage Three. ‘Morgan Mitchell, I’m detaining you under Section Fourteen of the Criminal Procedure – Scotland – Act 1995, because I suspect you of having committed an offence punishable by imprisonment, namely the murder by burning of one Roy Forman …’
Chalmers sat propped up on a barricade of scratchy NHS pillows. The bruising down the left side of her face was aubergine dark, yellows and greens just visible at the edges. An IV line disappeared into a shunt in the back of one hand, little square patches of gauze and cotton wool poking out above the neckline of her hospital gown. A faint dusting of grey coloured the skin of her shaved head, between the tie-dye bruises and scabs.
The other three beds in the ward were occupied: one woman lying flat on her back, snoring; another reading a crime novel the size of a breezeblock; one more lying on her side, shoulders quivering as she cried.
‘No, I’m fine. Never better.’ Chalmers fiddled with the nurse call button, turning it round and back again in her hand. Never quite pressing it.
‘Really?’
She blinked. Pulled on a smile that didn’t go anywhere near her pink, watery eyes. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks …’
‘You got stabbed twenty times with a pricking blade, and then she tried to drown you.’
Chalmers stared at the call button. ‘I’m fine.’
The hospital’s background hum droned on, broken by the snores and choked-back tears from the other beds.
Logan laced his fingers together. ‘They’re going to invalid you out.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m …’ Then wiped a hand across her eyes. ‘You got over it, didn’t you. You told me. I just need to do what you did: see a psychologist. Try that “talking therapy” thing. I can get over this.’
The ward door banged open and she flinched.
An old lady in a black T-shirt and red tabard reversed into the room, pulling a trolley with tea things on it.
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘You’re not getting the choice. You take the early retirement or they instigate disciplinary proceedings. A little ambition’s a good thing, but loose cannons only work on TV and in books. People nearly died, just so you could further your career.’
Chalmers sat upright. ‘But I can—’
‘You’re done.’
‘Pffff …’ Logan eased back into the visitor’s chair. ‘My back is killing me.’ He wriggled from side to side, pushing the bruises until they snarled.
Someone had tidied Samantha’s bedside cabinets, lining up the Lucozade bottles like soldiers on parade, the stack of unread magazines perfectly centred on the veneer surface, the copy of Witchfire perched on top of them like a brick.
‘So, she pleaded for a bit, then she cried, and then she called for the nurse.’ He levered his shoes off and let them thump to the floor. Wiggled his toes. One of them poked through the hole in his right sock. He stuck both feet up on the bed and stifled a yawn. ‘So how was your day?’
No reply, just the hiss of the ventilator.
‘Yeah, me too. Did I tell you Morgan Mitchell’s still denying everything? Doesn’t matter – we’ve impounded the car she was driving Friday night. It’s going to have traces of Roy Forman in it. And accelerant.’
A knock on the door, and Nurse Claire popped her head in, eyebrows up as if she’d just sat on something sharp. She slipped into the room, with one hand behind her back, the other holding a finger up to her lips.
Logan smiled. ‘Before you say anything: I need to buy more socks. I know.’
She bumped the door closed with her bum. ‘If anyone finds out, I’ll be for it, so this is just between us, OK?’
Oh … If this was going to be an offer of sex, she was in for a bit of disappointment. ‘Actually, I’m—’
‘Tada!’ Claire pulled her other hand from behind her back. There was a shoebox in it with little holes poked in the side. ‘Very much not allowed in the hospital.’
She placed it on the bed and removed the lid. ‘She’s ten weeks old.’
A pair of beautiful blue eyes peered up at him from a little stripy bundle of fluff with impossibly large hairy ears. It opened its mouth in a silent meow.
‘Her name’s Misty, but you can call her Cthulhu, if you like.’
A kitten and a sex toy, all in one day. ‘But—’
Claire patted him on the arm. ‘You’re very welcome. And I’ve got a starter pack from the vets for you at the nurses’ station. Just make sure you take her home before anyone sees her.’ Claire checked her watch. ‘Better get back to work.’
And she was gone.
OK. So now he had a cat to look after.
Couldn’t deny that she was cute …
He reached in and took Misty / Cthulhu from the shoebox and settled into the chair again. She was like a little rigid ball of fur, tiny needle-sharp claws scrambling for purchase on his shirt. Not the cuddling type then.
He plonked the kitten down on the bed instead and helped himself to one of the bottles of Lucozade, twisted the top off and took a swig. It was warm, but drinkable.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Cthulhu: how did Morgan know where to burn Roy Forman’s body? Turns out that when they were bonding with the coven in Wyoming, Nichole told her all about her misspent youth in Aberdeen, including where she and her dog-murdering boyfriend used to burn the cars they’d nicked.’
Cthulhu padded her way up and down the covers, sniffing things.
Logan frowned at her. ‘No offence, but I feel like a bit of a pillock talking to a cat. I don’t care what Goulding says.’
Samantha sighed. ‘Well, it’s not her fault she can’t answer back, is it?’
‘I suppose.’ Another scoof of Lucozade. ‘I phoned the architects, by the way. He’s getting the builders organized again. Should start sometime in the next couple of weeks.’
‘Halle-bleeding-luiah.’ She sat up in bed and picked Cthulhu up, one hand cupped beneath the pale fuzzy tummy. ‘Don’t you listen to stinky old Daddy, you’re perfectly lovely to talk to.’
A burp rattled Logan’s diaphragm. ‘Oops, pardon me.’
He sagged back into the chair.
‘Been a weird kind of a day … After all the sodding about, and the drug raids, and catching Roy Forman’s killer, the ACC says that DI’s job in Peterhead’s mine if I wa
nt it.’
Samantha stared at him, her voice jagged and brittle. ‘Congratulations.’
‘What, and spend half my life either stuck on the A90, or never seeing you? Told him I’d wait till something permanent came up in Aberdeen.’
Cthulhu did her silent mew again.
Samantha looked as if she was trying to hide a smile by nuzzling her nose into the space between the kitten’s ears. ‘What about Wee Hamish’s cheque?’
‘Think I’m going to give it to the guys who run the soup kitchen down the Green. Roy Forman would’ve liked that, wouldn’t he?’
‘No idea. Never met him.’ Cthulhu wriggled and meeped, until she was allowed back down onto the covers. Then Samantha reached for the copy of Witchfire on the bedside cabinet. ‘Come on, Jackanory Boy: make with the story.’
Logan loosened his tie and settled back in his seat. Opened the book. Smiled. Girlfriend, kitten, and a pat on the back. Maybe things were going to be OK after all. ‘Right, here we go:
“Above the tower block, the slate-coloured clouds crackled with lightning, followed a heartbeat later by a chest-tightening bellow of thunder … ”’
And then, just to round off a perfect day, Cthulhu peed on the end of the bed.
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental. The only exceptions to this are the characters Alex (Zander) Clark, Ian Falconer, April Logan/Graham, and Emma Sim, who have given their express permission to be fictionalized in this volume. All behaviour, history, and character traits assigned to these individuals have been designed to serve the needs of the narrative and do not necessarily bear any resemblance to the real people.
Harper
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
Logan McRae Crime Series Books 7 and 8 Page 85