by JD Kirk
Actually, that was exactly what they were for, but six years of high school had taught the class not to talk back to Copsand, so everyone knew better than to point this out to her.
“Is Mr Forsyth sick, Miss?” Bennet asked again.
“God. Your guess is as good as mine,” Copsand replied. She pointed to the middle of the court like a demented queen sending a subject to the dungeons. “Now, shut up, Bennet, and go get bouncing.”
Logan squatted by the mouth of the passageway that ran under the monument, hands gloved, shoes covered, head ensheathed by something not unlike a shower cap. It would be an unflattering look on most men. On one of his size and stature, it looked positively ridiculous.
Geoff Palmer had insisted on him wearing it if he was going to follow the pathologist down to the body. Presumably, Palmer had imagined that the very thought of donning something so utterly unbecoming would be enough to put Logan off the idea, but the look of shock on his face when Logan had pinged it into place atop his head had been enough to make it all worthwhile.
Shona Maguire knelt a little further inside the tunnel, studying the remains that lay spread on the ground. Logan would’ve described the body’s position as ‘face-down,’ had it not been for the fact that the most important element in that phrase was conspicuous by its absence.
“Well, he’s definitely dead,” Shona announced.
“Christ, all those years of medical training have certainly paid off,” Logan replied. “You didn’t have to check for a pulse or anything.”
“You get an eye for it after a while,” Shona said. “You learn to spot the little tell-tale signs that the less-qualified observer doesn’t notice.”
Logan chuckled. While Shona noted the time and scribbled down some initial impressions in a notepad, he looked around the mouth of the tunnel. It was a cramped, narrow, arch-shaped space, barely wide enough for Shona to squeeze in beside the body.
The smell of bodily fluids emanated strongly from within it. While much of that could be blamed on its current headless occupant, the sheer richness of the odour suggested it had reeked long before he got here.
The passageway narrowed at the far end into what looked like an even smaller arched doorway which presumably led through to some other chamber of the well. Logan shuddered at the very thought of it. He wasn’t particularly claustrophobic, but there were few things he could think of that would be worse than being stuck down there, unable to stand up, or even turn around.
“Good job it’s not Ricketts on duty,” Logan remarked. There was no way the older pathologist would be able to bend down far enough to get into the passageway, much less be able to do anything useful while he was there.
“He’s asked not to attend scenes from now on,” Shona said, still writing in her pad. “After Alness back at Christmas.”
Privately, Logan was delighted to hear that. The less time he had to spend in the company of Albert Rickett, the better. Still, everyone made bad calls from time to time. Logan knew that better than most.
“He’s overreacting. He missed a few details, that was all.”
Shona nodded. “Aye. He took it hard, though. Weirdly hard. That whole case seemed to knock him for six. Think it made a real dent in his confidence.” She looked back at him and smiled. “Guess you’ll just have to get used to seeing me at these things.”
Logan was about to bring up the wedding when he saw her eyes drift up to his crinkly bright blue plastic headgear and a smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth, and he decided that now probably wasn’t the right time.
He’d ask her later. After the post-mortem, maybe.
Or, he could go round tonight. They’d been dropping in on each other more frequently of late, ever since Logan had moved into his new place. It was a new-build, two-bedroom house, not far from where he’d been staying with Ben before—
“Right, I’ve got what I can,” Shona announced. She performed a deeply undignified backwards crouch-shuffle out of the passageway and accepted Logan’s offered arm to help her back to her feet.
When she stood, she and the DCI were less than a foot apart. Although they weren’t touching, Logan could feel her, like her body was altering the air pressure between them, pressing it more firmly against him.
He should ask her. He should just ask her to the bloody wedding. She was going to say yes. Of course, she was.
Wasn’t she?
What if he was misreading the signals? What if, even after everything, she just thought of them as friends?
Jesus. He’d thought they’d just been taking things slowly, but was he wrong? Were they not ‘taking things’ at any speed? Were there even ‘things’ to be taken, at all?
He could read criminals like a book. He could spot a liar a mile off. Matters of the heart had always been more of a mystery to him, though, and right there and then, he had absolutely no idea if Shona thought of them as anything other than friends.
Still, friends could go to weddings with other friends.
Right?
But what if it made everything awkward?
It’s already bloody awkward, he heard himself thinking. You’re standing staring at her in silence. Get it together, man!
Fuck it. He wasn’t twelve years old at a school disco. He was a bloody adult. A grown man. He was going to ask her, stupid shower cap or no stupid shower cap!
A voice rang out from the top of the ramp before he could open his mouth.
“You finished, then?” Palmer enquired. “We want to get the body shifted so we can crack on.”
“Yeah, we’re done,” Shona called back. And like that, the moment, and the opportunity, passed. Shona gave Logan a dunt with her shoulder, then motioned up the ramp. “Lead the way, Detective Chief Inspector,” she instructed. “And I might be nice to you and tell you what I found.”
Chapter Six
“Hey! Sinead! Fancy seeing you here!”
Sinead slowed momentarily on the way to her car, recognised the constable grinning at her, then picked up the pace again.
“Haha. Aye. Small world,” she said, carefully selecting a tone that made it very clear she didn’t want the conversation to continue any further.
The uniformed constable didn’t take the hint, however, and jogged up until he fell into step beside her. His name was Jason Hall. They’d crossed over briefly at induction and training. He’d seemed nice enough at the time, but since she’d made the move from PC to DC, he’d… Well, he’d been something of an arsehole.
“Pretty crazy all this, eh?” Jason remarked.
“Aye. Pretty crazy,” Sinead agreed. In truth, it was no more crazy than usual, but anything to avoid further conversation.
“Aye. Pretty crazy,” Jason said again. “I hear that your man’s…” He drew a finger across his throat and made a sound meant to represent flesh and bone being split in two.
Sinead side-eyed him quizzically. “What?”
“Your man. In the tunnel. The body. I hear he’s been…” Jason repeated the mime. “He’s been decapitated. That right?”
“Oh. I don’t really know,” Sinead said. “I heard the same, but I don’t really know any more than you do.”
Jason ejected a single mirthless “Ha!” and stuck uncomfortably close to Sinead as she turned off the main road and into the car park. It was full of police vehicles now, and it took her a moment to identify her car in amongst them all.
“I doubt that very much,” the Uniform continued. “You lot never tell us anything. Always keeping your wee secrets. Having your little clandestine gatherings. Whispering away behind closed doors, while the rest of us are out here on the front line, cleaning up the mess.”
Sinead stopped dead. It took Jason three paces before he realised.
“What’s your fucking problem?” she asked. To her annoyance, this just made his smile widen.
“Who says I’ve got a problem?”
“Clearly you do, Jason. Clearly, you’re unhappy at the fact I’ve moved into the MIT,” S
inead insisted. “It’s not a slight on you. No one is saying that I’m better than you. It’s not even a promotion, I’m just in a different role. We’re all still on the same team, trying to do the same difficult job.”
The PC’s smile remained painted across his face. That was all it was, though—a representation of a smile. An artist’s impression.
“Aye, you just keep telling yourself that, Sinead. You just keep pretending you’re still one of us, as we stand for hours in the pishing rain directing traffic, while you swan around with the big-I-ams, kidding yourself on that your shit doesn’t stink.”
Sinead crossed her arms. “Fine. Is that how you want to play it, Jason? We can play it that way. Fuck off and man a cordon somewhere. Go and stand at a bit of tape and act like you’re doing something important.”
The way his face changed made her regret the outburst almost immediately. She’d given him exactly the satisfaction he was after.
“There she is. Showing your true colours, at last!” he crowed, then his smile fell away and he closed the gap between them in two big steps. “But don’t ever talk to me like that again. Just because you’re fucking your way up the ladder, don’t think you’re better than me. Alright?”
“Everything alright here, DC Bell?”
Logan’s voice came booming from halfway across the car park. Jason’s body language changed in an instant, going from confrontational to subservient without actually making any discernible movements.
Sinead waited until Logan and Shona joined them before replying. “Fine, sir. PC Hall was just leaving. Weren’t you, Constable?” she said, putting heavy emphasis on the first syllable of that last word.
Jason smiled, and practically doffed his cap as he backed away. “Aye. I should go stand by a cordon somewhere,” he said, his gaze lingering on Sinead as he retreated. “Nice to catch up with you. You be sure to keep up the good work.”
He winked at her. Everything about it made Sinead’s skin crawl.
“And maybe you and me can get together for a proper blether soon…”
The detectives and the pathologist stood in silence until Jason had rounded the entrance to the car park and was hiking back to his spot by the line of tape.
“Who’s the arsehole?” Logan asked.
“He’s just… some arsehole,” Sinead said. “Harmless enough, I think.”
“Anything I can do?”
DC Bell shook her head. “Nothing I can’t handle, sir.”
“Aye. I quite believe that,” Logan said. He flicked his gaze across to where Jason was doing his best to look important. “God help the bugger.”
Tyler appeared at the car park entrance, spent a moment looking for someone he recognised, then lit up with a goofy smile when Sinead gave him a wave. He broke into a happy little jog that both women found endearing, but drew a tut and a shake of the head from Logan.
“Christ, he’s like bloody Lassie trotting along there.”
Sinead nudged him with an elbow. “I think it’s adorable,” she said. “And besides, Lassie’s a dog. Dogs don’t trot. You’re thinking of Black Beauty.”
DC Neish almost didn’t slow his jog in time, and Sinead took a half-step back to avoid an embarrassing collision.
“Listen, son, if you’ve come to tell us that someone’s down the well, we already know,” Logan remarked, which only made Tyler look confused. Even more so than usual.
“Eh, no, boss,” Tyler said. “Just finished up the interviews with everyone in the coffee shop. Owners, tour driver, and the tour group.”
Logan’s eyebrows raised, like they were impressed, even if the rest of his face wasn’t. “The whole tour group? Already? Good work.”
Tyler’s smile didn’t budge, but he shifted uncomfortably on the balls of his feet. “Aye. Thanks, boss,” he said. “I mean, there was just the three of them. But, cheers.”
Logan’s eyebrows fell like the strings pulling them up had been cut. “Oh. Right. Well, what bloody kept you, in that case?”
“I’m guessing cake,” Sinead said.
“I resent that accusation, Detective Constable,” Tyler said, feigning hurt. “You know me. I don’t cake and drive, and I don’t cake while on duty. That’d be highly unprofessional.”
“You’ve got icing on your top lip, son,” Logan pointed out.
“Shite. Still?” Tyler asked, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, before realising he’d been tricked. His smile returned, a little less certain than before. “Haha. I may have had one wee…” He cleared his throat. “Wanted to check that it’s OK to let the tour go.”
“If you think we’ve got everything we need,” Logan confirmed. “Get contact details. If they’re from elsewhere, get local details and home, too.”
Tyler replied to the instruction with a double thumbs-up. “On it, boss,” he said, starting to back away.
“I’ll come, too,” Sinead said. She shot Logan a very deliberate look. “I’ll leave you to get on, sir.”
“Eh? Oh. Aye,” Logan replied, just an E and a U away from completing the whole set. “Right you are. There’s not much more we can do here until Palmer’s team is finished up, so head up the road when you’re done. I’ll see you both back at the station.”
The Detective Constables set off together, all springy-stepped and swinging arms.
“Oh, to be young and in love, eh?” Shona said, watching them go.
“Hm? Oh. Aye,” Logan agreed. “Bastards.”
“Makes me sick,” Shona said. “The wedding’s soon, isn’t it?”
Logan straightened, hardly believing his luck. The perfect way in had presented itself. The topic had been broached. All he had to do now was casually ask the question.
His lips remained pressed together. She looked up at him, the sunlight dappling the water behind her and casting a yellow-white aura around her head.
His stomach became a knot of densely-packed muscle that sat on his bladder like a lead weight.
Just ask. That was all he had to do.
Just ask her.
“Just under a fortnight,” he said, then his mouth welded itself shut again.
Shona blew out her cheeks. “Wow. Not long, then. Not a lot of time to get organised. Are you all ready?”
“Um, aye. Think so.”
“Got your clothes all sorted? Because it would be short notice to get organised now,” Shona said. “You know, if you were still waiting on your invitation, or whatever. Which you’re not, obviously. But if you were, hypothetically, you’d want to know sooner rather than later, so you could get sorted. I mean, two weeks is cutting it fine, but if you only found out a week before, say, then it would be much harder to—”
“Would you like to come with me?” Logan asked. “As my… accompaniment.”
Accompaniment? What the fuck had he said that for?
“Not ‘accompaniment.’ I didn’t mean ‘accompaniment.’ I mean…” He took a deep breath. God, why was this so hard? “Would you like to come with me as my date?”
Shona sagged like a balloon losing air, and Logan felt the first pangs of panic go pinging through him. But then, he saw her smile, and stood bewildered as she raised her voice to a shout and wave to the retreating Detective Constables.
“Sinead!”
Over at the entrance to the car park, Sinead and Tyler both turned. Shona raised a thumb, which prompted Sinead to thrust both hands in the air, perform a brief round of applause, and then continue on her way.
“Wait. What?” Logan asked. “What was that about?”
“Sinead told me weeks ago you were going to ask me,” Shona explained. “She was worried you might do it the night before the wedding, and I wouldn’t have enough time to buy a big hat.”
Logan snorted. “I wouldn’t have done it the night before.”
Shona regarded him impassively until he conceded with a nod that, OK, yes, he might have, before adding that he was going to have some very strong words with Miss Bell at a later date.
�
�So… is that a yes?” he asked, when he eventually realised she hadn’t given him an answer.
“Yes,” Shona confirmed. “I would love to attend the wedding with you. And I’m thinking sombrero. For the big hat, I mean. Or one of those Australian ones with the corks hanging off. But we can discuss that later.” She fished in her bag until she found her car keys. “First, I have to go poke around in a dead guy’s neck hole. You are, of course, more than welcome to join me.”
“You make it sound tempting, but I think I’ll pass, and maybe join you later for the highlights,” Logan said.
“Well, don’t say I didn’t offer.”
Logan smiled, then a movement drew his eyes left, to where the sunlight danced on the water. There was something hypnotic about the way the light played across the surface. Something oddly moving. Logan wasn’t a religious man, but he could imagine such sights would’ve inspired many a true-believer over the years.
“You heading back to the office when you’re done here?” Shona asked.
“Aye. Eventually,” Logan said. He watched the rippling sunlight for a few seconds more, then sighed and turned his back on it. “But before I do, it’s high time I went and gave my regards to Ben.”
The headstone was a plain one. Nothing too grand or fancy. Expensive enough on a polis salary, mind you. It was black marble, maybe a foot and a half high, with gold lettering spelling the word ‘FORDE’ across the top in a simple, elegant script.
Logan had been to the grave just once since the funeral. He’d tried not to dwell too much on that. He’d given himself all the excuses of not enough time, and too much to do, and promised himself he’d go the next day, or the day after, or the one after that.
Days became weeks, became months. He knew he had to break the cycle before months became years. He owed his old friend that much, at least.
Because, the real reason he hadn’t visited more often was nothing to do with a lack of time, and all to do with his sense of guilt.
He’d picked up the flowers almost as an afterthought on the drive back up from Loch Oich. The petrol station at Fort Augustus, to be precise. They had a surprisingly good selection of bouquets, all wrapped in plastic and sitting in buckets of water inside the door.