Great, so now Cumbria Constabulary would be moaning to Aberdeen’s Chief Constable, who’d pass it on, till it dolloped onto Logan’s head in a great steaming pile. Hurrah.
‘God…Now you look even worse.’ A frown creased her forehead, making the piercing in her eyebrow sparkle. ‘Listen, Knox escaping: it wasn’t your fault.’
‘Doesn’t help Harry Weaver, though, does it? Poor bastard was tied to the bed, beaten and raped.’
‘No he wasn’t.’
‘I was there, I saw him. Covered in burns and bites and-’
‘No, I mean he wasn’t raped. They did the tests up at the hospital and it came back negative. No semen, no lubricant, no anal bruising. Looks like your boy Knox couldn’t get it up. Probably explains why he went to town on the burning and biting.’
Bob held up a finger. ‘Maybe it’s because Harry Weaver wasn’t old enough? Knox likes oldies, yes?’
Samantha reached out, grabbed Bob’s finger, and pulled. ‘Got to go.’ Then ran away, giggling.
Logan shrank back as the smell of rotten eggs wafted out from under the table. ‘Bob! You dirty-’
The canteen doors banged open. DI Beattie stormed in, paused for a second, then bellowed, ‘MCRAE! MY OFFICE! NOW!’
39
Finnie was already in there, sitting in one of the visitor’s chairs, thumbing away at his BlackBerry as Logan stepped into Beattie’s office, still carrying his mug of coffee.
The bearded DI stomped round behind the desk and sat, glowering. ‘Well?’
Logan stared back at him. ‘Well what?’
‘Sergeant McRae.’ Finnie slipped his little email/phone thing back in its leather case. ‘Tell me, did I imagine it, or did we not have a talk about being a team player?’
‘No, you got Steel to do it.’
The head of CID raised an eyebrow and pursed those thick rubbery lips. ‘I see…Tell me, Sergeant, do you have some sort of alternative definition of the term “Team Player?” In the wonderful world of Logan McRae, does it mean something entirely different? Hmm?’
Logan folded his arms. ‘What’s he told you?’
‘Don’t you dare!’ Beattie thumped a fist on the desktop. ‘The counterfeit goods were my case, and you damn well knew it. I spent a lot of time and effort putting that meeting together yesterday, and what do I find when I come in this morning? You arrested someone last night — you had a suspect the whole time and didn’t even bother telling me!’
‘Is that it? You didn’t arrange a bloody thing yesterday, I had to set it all up.’
‘That’s not-’
‘All you did was turn up with that awful PowerPoint presentation and make an idiot of yourself!’
Beattie went pink, trembled, then turned to Finnie. ‘You see what I have to put up with?’
‘Oh, grow up.’
The DI jumped to his feet. ‘Don’t you tell me to grow up! I am your superior officer, and it’s about time you bloody learned that!’
Finnie steepled his fingers and tapped them against his chin. ‘Well, Sergeant?’
‘No. You know what? I’m sick and tired of being a chewtoy in this sodding department. You want to know why I didn’t tell you about Gallagher and Yates? Ask Steel, she was down as SIO last night — go bust her hump for a change!’
There was silence.
Beattie: ‘I demand that Sergeant McRae-’
Finnie: ‘That’s hardly-’
Logan: ‘Blow it out your-’
‘Hoy!’ Steel stood in the doorway, mobile phone clamped to her chest. ‘Keep it down, some of us are trying to work here.’ She nodded at Finnie. ‘Morning, Guv, nice tie: didn’t know the circus was in town. You’ll no’ mind if I borrow McRae here, will you? Need him for the Knox media briefing.’
‘But…With…’ Spittle fell into Beattie’s beard. ‘This is exactly what I’m talking-’
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ She grabbed Logan by the sleeve and hauled him out of the office, closing the door behind them.
‘…always have to be such a pain in the arse?’ Logan feathered the brakes, turning the CID pool car into the entrance to Cairnview Terrace. The road was like glass — all that water the Fire Brigade pumped into the place had frozen overnight, covering the tarmac in a thick layer of ice.
‘Give it a rest, eh? Doing my head in.’ Sitting in the passenger seat, Steel stared out of the window. ‘Are detective sergeants this bad down in Newcastle?’
‘Always.’ Danby’s deep, bass rumble filled the car from the back. ‘What about the CCTV cameras?’
‘Don’t ask. Bloody things were meant to be installed before Knox moved in. “Technical difficulties” my fruit-flavoured arsehole. Idiots in the surveillance van weren’t much better — thing was parked the wrong way round. Knox probably walked right past them, and they never even blinked. Should’ve heard the bollocking they got; thought one of them was going to cry.’
The song on the radio ended, and the DJ announced that the news was coming right up, after these messages.
Danby drummed his fingers on the back of Logan’s seat. ‘Search teams?’
‘Somewhere between sod and bugger all. Got lookout requests on the go with every force in the UK, emailed posters to every port, airport and bus terminal…’ Steel shrugged. ‘I’m no’ holding my breath, though. If our wee raping tossbag’s sitting on X-million quid’s worth of gangster’s money he’ll be away on a fake passport to the Costa del Pervert by now.’
Logan sniffed. ‘That or he’s holed up somewhere torturing someone’s grandfather…’
‘God, you’re a wee ray of sunshine today, aren’t you?’
Logan just grunted, trying to keep the car from mounting the pavement as it slithered to a halt outside the burnt shell of Knox’s house.
‘Ooh, here we go.’ Steel reached out and turned up the radio.
‘…angry scenes. Grampian Police issued this statement.’
DCI Finnie’s voice crackled out. ‘Richard Knox is considered extremely dangerous. If anyone sees him, they should call nine-nine-nine immediately, do not, under any circumstances approach him, or try to apprehend him yourself.’
There was an explosion of questions, all shouted at once:
‘Chief Inspector! Why did Grampian Police allow him to escape?’
‘What are you doing to recapture Knox?’
‘Are the public at risk?’
‘Is it true he raped one of the team supervising him?’
A cut, then Finnie was back, ‘…want to assure you that we’re doing everything we can to bring Richard Knox back into custody as quickly as possible.’
Then the radio moved on to a piece about all the traffic accidents caused by the snow.
‘Bloody media.’ Steel stabbed the off button. ‘How come they use everything Finnie said? Where the hell was my bit?’
At least she’d had a bit — all Logan had done was stand at the back, like a spare fart.
The car rocked as Danby popped the back door and clambered out, then picked his way carefully towards what was left of Knox’s house.
Logan killed the engine. ‘You’ve got to speak to Finnie about Beattie.’
‘Screw the pair of them.’ She dug out a packet of cigarettes and offered Logan one.
‘It’s all right for you, I’m the one getting hauled up for doing what you sodding told me!’
‘OK, OK, I’ll talk to him. Honestly: moan, bitch, whinge.’ She opened her door, put one foot on the road, gave a little squeak, and ended up flat on her back. ‘Buggering turd-burglars…’
Logan clambered out, inched around to the other side of the car, and hauled her to her feet. ‘Serves you right.’
‘Don’t push it.’ Her cigarette was bent like a dog’s leg. She spat it out onto the ice. ‘Should be off tanning my white bits on some sun-drenched beach, not looking after ungrateful bastard detective sergeants.’
‘You want me to let go again?’
‘Do it and I’ll kill you…’
They crab walked to the kerb, then shuffled their way across the slippery pavement and in through the front gate. Knox’s house was barely recognizable. The roof had gone, the walls were blackened and stained, windows missing, chunks of charred timber sticking up from the rubble, everything topped with a layer of snow.
Danby was standing in the hallway, hands in his pockets, breath steaming out around his big pink head.
Steel lit another cigarette, hissing the smoke out between her teeth. ‘Still don’t see what this is supposed to accomplish.’
‘Walking the ground.’ Danby held out a hand, as if blessing the fire scene. ‘No point going back to the flat he disappeared from: wasn’t even there twenty-four hours. This is where his roots are, know what I’m saying?’
Logan stepped across the threshold into what used to be the lounge. Blackened chunks and lumps, a scattering of slates from the roof. Humped shapes that could have been the remains of the sofa, or bits of collapsed ceiling — it was impossible to tell. The place stank of melted plastic and bitter charcoal. ‘Don’t think his roots exist any more. They’ve all burned.’
There was a deep sigh. ‘That’s what I’m worried about. The only place he’s got left now is his mother’s old house in Newcastle. Don’t think we really want him back. At least when we knew where the filthy little bastard was we could keep an eye on him, but now…’
Logan nudged a twisted metal shape with the toe of his shoe. Took a moment to realize it was the three-bar electric fire Knox prayed to every day.
‘Pffffff…Sod this: it’s too cold to be buggering about outside.’ Steel jammed her hands in her armpits. ‘You two can commune with the spirit of Pocahontas all you like — I’m going back to the car.’
Logan looked up and watched Danby haul a section of metal pipe from the rubble and start poking.
On his own in a strange city, surrounded by ruins.
The car door clunked shut, leaving them alone.
‘Why are you really here?’
Danby didn’t turn around. ‘Told you — Knox has info on Mental Mikey’s operation.’
‘You hate him, and he hates you. Why would he tell you anything?’
‘He’ll be heading south.’ The metal pole poked into a mound of something that disintegrated. ‘We need to start pulling in the local perverts, see if he contacted any of them for help, know what I’m saying? I’ll get my team to do the same in Newcastle.’
Logan just stared at him.
Silence.
Another sigh. ‘Billy Adams was my friend, and that…and Knox killed him.’
‘Thought Knox was in prison when Adams killed himself.’
‘Nah, he didn’t stick the gun in Billy’s mouth, or pull the trigger, but he might as well have done. See I got Knox on the forensic evidence from William Brucklay, but how do you think I knew to look at him in the first place?’
Logan frowned. ‘You said Adams heard rumours Mental Mikey’s accountant was into-’
‘I knew because he raped Billy. Must’ve found out he wasn’t really on the take — or Billy slipped up somewhere — but Knox had him in that basement for three days. I saw him after he escaped, bruised to hell, back all covered with bite marks and cigarette burns.’ Danby let the metal pole clatter to the ground. ‘Wouldn’t talk about it, wouldn’t press charges, wouldn’t even let me tell anyone. And three months after we put Knox away for what he did to William Brucklay, Billy drove off into the middle of nowhere with a shotgun…’
The DSI kicked a lump of charcoaled wood down the hall. ‘That’s why I’m here. So that bastard Knox can’t get away with it again.’
The old man screams, high pitched and angry. ‘Aya, fucking poof bastard!’
Richard Knox bites him again — on the buttocks, hard enough to break the skin, tears rolling down his face. Then he does it again.
Doesn’t have any choice, does he? Like with that prat Harry from Sacro: doesn’t want to do it, but has to.
Cos this is the path God has chosen for him.
‘AAAAAAAGH…!’
The room’s cold, a crappy little bedroom in a crappy little house out in the countryside, surrounded by sheep and snow. It’s got puffy patterned wallpaper — painted a rancid-butter yellow — and a double bed with one of them tartan blankets on top, scratchy beneath Richard’s naked skin.
Maybe it’s the old man’s house. Maybe he was just visiting. Doesn’t really matter, does it?
‘AAAAAAAGH…Fuck that hurts!’
It’s a test. Has to be: another test from God.
Richard stifles a sob, face pressed against the old man’s thigh, and bites down hard.
40
‘Any luck?’
Steel didn’t look up from the paperwork heaped on her desk. ‘Bugger all.’
Fair enough.
Logan added another couple of sheets to the pile. ‘I got them to pull all the security camera footage for any business within half a mile of the Sacro flat, like Danby wanted. No sign of Knox.’
Steel was a dead jellyfish in her chair, staring at the ceiling tiles, limbs hanging loose. ‘Finnie’s going mental, the newspapers and TV are milking it like a pregnant hoor, peasants are revolting, and we’ve still got sod all clue where Knox is.’
‘You speak to Finnie and Beattie yet?’
‘Susan won’t talk to me, my career’s a used sodding tampon, I’ve got itchy bits, and I’m out of fags.’ Scowl. ‘If there is a God, He’s a rotten bastard.’
Logan dug out a packet of Silk Cut and chucked it onto the desk. ‘I’m cutting down.’
She just flopped there. ‘Why am I even bothering?’
‘Gallagher’s up in front of the Sheriff at half three, want to have another go at him? Or the van driver?’
‘Never makes any bloody difference, does it?’ She winkled out one of Logan’s cigarettes and opened her office window. ‘Where’s Danby?’
Logan stared at her. ‘Are you going to speak to Finnie and Beattie, or not?’
‘I’ll talk to them. Jesus: nag, nag, nag. You’re worse than bloody Susan.’
‘Do you want to get me fired?’
‘I said I’ll talk to them!’ She reached into a drawer, then threw something across the desk to him. A mobile phone. ‘Not that you deserve it.’
It was one of those touch-screen jobs, all new and shiny. It must have cost a fortune. Logan felt his face flush. ‘Thanks.’
‘Nicked it from the lost-and-found. Get your mate the van driver in an interview room and I’ll go see Lord Volderfinnie.’
The sim card was about the only bit of Logan’s mobile still in one piece. He popped the back off his new — slightly stolen — phone, slipped it in, and turned the thing on. There was a small pause, then the dings and bleeps started. ‘YOU HAVE 57 NEW MESSAGES’.
Logan switched it off again. Sod that.
He headed downstairs instead, signed the van driver out of custody and stuck him in interview room number two. The one with the broken radiator, that stank of cheesy feet.
Arnie Urquhart cupped his hands to his mouth and blew. He had ‘HATE’ tattooed between both sets of knuckles, a blue swallow on the side of his neck, a spider’s web on his wrist, and eyes that darted left and right every time anyone in the room moved.
Logan sat on the other side of the interview room table, the audio and video tapes all set up and ready to go as soon as DI Steel arrived. PC Butler was on looming duty, just over Urquhart’s shoulder.
The van driver licked his lips. ‘Always this cold in here?’
Logan stared at him. ‘Did I say you could speak?’
Urquhart shrank back in his seat. ‘Sorry.’
So much for the hard man act.
He was right though, the little room was freezing.
Logan thumped an evidence bag down on the tabletop. There were two rectangular packages inside, both about the size of a house brick, wrapped in light-brown packing tape. One was slit open, showing the hard-packed powder within. ‘Uncut heroin. A
bout six hundred and fifty thousand quid’s worth.’
Urquhart squirmed. ‘It’s-’
‘Did that sound like a question to you?’
He pressed his lips together. Looked down at his tattooed hands. Shrugged.
‘This stuff came from Fraserburgh, didn’t it? Saturday night.’
Urquhart fidgeted.
‘You can answer that.’
‘It…I don’t…’
‘A DI was stabbed, Arnie. That’s attempted murder, and you’re an accomplice.’
He flinched, as if he’d been slapped. ‘But…’
Logan suppressed a smile. Now all they needed was Steel to get her finger out and-
The door opened. Speak of the devil. The inspector stood just outside the room, lips pressed into a thin, downturned line. ‘Stick him back in his cell.’
Logan got to his feet. ‘Mr Urquhart was just about to-’
‘I don’t care. Our wee art student friend with the counterfeit twenties: his mum and dad just got back from Corfu, found him in his bedroom. Gin and sleeping tablets.’
41
‘He was in here.’ The PC opened the door.
The familiar smells of turpentine, oil paint, and bitter vomit curled around Logan as he followed Steel into the room. The house was silent, just the tick-tock of a clock somewhere on the floor below.
The constable flicked on the light, turning the window into a mirror.
Douglas Walker’s bedroom looked much the same as it had the last time Logan was there: the same half-sketched painting on the easel, the same unmade single bed, the same flat-pack wardrobe, the same little computer desk and cheap swivel chair.
The only difference was the puddle of sick on the floor, next to an empty litre bottle of Plymouth gin and a little white packet from a chemists. Logan snapped on a pair of gloves, squatted down, picked up the empty packet and read the label. ‘Temazepam.’
Steel wrinkled her nose. ‘Can we no’ open a window or something?’
Logan levered up the edge of the mattress, peering between it and the bed frame. Nothing.
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