That sorted, he headed downstairs again, past the wrestling match – which the teddy bear seemed to be winning – down the corridor, past the lounge, home gym, and cinema room, and into the kind of kitchen they featured in design magazines. Perfect. Elegant. Spotless. As if no one had ever cooked or eaten a meal there.
It looked out over a large back garden, where all the floodlights were on too, revealing a pair of techs in the full Smurf-suit outfit, examining a flowerbed at the far end, by the fence.
Steel and Colin Miller slouched at the breakfast bar, nursing mugs of coffee, presumably from the very swanky machine in the corner, by the double fridge. Colin was in trousers and a T-shirt, but Steel had peeled her SOC suit down to the waist, showing off her Police Scotland top with optional biscuit crumbs.
Logan poked a finger at her. ‘Have you been sexually harassing the scene examiners again?’
She grinned. ‘How was our fearless leader? Was she in bed, in a low-cut lace nightie? Is she, even now, rushing over here to support the troops with handies and tickle-me-Elmos?’
Urgh...
‘I don’t evenwantto know what a “Tickle-me-Elmo” is.’ He unzipped his Smurf suit and plonked his bum onto a spare seat at the breakfast bar. Didn’t bother smothering a jaw-popping yawn. ‘And thanks for the offer – I’d love a coffee.’
There was a moment’s angry scowling, then Steel rustle-flounced off to fiddle with the machine.
Logan swivelled his seat around to face Colin. ‘Want to tell me what you were doing creeping around your new boss’s house at quarter to eleven on a Wednesday night?’
‘Came to tell her where she could stick her job.’ He held up a gloved finger. ‘Which doesn’t count as “motive” cosIwas firingher. Plus: it was me called this in. And I’ve got an alibi, so don’t even start, OK?’ Waiting for a response he didn’t get. ‘OK.’
‘Then why didn’t youcallme?’
‘Cos it’s “quarter to eleven on a Wednesday night!” Far as I know: you’re off-duty, half-cut, and playing hide-the-bagpipe with Ginger-Curls McSexpot.’
Over by the coffee machine, Steel snorted. ‘Nah, they did that this morning.Dirtymonkeys.’
‘Her name isTara! What is wrong with you two?’
‘Whatever.’ Colin pulled out his phone. ‘And you should probably hear this,’ fiddling with the screen until a small, tinny, electronic voice buzzed its way into the kitchen:
‘MESSAGE FIVE:’
Followed by a man – sharp-edged, snarling out the words so every syllable became an offensive weapon.‘Karma comes in like a hurricane,Bitch, and it’s going to blow your house of lies right down. See you tonight!’
‘END OF MESSAGE.MESSAGE—’
The phone went silent.
Colin put the handset down on the countertop. ‘Far as I can tell, Natasha Agapova, forty-eight, got herself a taxi from the SME charity-auction dinner at half eleven on Monday night. Dropped her off here around twelve, didn’t see anything suspicious.’
‘Hold on,’ Logan eyed the phone, ‘how did you get that recording?’
‘Point is: if you check the call logs, that message was froma withheld number at eleven forty-two. So she was already in the car on her way home.’
Steel looked up from the machine. ‘Have you been a naughty wee phone-hacking grubby tabloid scumbag?’
‘I was searching the house to make sure she wasn’t lying unconscious somewhere, in need of help.’ His shoulders bobbed up and down. ‘I may haveaccidentallybumped against the answering machine...?’
‘Aye, and you justaccidentallyhappened to have your wee phone out, recording? My sharny arse.’
‘Point is: our guy on the phone has to know she’s no’ here, right? Otherwise, he calls, it tips her off, she gives you bastards a shout, and the whole abduction-kidnap plan’s screwed.’
There was more to the monologue, but Logan sort of tuned it out, because over Colin’s shoulder – through the kitchen windows, way down at the end of the garden – one of the ghostly Smurfs was on their feet, waving their arms at the house.
As if they’dfoundsomething.
He wrenched open the kitchen door, marched through a small utility room, and out onto a big triangle of decking.
One of the forensic team hurried across the grass towards him, holding up a hand. ‘Found a couple ofgreatfootprints. Which is lucky – someone must’ve watered the garden not long before it happened, cos otherwise it’d be dry as a camel’s arse out here and the definition would be for shite.’ They turned, pointing back to where they’d come from. ‘Our guy hopped the back fence, landed in the flowerbed. Should get areallysharp cast from the prints – you find us the shoes, we’ll prove it was him.’
