And trundling this stupid thing across a field would be hard enough, but getting it over a stone wall or a ditch?
No chance.
To get out of here, she needed rid of her bloody anchor.
Various bits of old building equipment lay about the courtyard: rusty cement mixer; a pallet of slates; another of breeze blocks, with a tatty tarpaulin tied over the top; offcuts of wood; a spare bucket for the JCB; builder’s tonne bag of gravel; one of sharp sand; a wheelbarrow with a flat front wheel, that was halfway to transforming itself into a colander...
Even if it wasn’t virtually rusted through, it’d be no use with her wrists attached to this stupid metal collar. Suppose shecouldget the heavy bastard, concrete-filled bin up and into the barrow, and the thing didn’t collapse, how was she supposed to push it? Couldn’t even grab both handles.
Nah: what shereallyneeded was a bolt-cutter or a sledgehammer.
And the most likely place to find those was the barn.
She stuck her foot against the bin and shoved.
57
The trees in Westburn Park were in full-green, but that was nothing compared to the riot of colour hiding just behind them.
The circus had taken over both sides of the park, with the big top towering above a slew of small rides and attractions – a red-white-and-blue-striped monarch ruling over its little kingdom, with a trio of long pennants fluttering from the king pole. The larger rides were grouped on the other side of the access road, waltzers and a small rollercoaster, chairoplanes and one of those Viking-longboat-on-a-swinging-pivot things, a haunted house and a whole heap of food stands.
And it was all festooned with flashing lights and copyright-infringing graphics.
A dozen different fairground tunes vied for supremacy, barking over the dings and wibbles that blared at Logan from every side. Becausenothinghere could be accused of being subtle.
All the rides were absolutely rammed and so was the park. As if half the city had turned up to munch on candyfloss, popcorn, and hotdogs, waiting for their go on ‘THEVOMINATOR!’ and ‘SIRPUKESALOT’SSWIRLINGBARFLANDADVENTURE!’
Logan strolled through the crowds, keeping a firm grip on Elizabeth’s hand, as sheoooooh-ed andahhhh-ed at all the garish stuff. Tara slipped her arm through his, laughing as afire-juggling hipster sent a plume of yellow flamesfwoooshing into the sky.
Then Doreen’s voice cracked out of Logan’s earpiece:‘All clear on the Western Front.’
Tara gave his arm a squeeze. ‘Told you it’d be fine.’
‘Won’t be if the Boss finds out you’re here.’
‘Anyone asks: I justhappenedto have tickets for tonight. Why shouldIcancelmyplans just because Police Scotland wants to playSmiley’s Peopleat the circus?’
Biohazard:‘Nothing on the south entrance.’
‘I don’t think we’re slick enough to be Smiley’s—’
Somone tapped him on the shoulder and Logan froze.
It was sodding Chief Superintendent Pine, wasn’t it. He’dsummonedher by accident and jinxed the whole operation.
He forced a smile and turned...
But it wasn’t Pine, it was Tufty. All dressed down, in jeans and a red ‘WILLY’SBARDARTSTEAM:THEFLYINGPOLGARA!’ long-sleeved T. The wee loon must’ve been at the face-painting stall, because he’d turned into a tiger from the neck up. And a disturbingly realistic one, at that.
The Lizz-Ness Monster gazed up at him. ‘Coooool...’
At which point, Tufty struck a pose, hunkering down in front of her as he burst into song:
‘Tiger-Man, Tiger-Man,
Does some things that a tiger can,
Has a stripy face, pounces too,
