Logan let the silence grow.
‘OK, OK: maybe notstraighthome. We might’ve...’ An ingratiating smile. ‘I know this is going to sound a bit creepy-stalkery, but we followed Natasha’s taxi for a bit. Not far! Just...I was, you know, thinking maybe she’d change her mind when she got my message. Ask me in for a nightcap.’
More silence.
‘She didn’t, all right? And I was tired. So Dougie dropped me off at home. The end.’
Logan didn’t even blink.
‘Ask him!’
‘Oh, don’t worry.We will.’
74
Logan pulled on his peaked cap and stepped through the door, into the rear car park.
A two-storey block of offices ran down one side, with a spiky fence on the other, to stop any of the NorrelTechies breaking into next-door’s warehouse and stealing some logistics. Twin rows of parking bays faced off across the space between, full of company-liveried vans and hatchbacks.
The only vehicle thatwasn’tcompletely clarted in NorrelTech logos was a swish dark-red BMW i5 – currently getting the soapy-sponge treatment from a short, solid-looking man with close-cropped grey hair and an impressive white beard. Mid-sixties, maybe? The kind of guy who was probably a bit handy if things kicked off.
‘Hello?’ Logan strolled over there. ‘You “Dougie”?’
The man turned, sponge squeezed in one oversized fist. ‘I’m not paying anybugger’s parking tickets.’
‘Nice car.’
A snort. ‘Electric bollocks.’ He dunked the sponge and slapped a splosh of foam on the bonnet. ‘What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned petrol engine? The only thing battery power’s good for is kids’ toys and vibrators.’ Washing away. ‘And I’mstillnot paying these buggers’ parking tickets.’
‘You were Nicholas Wilson’s driver, Monday night.’
Dougie curled his lip. ‘Likes to play the big man. “Turn upin a chauffeur-driven BMW and ‘people’ think you’re somebody.”’
‘He make you wear the hat?’
‘Do Ilooklike a prick?’ Dunk, dunk, splosh. Wash, wash, wash. ‘Got to ask: what kinda impression you making, rocking up to an oil-industry bash in anelectricvehicle? Might as well piss on their shoes.’
A red-white-and-blue Super Puma howled overhead, making for the heliport.
‘So, what happened Monday night?’
Dougie froze. ‘I need a lawyer?’
‘Don’t know.Doyou?’
He frowned. Then dunked his sponge again. ‘I pick Nick up at half six inthisabomination, drive him to the hotel. He tells me to wait for him; so I wait for him.’ A grunt. ‘Grown man and I’m running round playing nursemaid to a jumped-up...’ The BMW’s bonnet got an extra hard wash. ‘Anyway: there’s worse ways to spend a Monday night – few hours peace-and-quiet to read a book without the grandkids crawling all over us. He calls, about half eleven, says to pick him up. And I take him home, same as every other stupid industry dinner.’ Dougie hurled his sponge into the bucket, sending a frothy tsunami splooshing out over the side. ‘No big deal.’
‘You missed a bit.’
Dougie squinted at the car, bending over to the left, then right – surveying the bonnet. ‘Where?’
‘Where you tailed a woman’s taxi.’
‘Ah.’ He retrieved his sponge and started on the bumpers. ‘I drive round from the car park, and there’s Nick, sort of hiding behind a potted tree thing, watching the hotel entrance. Which weallknow means he’s on the sniff. Nick gets in the passenger seat, stinking of booze, and says “Follow that taxi!” like something off a Hitchcock film.’ Dougie looked away, over the backfence at the fields beyond. ‘So we do. Hanging back a couple of cars, just in case, but she doesn’t spot us. They never do.’ His mouth pinched, making the beard jut out. ‘Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like he everdoesanything – I wouldn’t let him, even if he tried. We just park up outside and watch the house for a bit. Make sure they get home safe.’
Because that didn’t sound sketchyat all.
Logan folded his arms. ‘Safe?’
