Which left the barn.
The door was ajar, so Logan donned some gloves of his own and gave it a wee push...
Bloody hell.
Two figures lurked inside – one clothed, one half naked – along with a huge pool of blood.
‘Call it in: we need the whole circus here, ASAP!’
He stepped over the threshold, into the cool gloom,technicallycompromising the crime scene. But until he checked whether either of them were alive, that was just too bad.
The air stank of butchers’ shops and hot dust, full of fat greedy bluebottles that swirled andbuzzzzzzzzzzzzed.
Looked as if the bloke, sitting on the floor with his back to the table saw, was dead. What with being pale as a block of lard, sitting in a lake of blood, with a gash right down his face, another across his chest, and a screwdriver poking out of his guts.
Pretty certain he was the man from theScottish Daily Post’s front page: Keith Braithwaite.
Logan squatted down next to him, careful not to step in the scarlet lake, and felt for a pulse anyway. Because there were rules about this kind of thing.
Surprisingly enough: nope.
He stepped around the blood pool, making for the other figure.
Jesus...
Her torso was a map of bruises, her left knee all swollen and red, but her face was awash with dried blood, and a thick line of scabs framing her battered features. Even with the broken nose, black eye, and split lip, Natasha Agapova was easily recognisable.
And she was in her underwear. Never a good sign in situations like this.Especiallygiven what Braithwaite had been charged with.
Logan knelt and felt for a pulse. ‘Please, please, please, please...’ Something trembled beneath his fingertips. ‘Ms Agapova? Natasha, can you hear me? It’s the police...’
Nothing.
Not even a flicker.
But she was alive.
Barely.
Logan turned, and there were Steel and Tufty – hovering just outside, staring in at the gory tableau. Trying not to mess-up the crime scene any more than he already had. ‘I NEED AN AMBULANCE NOW!’
And maybe, if they were lucky, she’d still be alive when it got here.
Today, the circus consisted of a grubby Scenes Transit van, four patrol cars, a handful of crime-scene marquees, and a black Mercedes.
No lions, tigers, or homemade elephants, but lots of hustle-bustle-rustle as techs hurried about in their white Tyvek suits. Taking samples and photographs and videos and fingerprints.
Steel settled back against the pool car, jerking her chin at the static caravan, where Chief Superintendent Pine was deep in conversation with one of the more senior Smurfs. ‘You should invite Perky Pine on Sunday. Bet she’d love to sample my lesbian sausages.’
‘Definitely not.’ Giving her the side eye. ‘And whatexactlyis in these “sausages” of yours, or don’t I want to know?’
The grin he got in return wasn’t exactly reassuring.
Urgh...
She patted him on the back. ‘We did good today: rescued the damsel in distress, saved the day.’
‘You didseethe state of Keith Braithwaite, right? Our damsel turned him into a colander. She...’ He stood up straight as Pine peeled off from her conversation and strode across the courtyard towards them. ‘Here we go.’
