Pine nodded. ‘Logan, Roberta. I think we...’ The rest of that sentence was drowned out as the Sky News chopper howled overhead. Circling the buildings, filming the action on the ground. ‘Oh, in the name of God.’ Screwing her face into a knot. ‘Why do the TV news people get ahelicopter, but we have to make do with begging Dundee for a drone operator? Who doesn’t even turn up, because he’s off on the sick!’ She glowered at the aerial intrusion for a couple of breaths, then sighed. ‘Just heard from ARI – they’re trying to stabiliseNatasha Agapova now. Fingers crossed. Maybe.’ She kicked the head off a dandelion, sending a puff of teeny-umbrella seeds twirling away into the air. ‘What a mess...’
‘Erm...Aboutthat.’ Logan pointed at the second outbuilding, the one that didn’t contain a puddle of blood, broken whisky bottle, and galvanised bin full of concrete. ‘We think there might’ve been a second victim. And given there’s a chunk of the field over there that’s recently been dug over...?’
‘Oh, that’s justgreat.’ Pine covered her face with both hands. ‘Any other disasters you’d like to coil out on my to-do list?’
‘SARGE?’Sounded like Tufty, hollering away somewhere behind the barn.‘HELOOOOOOO?’Getting louder.‘SARGE, SARGE, SARGE, SARGE, SARGE...’He appeared around the corner. Gave Pine a wee wave. ‘Oh, hi, Boss.’ Then wiggled his phone at Logan. ‘Finally got a signal.’
The thrumming of rotor blades grew again, as Sky News made another pass.
Two white-suited Smurfs emerged from the barn, carrying a blue plastic evidence crate between them.
High in a tree, a pair of magpies screeched defiance, until the helicopter backed off.
And everyone stared at Tufty.
Finally, Logan gave him a poke.‘And?’
‘Oh, yes, Isee.’ The wee twit checked his phone. ‘You were bang-on the doodah – one Leroy McGuire, reported missing by his wife six weeks ago. Got an anonymous tip-off on a story, went to check it out, never came home. G Division looked into it, but...’ He shrugged, making his stabproof rise up and his neck shrink into the hole. Like a high-vis tortoise.
Logan turned to Pine. ‘McGuire was the journalist who broke the story about Keith Braithwaite, Boss. We figure Braithwaite maybe started his revenge tour with him.’
She dropped her hands and stared up into the wild blueyonder. ‘Given the way this week’s gone, if we dig up the field anddofind a body, it’ll be someone else entirely.’
‘On the plus side: you said, “find Natasha Agapova in time for the lunchtime news,” right?’
Just a shame they didn’t know if she’d survive or not...
80
Logan ambled through the custody suite with two wax-paper cups of coffee – raising one in salute to Sergeant Downie with his webbed-feet and cave-fish tan on the way past – heading for the cells.
Someone down the end was belting out showtunes, while someone else screamed at them to shut up, over and over and over and over...
Halfway down the line of heavy blue doors, Logan knocked, then lowered the hatch till the safety-screen revealed the interior of Charles MacGarioch’s cell and:
‘WARNING~↑HATCHUNSAFE, CLOSEFULLY↑’
MacGarioch lay on his thin blue plastic mattress, gazing at the advert for Crimestoppers painted on the ceiling.
He sat up.
So, Logan slid the hatch all the way down to ‘FULLYOPEN’ and balanced one of his wax-paper cups on the little sill. Coffee: milk and three sugars, because apparently that’s how MacGarioch liked it. Lukewarm, because Logan wasn’t about to have a scalding beverage hurled in his face.
‘It’s OK, Charlie: you don’t have to talk to me. Not without a lawyer. Brought you a coffee.’
MacGarioch unfolded himself from the mattress and slouched to the door. Tall enough that he was only visible fromhis neck to his chin through the hatch. He took the wax-paper cup and gave it a suspicious sniff.
‘I thought you should know that Spencer Findlater died this morning. We notified Ralph Hay, and he’s telling the rest of the group, but you’re stuck in here, so...’
It took two goes to get the choked words out: ‘Spence isdead?’
‘It wasn’t the car crash; they’d transferred him out of Intensive Care. Someone killed him. Took a pillow and just...smothered him.’ Logan softened his voice, because even racist dickbags had feelings. ‘If it helps, Spencer was on a suitcase-full of sedatives and painkillers, so they don’t think he suffered. Probably didn’t even know it was happening.’
‘Shite...’ There was a shaky breath, then MacGariochthunked his head against the inside of the cell door. ‘He was my mate. Known him since we weresix.’
‘Sorry.’ Logan took a sip of canteen coffee – better than the stuff from the machine, but still not great. And at least his one was hot. ‘Don’t know if this makes things better or worse, but he’s the guy who tipped us off aboutyouburning the Balmain House Hotel. Told us where to find the petrol can with your fingerprints on it and everything.’
Thunk.
