Logan stepped over the threshold, blinking as a fug of second-hand booze enveloped him. Sharp and stale and miserable. ‘Come on, we’d better get you downstairs.’
Down in the horrible, bottle-filled kitchen, Logan propped Mr Murray up on a rickety kitchen chair, while Tufty went a-rummaging. Banging and clattering his way through the cupboards, looking for supplies to make coffee with.
‘Mr Murray?’ Logan gave the man’s shoulder a squeeze; all friends together. ‘Do you want to tell us about Spencer Findlater and Charles MacGarioch?’
He smacked his lips, releasing the stench of too much cheap wine on an empty stomach. ‘I used have...used have dreeeeeeams,...know? Dreams.’ Waving a hand at the house that festered all around them. ‘Not any...not any more....All that’s...all that’sdead, now....Dead, dead, dead.’
‘Aha! Sarge: I does has a success.’ Tufty clunked a jar of instant down on the worktop. ‘Don’t you worry, Mr Murray, we’ve got everything necessary for a good sobering-up cuppa! Except for milk. And sugar. And a clean mug. But other thanthat, we’re great.’
‘Mr Murray? Why don’t we start with how you met Charles MacGarioch and Spencer Findlater?’
The man screwed one eye closed, the other watery and bloodshot as he peered up at Logan. ‘S’not...didn’t...’ A shudder. ‘Wasn’t my...my fault.’ Wobbling on his chair as the kettle boiled.
‘Yousureabout that?’
‘No...’ His lips trembled, good eye shimmering as the tears welled up. ‘No one was...no one was meant...to gethurrrrrrt.’ Rubbing at his stomach as the half-word, half-belch dissipated. ‘See...header tank. Header tank!’
‘The leak.’ The one PC Kent mentioned – the burst pipes that forced the families at thefrontof the hotel to move to the back.
Mr Murray put a finger to his lips. ‘Shhhhhhh...! Was meant...meant to flood all...should’a...allthe bedrooms out....But got the pipes...mixed-up and...only front ones!’ He grabbed the nearest bottle, swirling it in front of his face, as if trying to get the contents in focus. But it was empty, so he chucked it over his shoulder.
It bounced off the tatty wee fridge and smashed against the floor.
‘Onlyfrontflooded....Wanted to...wanted to cancel fire...but forgot...tophone!...Forgot to phone.’ Grabbing another bottle – empty. ‘Too late.’ He threw both hands in the air. ‘Whoooooosh!’
Smash.
It took a bit of doing, but Logan kept his voice warm andfriendly. ‘What made you think the insurance company would fall for it?’
‘Ahaaaaa...Cos...’ Mr Murray threw Tufty a shifty look, as if he might clype to the authorities. ‘Cos everyone knows...racist pricks...everywherethese days....Far-right did it!...Burning things....Thick as pigshit....Nazi wankers.’ The finger came up to his lips again. ‘Shhhhh...! Nobody ever...will ever know!’
‘Yes they sodding well will: on your feet.’
So, it wasn’t racism after all.
It was good old-fashioned greed, coupled with incompetence.
Logan produced his handcuffs. ‘Craig Murray, I am arresting you under section one of the Criminal Justice, Scotland, Act 2016...’
81
Logan stood on the sun-speckled lawn, arms spread wide as a cool breeze rippled across the back garden. Blessed relief from the relentless baking heat of the last week and a bit.
Birds sang Monteverdi in the treetops, and the moon sparkled like burnished gold, crowning an azure sky.
‘Duran Duran!’Tara wandered out from the kitchen, carrying a pot of bubbling mince. ‘We’ve got five of Duran Duran’s greatest hits, but the song titles have all been scrambled into anagrams. And whatyouneed to do isunscramble them.’
He bent his knees, and pushed off the green sward.
‘“Firing Molls”, “I Two Like Lava”, “Owls By Id”, “Ennui Foot Shaken”, and “Eight Flunky Howler”.’
Four feet up, Logan swooshed his arms back and his legs together, swimming the breaststroke, higher and higher.
‘You get a five-second bonus if you can recite them all in alphabetical order, or ten seconds by date of release, or a whoppingtwenty secondsif you can do it by chart position.’
He soared over the back fence, turning as the sun began to—
A filthy bird flew straight into his mouth, dirty and brown and Logan spluttered, thrashing upright, coughing and gagging. ‘Aaaaaaarrgh! What the...?’
