And stretched...
And was going for a swim in the river, wasn’t he. Ruining a perfectly good fighting suit and digital camera along the way...
And finally, his fingertips latch onto the leather whatever-it-was.
Thank Christ for that.
He pulled, but nothing happened.
Oh, come on.
He tightened his grip, hauling and heaving, then tugging and jerking, then straining and swearing, bracing himself as best he could against the wobbly branches and slimy rock, andreallyyanking the bloody thing towards him. Until the whole thing wrenched free in a gunfire crackle of snapping twigs and splintering wood and Logan nearly went in the river again.
There was a whoosh of water, spattering out of the red-and-white leather as it burst into the air. The thing had sleeves, so definitely not a seat cushion – a jacket, identical to the one Charles MacGarioch was wearing when he jumped out his bedroom window.
Biohazard tutted. ‘Is thatit?’
A chorus of moans and whinges rose from the search teams on both sides of the river.
Not sure if they were disappointed because there wasn’t a body attached, or because Logan wasn’t currently floating downstream towards the North Sea.
Logan leaned forward again, still holding the jacket in one hand as he stared into the underwater hole it had occupied.
No body lurking there, either.
Sod.
Logan shuffled around in his hunched-over crouch, and picked his way back along the dam to the shore, where he tossed the jacket to Biohazard.
‘Gah...!’ He caught it, but the thing was still piddling water, so Biohazard had to dance backwards, scooting uphill and holding the thing out at arm’s length to keep his socks dry. Because that’s what happens when you’ve lent your wellington boots to someone. ‘Did youhaveto?’
‘Yup.’ While it was hanging there, Logan searched the jacket’s pockets: one waterlogged mobile phone; one pack-of-three, fruit-flavoured, ribbed-for-her-pleasure, go-longer-numbing-gel condoms; one ruined 20-pack of cigarettes; and one set of car keys, with a plastic 99-cone key ring that looked an awful lot like the one on top of Mr FreezyWhip.
He held up the keys, jiggling them so they sparkled. ‘And you definitely didn’t find any sign of him getting out further upstream?’
‘Naw. You’d leave signs, wouldn’t you?’ Biohazard glanced up the bank. ‘Footprints in the mud, crushed vegetation, wading through the long grass...Stuff like that.’
‘Then MacGarioch’s still alive.’
Biohazard turned and waved at one of his team – anonymous in their SOC suit and mask. ‘Bernie: chuck us a big evidence bag. Waterproof.’ Then back to Logan. ‘And how do you deducethat, Oh Great One?’
Logan jiggled the keys again. ‘He took these out of the van’s ignition and stuck them in his pocket on the way downstream. You don’t do that if you’re drowning.’ Watching as the jacket was bagged-up. ‘He planked his leathers here, because a bright-red-and-white jacket’s going to stick out like an infected toe. And Charles MacGarioch wants to stay as invisible as possible.’
Logan held out the keys and Bernie bagged those too. ‘Keep looking. He clambered ashore somewhere between here and the sea – and if we’re lucky,someonesaw him.’
Biohazard seemed to think about that for a minute, then rolled his eyes. ‘Fine. But I want my wellies back!’
xv
Didn’t matter how much sunshine there was, an industrial estate was an industrial estate was an industrial estate. Or, in layman’s terms: the view was shite.
Colin Miller (56) shoved his way out of the newsroom and strutted down the corridor, rocking a dark-blue linen suit today. Grey shirt. Orange tie. Because real men weren’t afraid of a little colour. No portfolio of stories clutched under his arm this time – nah, Mr Ring Binder had stayed home, on the desk – instead he was armed with a notepad and a mug of Colombia’s finest clutched in his stiff-fingered black-leather hands.
Aye, that’scoffee, no’ cocaine.
He turned the corner and blinked at the silly bastard sat on his arse outside the editor’s office. Again.
Louis from the Art Department (26), wearing the same stripy jumper, sneakers, and Poundland jeans as yesterday. Complete with his collection of mountboards.
