The living room struggled under the weight of a dark wooden table, bookcase, and mantelpiece stuffed full of ugly ceramic angels. Which made a change from ugly china cats. But unlike Victoria MacGarioch’s flat, there wasn’t a single photo of the royal family on display. Or anyone else, come to that. Instead, a brass urn had pride of place on the mahogany sideboard, in a wreath of white plastic roses.
A ridiculously large TV took up one whole corner, the screen filled with some sort of be-jumpered Scandi crime drama – paused mid-gruesome discovery.
Logan shifted on the saggy, striped couch, not drinking the tea they hadn’t been offered.
Why did no one on the telly have the faintest clue about crime-scene management? Never mind an SOC suit,PolitisjefinspectørMelancholy Ugly-Sweatersdóttir wasn’t even wearinggloves.
Rennie stood in front of the window, looking out and down at the street below. Presumably lording it over Tufty.
Which left Mrs McQueen: sitting in pinched stillness on the room’s only armchair as the clock ticked.
Yup: great to feel wanted.
Finally, the living-room door opened and in slouched a young man whose DIY beard kit fluffed out from a puppy-fat face. It went with little pink eyes and a nose that looked asif it’d been broken more than once. He hadn’t bothered to dress for company, scuffing his way to the couch in a LegoNinjagoT-shirt, Spider-Man boxer shorts, and nothing else. Collapsing into the seat beside Logan, with a yawn and a scratch, hair sticking out in all directions.
And even though his skin was pale and lumpy as a tub of cottage cheese, his accent sounded like a wobbly Detroit-gang-banger-from-the-projects knock-off: ‘Go see’s a Coke, Gran.’
‘Get it yersel, ya lazy wee gype. Staggerin’ in at aw hours.’
‘Gra-aaaa-annnn...’ Whining and whinging.
‘Oh, in the name o’ the hairy Christ...’ She levered herself out of her armchair and lumbered from the room.
Rennie got his notebook out – pen at the ready.
‘Jericho.’ Logan put on his best non-threatening-we’re-all-friends-here voice. ‘You’re one of Charles MacGarioch’s mates, right?’
‘Might be. Don’t mean I’ve done nothing. Even ifhehas. Which he hasn’t.’
‘Any idea where he might’ve got to?’
A lopsided shrug. ‘Dunno: at his nan’s or his bitch’s, innit? I ain’t his keeper, bro.’
Logan kept his face perfectly still, because giving the wee shite a bollocking for referring to women as ‘bitches’ wouldn’t help catch Charles MacGarioch. And Soban Yusuf deserved better than that. ‘Sure you didn’t see him yesterday? Or maybe he popped past early this morning, when everyone else was asleep?’
‘Nah: whatever you’s trying to pin on Charlie issod allto do with me. Jericho wasworkingall night.’ He mimed playing twin turntables, while holding imaginary headphones to his ear. As if talking about himself in the third person, in aborrowed accent, didn’t make him enough of a tosser. ‘Got me, like, a hunnerd-an-fifty witnesses, innit?’
‘That’s cool.’ Logan leaned in, as if he was about to share a secret: ‘Where’s he hiding?’
‘Don’t know. Wouldn’t tell you if I did. Cos Jericho don’tclypeon his homies.’
Time to try concerned-parent mode. ‘It’s only going to get worse for him, Jericho. The longer Charlie’s in the wind, the harder they’re going to crack down when they find him. Helpusto helphim.’
Jericho stiffened. ‘You deaf, bro? Jericho – don’t – clype.’
‘I can respect that.’ OK, so concerned-parent didn’t work, how about gossipy-mate? ‘How long have you two known each other?’
‘Since. You know?’ He looked across the room, at the urn sitting on the sideboard. ‘We was in that support thing, for kids that didn’t have no mums and dads. Growed up with our nans or grandads...aunties, that kinda shit.’
‘Must’ve been tough.’
‘Nah.’ Jericho looked over his shoulder at the door, a wee smile on his face. ‘She’s a daft old bitch, and her taste in music iswellcrap, but I love her, you know? She bin good to me all these years. Jericho would fuckin’diefor that woman.’
Fair enough.
Logan produced his phone and called up the photo he’d found in MacGarioch’s bedroom. ‘Charlie found himself someone to love too.’ Holding the screen out.
‘Yeah, he’s a lucky guy.’ Jericho did that stupid finger-clack thing rappers used to do about a decade ago. ‘She isunjustifiablyhot.Spicytrembles, you know what I’m saying?’
