‘Uh-huh.’
Something wentcrunchunder his foot.
Logan lifted a V-neck T-shirt out of the way and frowned at what he’d stepped on. An oval tube, wide as a hardback book, but plastic, camouflage-coloured, with some sort of elasticated strapping attached to one end.
He was bending down to pick it up when his phone burst into song, blaring out ‘Ecce Homo, Qui Est Faba’. Which could only mean one thing: Biohazard.
‘Sorry: I’d better take this.’ Poking the green icon. ‘DI Marshall, what can I do for you?’
‘If you’re not safe to talk, find somewhere you are.’
Yeah...That didn’t sound good.
Logan put his hand over the microphone. ‘Wonder if I could bother you for a cup of tea, Mrs Shaw. If it’s not too much bother, of course?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘And I thought it was just lazy writing on all those TV shows.’ But she shuffled off anyway.
He closed the door behind her. ‘OK. Safe to talk.’
‘Got a rush job back from the labs: DNA on our victim. No ID as yet, but we’ve got a hit onfiveunsolved rapes.’
‘Shite...’ Checking the door wasdefinitelyshut. ‘Sounds as if Tufty was right.’
‘He’s a creeper – gets into people’s houses in the wee small hours. Targets single mothers.’A grunt.‘We’re going to need more bodies – preferably female officers – to visit the victims and check for alibis. Don’t want to add to the trauma.’
That wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Logan picked up whatever it was he’d stood on, turning it over in his hand.
Looked like a pair of binoculars, only much higher-tech. The lenses were all cracked, and so was the camouflage-green casing as if someone had stamped and stamped and stamped on it. Leaving wires poking out and bits of circuit board on show.
‘Not sure if it’ll come as a relief or not – knowing someone’s battered the bastard to death and chucked him in the river.’
‘Better not mention that bit. At least, not till we get an OK from the PF...’ Logan weighed the fancy binoculars in his hand. Looked around at the wreckage. ‘Biohazard: this creeper of yours – do the victims remember anythingspecificabout him?’
‘Hold on...’There were some rustling noises.‘Dead of night...Here we go: dressed all in black, wearing a ski-mask with big sharp teeth printed on it. Like a monster’s grin. Threatens them with a dirty big knife – “Make a sound and I’ll slit your throat, then rape your kids...”’A breath.‘Jesus.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Whoever did for this fucker: we should throw them a parade.’
‘The victims say anything else?’
‘Only that it was dark the whole time – he never put the lights on.’
Yeah, but how did he navigate a strange house in the dark...?
Wires and circuit boards.
Maybe theyweren’tbinoculars? Maybe they were night-vision goggles.
And maybe Mrs Shaw’s ‘wee boy’ wasn’t such an angel after all...
Logan leaned back against the pool car, phone to his ear. ‘No comment.’
A wave of noise washed across the street as an orange-and-white jet swooped down towards the airport – roaring in over the field, then disappearing behind a block of flats at the end of the road.
Sadly, the din faded away, and Colin Miller became audible again:‘Seems like it’s your day for finding treats from the deep, but. First it’s Charles MacGarioch’s jacket, now his body.’
