Logan coughed, one hand windscreen-wipering in an attempt to waft it away. ‘Didn’t drive here, did he?’
‘Only lives across the road. Lucky he didn’t get squashed by a builder’s lorry on the way, though.’ She clicked her fingers under the man’s nose a few times. ‘Mr Murray? Mr Murray: you wanted to talk to someone in charge – this is Detective Chief Inspector McRae.’
A baleful one-eyed glare turned in Logan’s direction. ‘Wanna make...Wanna make a complaint....Police...brutality.’
Logan tutted. ‘Is thistrue, Officer Kent?’
‘Mr Murray became a little “boisterous” when I wouldn’t let him into the crime scene.’ She produced her notebook, flicking through to the relevant page. ‘He felt the exclusion order shouldn’t apply to him, on account of it being his “bloody buggering hotel in the first bloody place” and that we’re “a bunch of buggering wanks” if we think we can keep him “bloody out” of his own “bloody buggering hotel”. Guv.’ She tapped the plastic rectangle fixed to her stabproof vest. ‘I got the whole thing on camera, if it helps?’ Because sometimes Body-Worn Video was your friend. ‘Oh, and he got the scratches-and-scrapes tripping over the kerb, before I even spoke to him. That’s on film too.’
A sigh. ‘Oh dear, Mr Murray: that doesn’t sound very good, does it? In fact, itkind ofsounds as if Officer Kent here should charge you with a number of offences.’
Mr Murray waved a trembling hand in the vague direction of the ruins. ‘Do you...unnerstand...unnerstand someone...died?...In my hotel!...Someone died...’ His pink eyes shimmered. ‘I only tried...It’s not...not fair.’ And tears rolled down his injured cheek.
Poor sod.
Logan swapped the stern-police-officer act for a much kinder tone. ‘But I think, if you apologised, she might be persuaded not to arrest you. Isn’t that right, Officer Kent?’
‘Hmmm...Don’t know, Guv. He wasveryboisterous.’
Mr Murray covered his face with his hands, shoulders jerking with every sob that wracked free. ‘I’m sorry! Please, I’m so sorry...’
Because Charles MacGarioch ruined every life he touched.
‘Hey, it’s OK. Shhh...’ Logan patted Mr Murray on the back. ‘Officer Quirrel will see you home.’
Tufty cast a longing look at the unboiled kettle, then pulled on a brave smile. ‘Come on, let’s get you safely to your beddy-byes.’
It took a bit of hauling and levering, but eventually he got Mr Murray to his feet, where he wobbled and swayed, as if ready to timber down at any moment...before staggering out into the sunshine – with most of his weight supported by the wee loon.
Soon as they’d gone, Rennie popped the lid off the kettle, peered inside, then dug a two-litre bottle of water from one of the cupboards and filled it up.
Logan waited till he’d plugged it in. ‘Milk, no sugar.’ Then followed Tufty and his drunken friend out into the sunshine. Watching from the pavement as they steered a meandering course across the road, like a tiny tug towing a drunken cruise ship.
PC Kent stepped down from the MCU. ‘Sure we shouldn’t do him anyway, Guv?’
‘Nah. What’s that going to achieve? Poor sod’s already lost his hotel.’
The flotilla arrived at the far shore, where Mr Murray performed an ungainly pirouette and thunked sideways into a Subaru estate. Before being hauled upright again and steeredtowards the bland granite building opposite, with is drooping ‘FOR SALE’ sign.
Kent tucked her hands into her stabproof’s armpits. Looking off into the distance and acting all casual. ‘Don’t suppose I can stop doing this anytime soon, can I, Guv? Got to be more interesting-slash-important things to do than guarding a burnt-out craphole.’
Given how short staffed they were?
‘Yeah, probably.’ Logan turned back towards the MCU. ‘It’s...’
Wait a minute.
He swivelled around again. ‘Other side of the road: this guy look familiar to you?’
It was Mr Muscles, from yesterday. With the daft haircut and porn moustache. The one who’d missed his bus. Staring up at the blackened corpse of Balmain House Hotel. Clutching another carrier bag from the off-licence.
Today’s wife-beater vest had ‘COLONELMICHIGAN’SGYM’ and the silhouette of a boxer on it.
He must’ve realised they were watching him, because his gaze drifted down from the scorched granite remains to Logan and PC Kent.
Then a look of horror crawled across his face.
The bag fell from his hand, bursting against the kerb – and a spray of lager frothed out into the warm afternoon.
