Logan McRae 09 - The Missing and the Dead

by Stuart MacBride

  The driver’s door clunked open and Nicholson slumped in behind the wheel. Sighed.

  Logan put his phone away. ‘Let me guess: it wasn’t him.’

  ‘Looked like him.’

  ‘It’s the same bloke as last time, isn’t it? The one you chased into the Co-op. No moustache. Supports the wrong football team.’

  ‘Well … what sort of idiot goes about looking like a missing person? That’s asking for trouble.’ Nicholson stayed where she was for a moment, then turned the key in the ignition. ‘Could’ve sworn it was him.’

  ‘Shire Uniform Seven – urgent.’

  Logan unhooked his Airwave. ‘Safe to talk.’

  ‘Reports of raised voices and screaming at number sixteen, Chapel Hillock Crescent. You’ve got a grade one flag on that—’

  ‘Alex Williams.’ He thumped a hand down on Nicholson’s shoulder. ‘Go!’

  She shifted gears then jabbed the 999 button setting the lights and siren blazing. Put her foot down.

  The Big Car’s back end wriggled for a moment, rear wheels spinning, then they caught and the whole thing rocketed forwards, pushing Logan into his seat.

  Traffic parted before them, Saturday shoppers stopping on the pavement to gawp as the patrol car flashed and wailed past.

  Logan clicked the talk button. ‘Roger that, we are en route. Who reported it?’ He snatched at the grab handle above the door as Nicholson Silverstoned around the sweeping curve at the bottom of Castle Street. Bushes, trees, and lampposts flashed by the windows. Out onto the wrong side of the road to overtake a lorry full of cattle.

  ‘Next-door neighbours. Say they can hear plates and things smashing.’

  Nicholson hunched forward, closer to the wheel. ‘Told you, Sarge: all fun and games till someone turns on the blender.’

  Steel shoogled in her seat. ‘This is more like it. Bit of excitement for a change.’

  He thumbed Deano’s shoulder number into the handset. ‘Deano, where are you?’

  ‘We’re up the hospital. Again. Our overdose took offence at getting a shot of Narcan. Nearly ripped the head off the paramedic who injected her. What’s up?’

  ‘Alex Williams.’

  ‘Crap. Right, give us a minute. We’ll be there, soon as.’

  The football ground came and went, then the bridge into Macduff. Tearing through the streets of the town, walls of granite flashing past the windows.

  The Big Car screeched around the corner onto Chapel Hillock Crescent. Cookie-cutter houses in the familiar pattern of semidetached houses and mini-terraces. Grey harling. White harling. Red pantile roofs.

  Nicholson stamped on the brakes, bringing them to an abrupt halt outside number sixteen. She jumped out, reached back and opened Logan’s door.

  He’d got one foot on the pavement when his Airwave gave its point-to-point bleeps.

  ‘DCI McInnes to Shire Uniform Seven.’

  Who the hell was DCI McInnes?

  Logan lunged out of the car and hit the button, talking into his shoulder. ‘Have to call you back, sir, we’re—’

  ‘No you won’t! You will talk to me now or I will personally get someone over there to kick a hole in your backside big enough to drive a bus through!’

  Nicholson scrambled up the path to the red front door. Hammered on it. ‘POLICE! OPEN UP!’

  ‘I’m attending a domestic. You do what you want.’

  More hammering. ‘POLICE!’

  He let go of the Airwave. ‘Kick it in.’

  Nicholson stepped back and hammered her foot into the UPVC, an inch below the handle. The thing gave a wobbling BOOM, but it didn’t seem to do anything. She gave it another go. BOOM.

  ‘Sergeant, I am warning you!’

  Steel got out and made a loudhailer out of her hands. ‘TRY THE HANDLE, YOU IDIOT!’

  Nicholson did. And the front door swung open. The sound of raised voices battered out into the afternoon. Then something smashing.

  She charged inside, Logan right behind her. Steel puffing along at the rear.

  It was a short hallway with a set of stairs on one side, heading up to a small landing. Downstairs, two doors lay wide open. One to a kitchen, the other—

  A scream – off to the right.

  Nicholson threw herself into the lounge, clacked out her extendable baton. ‘POLICE! NOBODY MOVE!’

  An older man stood with his fist raised, ready to snap forward. Little shards of white clung to his grey hair and the shoulders of his torn shirt. Scarlet dripped from the lobe of one ear.

  A young woman scrambled back on the couch, trying to push herself into the cushions. One eye was screwed shut, the skin already starting to redden around it. Blood made a greasy smear at the side of her mouth. Long brown hair, a tangled mess around her face.

  Logan snapped out his extendable baton. ‘ENOUGH!’

  The man’s arm trembled. Then he dropped the fist and stood there with his shoulders slumping. Chest heaving. ‘I’m … I’m sorry …’

  Steel appeared at Logan’s shoulder. ‘Aye, you sodding well will be.’

  She stepped into the room. Flashed her warrant card. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Steel.’ She pointed at Logan and Nicholson, then at the shaking man. ‘Get him out of here.’

  Sunlight bathed the back garden, making the grass and shrubs glisten impossibly green. Logan sat on the top step of a section of decking, Airwave pressed to his ear. Other hand massaging his forehead. Doing nothing to shift the rusty tin cans rattling about behind his eyes.

  ‘Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Perfectly.’

  ‘I will not have you trying to circumvent my Major Investigation Team. And if I hear you’ve been bothering DI Porter again—’

  ‘I didn’t …’ What was the point? ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘You will stay away from Operation Troposphere, or by God I’ll make you wish you had.’

  ‘Operation Troposphere?’

  A couple of gardens over, a dog barked, setting off a chain reaction further down the road. A staccato rhythm with lawnmower solo and the shrieking chorus of happy children.

  ‘Yes, Operation Troposphere. You really think you know best, because you stumbled across the drugs in the first place? Well, you don’t. And what the hell were you thinking, calling it Operation Schofield? Anyone with half a brain could connect that to someone called “Kevin the Gerbil”. Were you trying to get him killed?’

  ‘No, sir. It—’

  ‘This is why we use random name generators, Sergeant, to prevent stupid cock-ups like that. It’s not your investigation any more. All aspects of Operation Troposphere are off limits.’

  Deep breath. One last go. ‘Sir, with all due respect, we’ll have to deal with the fall-out on the ground. If there’s a major influx of drugs on the way to Banff, we need to know what we—’

  ‘No you don’t. I decide what you need to know, Sergeant. And right now you need to mind your own business. Keep your nose out of my investigation!’

  Silence from the handset.

  Logan checked the display – Detective Chief Inspector McInnes had gone.

  A long, slow breath hissed out between gritted teeth. ‘Up yours, sir.’ He twisted the Airwave handset back onto its mount. Turned to face the kitchen.

  Nicholson had her back to him in the kitchen window. Behind her, the top of a grey-haired head was just visible above the sill. Probably sitting at the kitchen table trying to justify the whole thing. Alex was sorry. Alex didn’t mean it. Alex wouldn’t ever do it again. They loved each other.

  Right up till the time one of them ended up in the hospital or the cemetery.

  No wonder so many police officers drank.

  Logan let himself in the back door. Leaned on the working surface. ‘Well?’

  The floor was littered with broken crockery and spilled cutlery. Rorschach inkblots spattered the walls, marking the death-throes of half a dozen bottles and jars. Their shattered gla
ss corpses lay slumped on the floor below.

  Nicholson pulled her face into a grimace. ‘Usual. Started off with an argument over who was going to get voted off The Voice tonight, ended up with threats to kill.’

  The door through to the hall crashed open and Steel stomped in. Scowled. Pointed a finger at the figure slumped at the table. ‘Think yourself lucky, sunshine. See if I have to come back here?’ She slammed her palm down on the tabletop.

  He flinched, covered his head with his hands. ‘I’m so sorry …’

  ‘You’re on your final warning.’ Steel snapped her fingers. ‘Tweedle Dum, Tweedle Dee – we’re out of here.’ No one moved. ‘Now!’

  Logan and Nicholson followed her down the hallway.

  The door to the living room was still open. A broken coffee table. A picture ripped from the wall. A small figure curled on the edge of the couch, watching as they passed, her eye well on its way from red to black.

  Logan stepped out through the front door and closed it behind him.

  Nicholson sniffed. ‘Bloody disaster. Next time it’s going to be all ambulances and trauma teams.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  Steel was halfway to the car, puffing away on her e-cigarette when she stopped, turned and jabbed a fist at the house. ‘Makes me want to scream.’

  ‘So why didn’t we arrest—’

  ‘How could she no’ want to press charges? What the goat-buggering hell is wrong with her?’

  Logan pulled his chin in. ‘What?’

  ‘But it’s OK, because they love each other. Well, that’s all right then, isn’t it?’ Steel kicked the head off a scarlet rose growing in the front border. An explosion of blood drops drifted to the ground. ‘You don’t put up with that crap, OK? You don’t!’

  Logan took a step towards her. Frowning. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘The bastard hit her!’ The e-cigarette’s end glowed fierce and cold. ‘But don’t you worry, I had a good long chat with her. Told her: no one gets to treat her like that. See if it was me, I’d hack the bastard’s balls off with a rusty spoon.’

  The frown slipped. ‘You did what?’

  Nicholson swallowed. ‘Oh God …’

  Steel kicked the head off another rose. ‘How can a grown man do that to a wee girl?’

  ‘WHAT?’ Logan stared back at the house. ‘You told her to hack …? No, no, no, no, no!’

  Nicholson was already sprinting up the path. She barged past him and grabbed the door handle, yanked it up and down. ‘It’s locked!’

  Steel stared at them both from the pavement. ‘What the hell are you pair playing at? I sorted it.’

  Logan snapped out his extendable baton. ‘Alex Williams isn’t the old man, it’s her, you idiot. She’s been in and out of prison for domestic assault ever since she was sixteen, and you told her to hack her partner’s balls off!’

  Muffled screams came from somewhere inside.

  Steel’s mouth fell open. The e-cigarette tumbled from between her lips and clattered against the paving slabs. ‘Don’t just stand there, kick the bloody door in!’

  31

  The siren drowned out the voice on the other end of the phone, then the ambulance engine roared and it was off, blue lights flashing.

  Logan turned his back on the noise. ‘Sorry, I didn’t get that, Derek. Can you repeat?’

  A sigh. ‘I said, there’s no sign of her. Border Agency have got no record of her passport being scanned on the way out of the country. Theoretically, she could have travelled to another EU country using her driving licence as photo ID and flown out from there, but there’s no record of an Electronic Travel Authority being issued to let her into Australia.’

  Alex Williams stared out at him from the back of the Big Car, wearing a black eye and a pout. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, it’ll never happen again. We love each other.

  ‘So Kevin Spinney’s mother never went to Australia.’

  ‘Not unless she’s got forged papers, no. Now, I think I’ve fulfilled my obligation, don’t you?’

  ‘Thanks, Derek.’

  ‘Don’t mention it. Please. Don’t mention it to anyone.’ He hung up.

  Steel grumbled her way out of the house, on the phone to someone. ‘No, it … She shouldn’t have been let out in the first place. The team here did everything they could.’ Steel looked up and scanned the road. Neighbours stood behind a cordon of ‘POLICE’ tape, all having a good gawp at the house and its uniformed comings and goings. Then Steel must’ve spotted Logan, because she waved and marched over. ‘Yes, sir. … I’m sure it will … Thank you, sir.’ She slid the phone into an inside pocket. Grimaced. Stood right next to him and lowered her voice to barely a murmur. ‘We are royally screwed soon as anyone finds out.’

  Logan stared down at her. ‘What do you mean, “we”? “We” didn’t tell her to cut her partner’s balls off, that was all you.’

  The murmur became a growl. ‘You remembering who alibied you to the Ginger Ninja?’

  He nodded at the Big Car and Alex Williams in the back seat. ‘Not me you’ve got to worry about, it’s her. Probably well on the way to convincing herself that you made her do it.’

  ‘Well … At least …’ Steel frowned. ‘Looking on the bright side …’ She scuffed a toe along the pavement. Pulled out her e-cigarette. ‘No, I’ve got nothing.’

  Singing echoed out through one of the closed cell doors, reverberating down the corridor. It was an old Elvis number about Mr Presley setting his soul on fire, only sung in a thick Northeast accent with the chorus changed to, ‘Viva, Pee-Ter-Heed’.

  The Police Custody and Security Officer undid Alex Williams’s cuffs, then stepped back out of the cell as Alex rubbed at her wrists.

  He closed the door with a solid, final thump. Then slid down the observation hatch. The female cellblock was old-fashioned compared to the new male wing. No science-fiction row of stainless steel with fancy fittings here, it was all dark blue and industrial.

  The PCSO took out a whiteboard marker and printed the words, ‘VIOLENT ~ DO NOT TRUST!’ on the hatch. Knocked on the door. ‘If you need anything before your lawyer gets here, use the intercom button by the door.’

  Alex stepped up close to the hatch and looked past the PCSO’s shoulder at Logan. ‘I do love him, you know?’ A little smile. ‘He just … annoys me sometimes.’

  Logan reached forward and clicked the hatch shut. Turned and marched back out through the barred gate and into the custody suite. ‘Total utter nutjob.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’ The PCSO swung the gate shut with a clang and locked it. ‘Place is full of them after last night. Knocking lumps out of each other during the wedding, now they’re all taking turns to start a singsong. It’s going to be a long weekend.’

  Away in the male cell wing, someone launched into, ‘Welcome to the Hotel Fraserburgh, such a lovely place …’ Soon joined by half a dozen other voices.

  The PCSO shrugged. ‘Still, at least they’re in tune. And it’s better than the usual swearing.’

  Logan followed him back to the booking desk with its posters and notices and leaflets. Stopped, one hand on the countertop. ‘When Kevin McEwan and Colin Spinney were in here, did they say anything about Spinney’s mum?’

  ‘Gerbil and Klingon?’ The PCSO scratched at one of his tattooed arms with the bunch of keys. ‘Hmm …’ One eye squeezed closed and the scratching intensified. Then stopped. ‘She’s gone to Australia? Sydney or Perth, something like that.’

  No she sodding hadn’t.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I can ask, if you like? Got a mate works as a Prison Officer in Craiginches.’

  ‘Keep it low key. Someone finds out I’m taking an interest, I’ll get my testicles handed to me.’ Speaking of which. ‘Sorry, got to make a call.’

  He slipped out the side door and into the car park at the back of the building. A couple of patrol cars were parked next to the tradesman’s e
ntrance. One Transit van sagging to the right with a flat front tyre. And a couple of everyday family saloons. No one about.

  Logan pulled out his phone and called Nicholson’s mobile. Listened to it ring for a bit.

  Then she was on the line. ‘Sarge? Why didn’t you use the Airwave?’

  Because this way they wouldn’t be monitored or recorded.

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘Lost a lot of blood. Going to be in surgery for at least another two hours.’

  Deep breath. ‘Listen, if anyone asks about what happened today—’

  ‘I didn’t hear anything. Not until someone screamed inside.’

  ‘Janet, DCI Steel—’

  ‘Think there must’ve been something coming over my handset at the time, because I didn’t hear her say anything.’

  ‘Janet. You tell the truth: no mitigation, no spin. A cock-up’s OK – a cover-up isn’t. We don’t synchronize our stories, that’s when the rot sets in.’

  Nothing from the other end.

  ‘Janet, you with me?’

  ‘Yes, Sarge.’

  ‘Good.’ He hung up. Pushed back into the detention suite.

  His Airwave bleeped.

  ‘Shire Uniform Seven, safe to talk?’

  Can’t even get two minutes … Logan pressed the button and talked into his shoulder. ‘Hammer on, Maggie.’

  ‘Sergeant McRae, I’m afraid we’ve got a problem with this evening’s lateshift. Sergeant Muir’s broken his leg.’

  The Fraserburgh Cellblock Choir must’ve reached a difficult bit in their song, because the words were replaced by lots of ‘la, la, la,’ until they hit the chorus again.

  Logan closed his eyes. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Unfortunate encounter with a springer spaniel. He fell off his mountain bike.’

  ‘Let me guess: Inspector McGregor wants someone to fill in for Muir. No one else free?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Of course there wasn’t.

  So much for helping Helen paint the living room tonight. Still, at least it meant overtime. ‘Yeah, OK. Put me down for a green shift.’

  Logan swivelled his chair left and right, and back again. Every movement coming with a free squeak, like the whole mechanism was resting on top of an angry mouse. ‘No, I’m going to be stuck at work. Just wanted to check in and see if the new antibiotics were working.’