‘School kept next-of-kin details on file. Mrs Euphemia Abercrombie-Murray was down as a second point of contact, in case they couldn’t get hold of Knox’s mum.’
At least that meant Finnie could call off his witch hunt.
Logan looked out through the falling snow. Lights were on in Knox’s house, everyone probably woken hours ago by Colin and his grumpy photographer. That was one good thing about the weather: no journalist was daft enough to camp out on the doorstep.
‘Anything else I should know?’
‘Well-’
The driver’s door creaked open and Sandy stuck his head in, snow clinging to the shoulders of his blue parka and the fringe of hair around of his head. ‘God it’s freezing out-’
‘No’ yet, eh, Sandy?’
‘Oh for…’ He threw his arms wide. ‘It’s my bloody car!’
‘Five minutes, mate.’
‘You know what: it’s my bloody petrol too.’ He yanked the key out of the ignition, then slammed the door again and marched off, hauling the parka’s fur-trimmed hood over his bald patch.
Colin dropped his voice to a whisper, ‘Ever heard of someone called Michael “Mental Mikey” Maitland?’
‘Newcastle mobster. If you’re going to tell me Knox was working for him, save your breath. I know.’
The reporter seemed to deflate a bit. ‘Oh.’
‘Anything else?’
‘You know he died Friday night?’
Pause. ‘So?’
The smile was back on Colin’s face. ‘Welcome to Wednesday’s exclusive: Knox was Mental Mikey’s accountant, right? Not someone you’d trust your grandad with, but cash: genius. Word is Mikey got Knox to squirrel away a bit of rainy-day money.’
‘How much?’
‘Who all now want to get their hands on Mikey’s nest egg.’
Colin tapped the side of his head with a stiff, leathered finger. ‘Aye, but our boy Knox is the only one knows where it is and how to get at it.’
Logan watched a robin bob and hop across Knox’s front garden, leaving little CND footprints. ‘The lying bastard…’
‘Eh?’
‘Nothing.’ He clunked open the back door. ‘Anything else comes up — and I mean anything at all — give me a call.’
Colin shrugged. ‘Aye, and what’s in it for me?’
‘Dundee, Desperate Dan: truth. Remember?’
Logan climbed out into the snow, clunking the door shut on the reporter’s reply.
28
It was almost as cold inside Richard Knox’s house as it was outside, the windows spidered with tendrils of frost. So everyone gathered in the kitchen, listening to the kettle rumbling its way back to the boil again.
Everyone except Richard Knox: he was through in the lounge, kneeling in front of the three-bar electric fire, praying.
Logan nodded towards the door. ‘How’s he doing?’
Mandy from Sacro pulled a face. ‘Not happy. When that Weegie short-arse hammered on the door this morning Knox went off on one. Smashed the rest of the ornaments and broke all the furniture.’
Harry, her partner, stifled a yawn. ‘Only thing he didn’t do was lie down and beat his fists on the floor.’
Steel hauled herself to her feet. ‘Good. Maybe he’ll get so upset he’ll sod off somewhere else.’ She clunked her mug on the tabletop. ‘Anyone wants me, I’m outside having a fag.’
Guthrie worked his way through the cupboards as Steel shouldered the back door and stomped out into the overgrown garden. ‘Any biscuits?’
‘Already?’ Butler shook her head. ‘You just had three pies.’
‘Got a fast metabolism.’
‘Got a bloody tapeworm, more like…’ She trailed off into silence.
Someone was hammering on the front door. Then the letterbox clattered open and a voice shouted in through the gap, ‘MR KNOX? RICHARD? WHAT WOULD YOU SAY TO THE FAMILIES OF YOUR VICTIMS?’
‘Christ, not again.’ Guthrie looked at Butler. ‘Whose turn is it?’
‘I did the last two.’
‘Sod.’ Guthrie grabbed his peaked cap off the kitchen work-surface and jammed it on his head, then marched down the corridor.
‘RICHARD? DON’T YOU DESERVE THE CHANCE TO TELL YOUR SIDE OF THE STORY?’
Logan watched Guthrie haul open the front door — the woman squatting on the other side almost fell on her backside. It took Guthrie nearly two minutes to get rid of her, with a lot of arguing, complaints about freedom of the press, two attempts at bribery, and a veiled threat that Guthrie hadn’t heard the last of this.
She stormed off down the snow-covered garden path, a photographer in tow.
Guthrie closed the front door again. ‘Bloody
Something thumped against the wood and he sagged. Swore. Then put his hat back on again and wrenched the door open. A second snowball thumped against the wall beside him, sending out a flurry of white.
Logan could just make out the
Guthrie shouted: ‘Hoy! You!’ then hurried down the path after her.
Logan closed the door.
Richard Knox crossed himself, stood, then wiped a hand across his eyes. The room was even gloomier than usual, curtains drawn, the only light coming from the three-bar electric fire: its middle coil giving off a weak orange glow, the other two dead and dark.
Logan stood on the threshold, looking into the lounge. There wasn’t a single ornament left in one piece, the faded wallpaper pockmarked with the residue of ceramic explosions. The standard lamp lay tipped into the corner, its wooden upright snapped in the middle, brown wires poking out. Broken television on its back. Coffee table on its side, missing two legs. The overturned sofa missing an arm.
The only thing he hadn’t touched was his three-bar votive flame.
Logan hauled one of the armchairs back onto its legs, shoogled it in front of the fire and sat. ‘Like what you’ve done with the place.’
Knox didn’t look around, his voice small and snivelly. ‘How did they find us?’
‘Your old English teacher sold your school records.’
‘She always was a bitch, like.’ He rubbed his eyes again. ‘You ever stop and think, “maybe God doesn’t love us any more”? That he’s doing all this to punish us?’
Knox turned and wandered over to the closed curtains. ‘It’s a test, though, isn’t it? All this? A test of me faith.’
‘We have to move you somewhere else.’
‘Like prison.’ Knox smiled, his face creasing up on one side. ‘It was a test of me faith, and when I passed, God rewarded us. Got the prison shrink help us come to terms with me childhood. Stuff that was confusing us,
Logan sat forward. ‘You know, there’s a psychologist in Aberdeen who wants to help you as well.’
