out and slammed the side door shut.
Gavin rubbed his hands across his face. ‘No idea. Maybe in the crowd shots?’
‘Any chance you could-’
‘Mate, I’ve got a live bulletin on in ten, a…’ He lowered his voice, ‘A reporter with PMT who won’t deliver her bloody lines properly, a dodgy sound desk, and about three thousand other things I’ve got to do before we hand over to the London studio. What do you think?’
Logan sighed. ‘OK, OK. I’ll get a warrant.’
The man nodded. ‘Good idea. Now, if you don’t mind…?’
Logan stood off to the side, watching the woman from BBC Scotland doing her live broadcast for the
Behind her, Knox’s house was a blackened shell, steam and thin ribbons of greasy smoke rising from the blackened windows while the Fire Brigade rolled their hoses up.
A fake English accent sounded at Logan’s shoulder. ‘’Allo, ‘allo, what’s all this then?’
He didn’t even have to check. ‘Evening Colin.’
The wee reporter rubbed his leather-gloved hands together, the rigid finger joints sticking out at odd angles. ‘Brass monkeys, but.’
‘Isobel give you a late pass, did she?’
‘Why, fancy a pint later?’
‘Can’t: on the wagon.’
‘Fuck me, must be serious.’ Colin blew into his cupped, gloved hands, wreathing them in a white cloud. ‘Any off-the-record statements you’d like to make for your old mate?’
Logan frowned for a minute. ‘Yeah. Can you say: “sources close to the investigation think the media are a bunch of sketchy bastards for standing about filming Knox’s house burning down when they should have been calling the Fire Brigade”?’
‘Ah…’ Colin bit his top lip and stared at his shuffling feet. ‘It was…Well, you always think someone else must’ve…Ahem.’
‘Yeah, I’ll bet you do.’
Logan hunched his shoulder. Now the fire was out, winter was reclaiming the street.
‘You still got Grumpy the Photographer with you?’
‘Driving us mental with his moanin’. You’d think he’d be happy to get a nice juicy story like this, wouldn’t you? Got to be better than coverin’ some crappy cow auction at Thainstone.’
Logan glanced back along the street to where DI Steel was slumped in the passenger seat of a pool car, cigarette smoke drifting out into the frigid night.
‘How’d you like to help the police with their enquiries?’
35
The photographer’s battered Volkswagen was parked under a streetlight, three doors down from the smouldering remains of Knox’s house. Probably moved to keep its delicate rusty bodywork safe from the riot Colin’s article had caused. The car’s owner was out in the middle of the road, the hood of his parka zipped all the way up, hiding his bald head, a huge camera pressed to the fur-trimmed porthole. Capturing the Fire Brigade’s retreat.
Colin made a loud-hailer with his mangled hands. ‘Hoy, Sandy, you nearly done?’
The man stayed where he was, taking another shot of a massive white fire engine grumbling and hissing its way out through the police cordon, the flash freezing the snow in midair.
Colin pulled a face. ‘God forbid we should interrupt his muse. HOY, BALDY!’
Sandy lowered his camera and turned, scowling away in the depths of his coat. ‘Can we fuck off home now?’
‘You downloaded everythin’ to the laptop yet?’
Shrug. ‘’Cept this lot. Why?’
‘Car keys.’ Colin held out a hand.
‘Bastard…’ Sandy rummaged in his pocket, then dropped them into Colin’s black-leather palm. ‘I’m never getting home, am I?’
Colin grinned. ‘I’ve seen your wife, you should be thankin’ me. Now away you go back to your wee photos.’
They climbed into the back of the car, while Sandy stomped off towards the burnt-out house, swearing.
‘No pleasing some people.’ Colin pointed. ‘Laptop should be under the seat in front of you.’
So were a bunch of empty crisp packets, and a couple of crumpled Coke cans…Logan’s fingers brushed against a flat rectangle of neoprene. He dragged it out and handed it over.
Colin powered the thing up. ‘Right, let’s see if the wee jobby’s actually put them in the right…Buggering…’ His crooked fingers fumbled with the mousepad. ‘Fine, sod you.’ He hauled his right glove off. The pinkie stopped at the second joint, the finger next to it at the first, the puckered ends shiny and hard looking. He tried again, and the cursor wheeched through the menu structure. ‘Here we go.’
The screen filled with the mob gathered outside Knox’s house, pinched faces, mouths caught open, screaming abuse, placards waving. It was a good photo, very atmospheric. Sandy might have been a miserable sod, but he knew what he was doing with a camera.
Logan scanned the crowd, looking for a black and white bobble hat. ‘Next.’
Colin hit the key and they were looking at the same shot a fraction of a second later. And again. Then another photo of the crowd. The house. A sequence of Knox throwing the curtains wide, then his eyes bulging, then Logan lumbering up in stop motion to drag them shut again. The window shattering. More shots of the crowd.
Logan sat back in his seat. ‘Crap. This is going to take
‘How’s he taking it?’
Standing in the hall, Mandy shrugged. ‘Think he misses his electric fire.’
Knox was in the lounge, kneeling in front of the window. Praying. He’d switched off the lights, but a faint yellow glow seeped in from outside, accompanied by the distant hum of traffic on the North Deeside road.
It was a nice little flat, the kind of place they liked to feature on those makeover shows, where the before always looked a hell of a lot better than the after.
Three bedrooms, a galley kitchen, flat-screen telly, and central heating. Bliss.
Harry shifted from foot to foot. ‘You want a cup of tea, or something? I’m making anyway, it’s no problem?’
‘Coffee: black, two sugars.’
Nod. ‘Nice to be warm again, isn’t it? After that bloody great fridge of a place.’
‘The stink of mildew and mould.’
Harry grinned. ‘Those mushrooms growing under the kitchen sink.’
‘All gone up in flames.’
Silence.
‘You know.’ Harry worried at a loose button on his shirt. ‘Would’ve thought he’d be a bit more…upset. Family home, and all that.’
Mandy stepped back and closed the lounge door. If Knox wanted to sneak off through the lounge window — good luck to him. The flat was on the fourth floor, so the fall would probably break his neck. Save everyone a lot of time and trouble.
She followed Harry through to the kitchen, and watched him fill and boil the kettle. ‘I’m still not happy about the security.’
‘Yeah, well.’ He shrugged. ‘They’ll get the CCTV installed outside tomorrow. We can manage for one night, right? You want a biscuit?’
