woman Wendy Leadbetter had picked out from the picture, the one with the ‘DIE — KNOX — SCUM!’ placard. She blinked at him a couple of times. ‘Can I help you?’ Geordie accent.
Logan hauled his warrant card out of his pocket. ‘Police.’
She looked at it, then looked at him. Then sighed. ‘Best come in.’
They were in the lounge. Three men sitting around a roaring gas fire, two in matching armchairs, one on the couch, an open bottle of Lagavulin on the coffee table between them. The peaty whisky smelled like disinfectant in the silent room.
One was the pale man from the crowd photographs — Bruce Lowe, the home owner. One was tall with grey hair and a red handprint on his cheek. And the third was Jimmy Evans.
Logan stared at him. ‘Thought you were on your way down to Sunderland.’
The old man shrugged and took a sip of whisky. ‘Surprise.’
‘So, let me guess,’ Logan turned to the third man, ‘that makes you the son?’
‘Matt Evans.’ He drained his glass, then reached forwards and topped it up again. The bottle trembled in his hand. ‘Knox raped my uncle.’
‘Where is he?’
The woman slumped into the sofa, next to the old man, helped herself to a whisky. ‘Gone.’
Jimmy Evans ran a hand across his bruised forehead. ‘We were going to hand him over to the police-’
‘Evans!’ Lowe scowled at him. ‘He doesn’t know any-’
The woman waved her hand. ‘Oh shut up,
A shape lumbered into view through the window: Butler, her black jacket and hat already caked with snow. She rapped on the glass. Logan ignored her. ‘What’s over?’
Evans took a swig of pale-yellow whisky. ‘My brother never got over what Knox did to him. Chained to a wall, tortured, raped…And then when he goes to the police, what happens? Two big bastards come round and threaten to cripple his grandkids if he doesn’t change his story: say he lied about it.’
‘Knox was here and you let him
‘Was never the same after that. Took Simon four years to die; just gave up in the end.’ The old man drained his glass. ‘Knox killed him, sure as if he’d stuck a knife in his guts. So when that policeman Danby called and said he wanted to-’
‘Evans! Keep your big gob shut!’ Bruce Lowe clambered to his feet and turned to Logan. ‘I just asked them back here for a drink, offer a bit of support. He’s drunk. You can’t-’
‘Don’t talk to my dad like that!’ Matt hauled himself out of his armchair. ‘Least he had the guts to go through with it, you couldn’t even shoot the little-’
‘I had nothing to do with-’
‘SHUT UP!’ The woman slammed her glass down on the coffee table. ‘Just…shut up.’
The knocking at the window got louder.
She sank back into the sofa. ‘We didn’t let Knox go, we sold him.’
Logan could feel his mouth hanging open. ‘You
‘Some bossy cow turned up with two thugs. She said she could sell Knox to some gangsters who’re after him. Split the money with us. Supposed to be compensation for what he did.’ Ellen gave a short laugh, then picked up her glass again, greasy beads of alcohol shimmering on the sides. ‘They even had this…fat naked guy in a dressing gown with them, tied up with a bag over his head. Suppose they were going to sell him too.’ She took a swig. Bared her teeth. ‘Must be good money in perverts.’
She had no idea.
There was a clunk from the front of the house, a muffled voice saying, ‘Oh…
Logan called back: ‘In here.’
The constable bumbled in, nose and cheeks bright pink. ‘What happened? I was knocking and everything.’
‘Get your notebook out.’ He pointed at Jimmy Evans. ‘You abducted Richard Knox and made it look like he raped you.’
‘We needed enough evidence-’
‘Evans!’ Bruce Lowe was on his feet again. ‘I swear to God, if you don’t-’
‘-make sure he’d go back inside for life this time. He-’
‘Don’t listen to him! We didn’t do anything, it was Knox!’
Logan grabbed Lowe by the scruff of the neck and hauled him back into his seat. ‘YOU SIT DOWN AND YOU KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT, UNDERSTAND?’
The man shrank back into the armchair.
Logan loomed over him. ‘What about Harry Weaver? Was he in on it too? Or did you put the poor bastard in hospital for fun?’
Lowe looked away. ‘It…Knox had…He was like that when we got there. Tied up on the bed, naked, blood everywhere. The woman too. We never touched them.’
Silence.
Logan turned to the rest of the room, ‘Where did they go? This woman who’s going to sell Richard Knox for you?’
The old man topped up his glass again. ‘She said there was some Edinburgh gangster who’d act as go- between…’
Logan stuck out his hand. ‘Car keys.’
They looked at him. ‘What do-’
‘Give me your car keys.
A minute later he had two sets for the Mercedes, and one for the big black people carrier. The woman dropped her Clio key fob into his hand and Logan stuffed the lot into his pocket.
‘You will stay here and you will wait for a patrol car to collect you. Do you understand?’
51
‘Babe, pull over and I’ll drive.’
‘I’m
Julie sighs. ‘We’ll be all night at this rate.’
Richard Knox peers through the metal grille of the dog guard, over the back seats, and out at the road. Thick curtains of white, billowing down from the darkness.
He ducks back down.
The big car thumps over something and Danby groans. Turns out the tartan bag’s just a pillowcase, held in place by a thick cable-tie round his throat.
Knox’s hands are stiff from the cold, the left one barely working at all. Every time he moves the fingers it’s like being stabbed, but he manages to ease the pillowcase out from under the cable-tie, and up over the big man’s head.
Danby’s face is pale…well, except for the bruises, the black eye, and the swollen lip.
Richard strokes the superintendent’s face, feeling the stubble scratch beneath his fingertips.
Poor old soul…
Then the big man coughs, his whole body rattling, face going bright pink. A deep ragged breath and he slumps back. A thin stream of spit dribbles out the side of his mouth.
Richard takes a corner of Granny Murray’s quilt and wipes it away. ‘You sold us out. Said I could go away on me own, live me life somewhere.’
Danby closes his eyes, breath coming in deep wheezes. ‘You…raped him…’
Richard hangs his head.
