drag. ‘You really sodding owe me one: this reverse psychology lark is no’ as easy as you’d think.’
Logan stared at her. ‘You called him a “prick” on
‘Like I’m no’ stressed enough as it is.’ She dumped the newspaper on the desk in front of him. The
The photo of Frank Baker wasn’t recent — probably hauled out of DI Ingram’s files and issued as a ‘HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN’ poster. A smaller picture showed a huge man with a draft-excluder moustache: Spike, Baker’s friend from the fabrication yard. The one who’d marched over to defend him.
‘“DON’T COME BACK!” PAEDO FRANKIE’S WORKMATES KEPT IN THE DARK ABOUT HIS FILTHY CRIMES.’
Steel flicked Spike in the face. ‘So now we’ve got a nationwide manhunt to deal with, because sodding Green had to go stirring things up. And he’s all, “Look at me, I was right!”… Wanker.’
Logan skimmed the article. ‘You think Baker’s in the frame for Alison and Jenny?’
There was a knock on the door, then Rennie stuck his head into the room. ‘How’d it go?’
‘Coffee, milk two sugars. And get something for Laz too.’ Steel picked the stack of student interview forms off the desk and rifled through them. Then glanced back towards the door. ‘You’re still standing there, Constable.’
Rennie nodded at Logan, then held up a couple of bulging black plastic bin-bags, both sealed with a knot of yellow-and-black ‘CRIME SCENE’ tape — the stuff only the IB used. ‘Elaine Drever says you wanted these?’
He dumped them on the floor. ‘Thanks.’
The constable grinned. ‘Did you hear about McPherson? Apparently, right, he was supposed to come in for a bollocking this morning, and halfway down Union Street he nips across the road, dodges a bus, overshoots and goes arse over tit down those stairs onto Correction Wynd. Broken leg and concussion. They got the whole thing on CCTV, if you fancy a laugh?’
‘And some chocolate biscuits too.’ Steel waved a hand at him. ‘Run along, there’s a good wee soul.’
As soon as Rennie was gone, Steel dumped the forms back on the desk. ‘Here’s the deal: you work till five, then we go home to my place and you let Susan fuss over you. You have a few drams, watch the telly, have tea, brush your teeth, and go to beddy-byes, all where I can keep an eye on you. You’re no’ going back to that manky wee caravan by the jobbie farm to mope, brood, and fester in the dark.’
‘I…’ Logan could feel the heat rushing up his cheeks. ‘Thanks.’
‘Should think so too. Meantime: who torched your flat?’ Don’t look away. Keep eye contact. ‘I’ve no idea. Been trying to figure it out all day, but…’ Frown. Shrug. Nice and natural. ‘Has to be someone I put away. Can’t just be random.’
Steel rolled the fake cigarette around her mouth, the plastic end clicking off her teeth. ‘IB’s running DNA tests on some stuff they got off your front door. We’ll get a match, and we’ll catch the bastard, and I’ll make sure he gets done for attempted murder.’ She stood, rested a hand on his shoulder. ‘You trust your Auntie Roberta: that wanker is going to pay.’
Logan’s phone blared its drunken, sinister waltz. He hauled it out and checked the display: Steel.
Logan flattened himself against the two-tone green wall as a huge hospital bed was wheeled past — a pale old man in an oxygen mask staring at the ceiling, his face slack and greasy. A woman in blue scrubs and squeaky white trainers tutted at Logan as they went past. ‘You’re not allowed to use your mobile in the hospital!’
‘Sorry.’ He watched them disappear.
‘I’m up at the hospital.’ He started down the corridor again.
‘Someone has to tell Trisha Brown’s mother her wee girl’s been abducted.’
‘I wanted… They say I can sit with Samantha for fifteen minutes.’
A pause.
‘Look, I’ve got to go.’ He hung up before she could say anything else.
The plump nurse eyed Logan up and down for the third time in as many minutes as she led him towards a curtained-off area at the far end of an eight-bed ward. It was oppressively hot in here, even though the windows were open, letting in the droning rumble of traffic and the occasional screeching wail of ambulances.
‘Now, I need you to understand that Mrs Brown isn’t to be excited.’ The nurse ran a hand across her chest, just above the massive shelf of bosom. Then checked the watch pinned to her blue top like a medal. ‘She’s not due another dose of methadone for two hours and she’s a bloody nightmare when she gets going.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
The nurse grabbed a handful of curtain and wheeched it back. Helen Brown lay on top of the covers, head back, mouth hanging open, snoring gently. No teeth. A wad of gauze was taped over one eye, the rest of her face a patchwork of bruises and stitches. Her right arm was encased in a fibreglass cast from palm to elbow, her left leg from the ankle all the way to the thigh. But her right leg came to an abrupt end at the knee, the exposed thigh stained yellow and green.
Logan winced. The attack must have been horrific. ‘They cut her leg off?’
‘About three years ago. Gangrene.’ The nurse checked the chart hanging on the end of the bed. ‘That’s the trouble with intravenous drug users. Don’t know when to stop.’ She looked up at Trisha’s mum. ‘Mrs Brown? Helen? There’s a policeman here to see you.’
A mumble. ‘Helen?’
Trisha’s mum squinted with her good eye. ‘Fuck off…’
‘Come on, Helen. What have we talked about your language?’
She struggled over onto her side. ‘Fuckin’ fat bitch. Where’th my painkillerth?’
A sigh. ‘You know you can’t get anything more till five. Now there’s a policeman here to see you; do you want a glass of water?’
‘I need my fuckin’ painkillerth! In fuckin’ agony here…’ Logan settled into the seat beside the bed. ‘Mrs Brown, my name’s Detective Sergeant McRae. I need to speak to you about Trisha.’
The nurse nodded. ‘Well, I leave you to it then.’ She stepped away from the bed and pulled the curtains closed again, shutting Logan in.
Trisha’s mum scowled at him. ‘Fuckin’ bitch never gives me anything for the pain.’
‘She was seen getting into a car on Saturday evening-’
‘Oh, here we go.’ Helen curled back her lips, exposing a pair of bruised and battered gums. ‘Just ’cos she sucks someone off in-’
‘The person in the car attacked her. She was seen being beaten.’
‘Oh…’ Helen rolled over onto her back. ‘Is she OK?’
‘We don’t know. He drove off with her still in the car.’ Silence. Helen rubbed the fingers of her good hand up and down the blanket. Then a tear rolled its way down her bruised cheek.
Logan looked away. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You’re sorry? You’re fuckin’
‘We’re doing everything we-’
‘SHE COULD BE FUCKIN’ DEAD FOR ALL YOU KNOW! Dead. Raped in a fucking ditch! My wee Trisha…’
‘If you can think of anyone who threatened, or-’
‘And they send round a fuckin’
‘Mrs Brown, I want to assure you that Grampian Police are taking this very seriously.’
The curtains burst open and the big nurse was back. ‘What did I tell you about upsetting her?’
‘I didn’t-’
‘TRISHA!’
‘Come on Helen, quieten down: you don’t want to disturb the other patients, now do you?’
She grabbed a grey cardboard bedpan and threw it at the nurse. ‘MY WEE GIRL’S MISSING! I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOUR FUCKIN’ PATIENTS!’
‘We’re doing everything we can to find-’
