DCI fancies me.' Logan went back to his paperwork. 'Thought you were getting married.' 'Girl can dream, can't she? Now where's my bloody coffee?'
Tonight it was trout fillets in herb butter with seasonal vegetables: serves two. According to the packet anyway. Logan stuck it in the microwave and padded through to the lounge to check the messages on his answering machine. 'MESSAGE ONE: Logan, It's your mother. You know I don't like talking to this thing.' And then it was straight into haranguing him about hiring a kilt for his brother's wedding. Beeeeeeep. The next message was from Alec wanting to know if Logan was up to anything interesting tomorrow, worried that the BBC were going to start cutting his budget if nothing happened soon. Beeeeeeep. And then it was Colin Miller, voice low and urgent. 'Laz? It's me. I need you tae phone me back soon as you get this, OK? I mean it: ASAP!' Beeeeeeep. END OF MESSAGES.' Logan called him back. 'Colin?' 'Aye?' There was something small and snottery wailing in the background.'Hold on a minute darlin' Daddy's on the phone, but. Laz? Laz, you want to go out for a pint tonight? Please?' More high-pitched screaming. 'Shhhh, shhhh ... yes, Daddy knows. Daddy'll change it in a second. I'll even bring the stuff you wanted from the paper's archives? Come on man, I'm dying here ...' 'When?' 'Prince of Wales: half seven?' Another voice in the background, nearly inaudible, but it sounded like Isobel, asking the reporter if he was aware that their son was crying.'Sorry, Izzy, it's work - need me to cover somethin' for tomorrow.' Then back to the phone. 'OK, but I can't be there till half seven at the earliest. I've got a family to look after, and that comes first.'
Thank God the screaming had finally stopped.'It's not her fault, Heather.' Mr New sat back against the bars.'She's frightened, her sister's dead and she's trapped in a strange, scary place all on her own. You can't blame her.' 'Did I say anything?' 'No, but you were thinking it.' True. 'So,' Duncan nodded at the plate of cold meat resting in her lap,'do you think that's her? The sister?' Heather picked up another cutlet, bit into it, and chewed for a bit. 'Probably ... tastes a bit ... funny. Sort of metallic.' But at least it wasn't off like those last slices of Duncan. Heather didn't fancy another bout of food poisoning. She tore off a chunk, washing it down with a mouthful of water. The plate had been there when she'd woken up, head throbbing, mouth like ash. Along with the pills. Kelley said the Flesher was worried about her - that he'd picked up her unconscious body and laid it on the mattress, then gone to get some medicine. Little round pills that Heather had forced down. They made her teeth feel squeaky, but took the pain away. She chewed, thinking ...'Kelley? Kelley, are you awake?' 'Do you need another pill?' 'What did He say? When He made you promise: what did He say?' 'That ... that if I didn't get you to take your medicine he'd hurt me.'
