‘I have to apologize for my lack of respect yesterday. I was out of order.’ Reuben stood stock still, delivering his message in a nasal monotone.
‘It was a…Look, I’m sorry, OK? I just snapped. I didn’t mean to—’
‘Can I tell Mr Mowat you accept my apology?’
‘Yes, of course. I shouldn’t have—’
Something slammed into Logan’s stomach. Pain tore through him, radiating out like a wave of fire. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a rasping wheeze as his knees gave way and he fell to the hallway floor.
Jesus,
Reuben flexed a huge hand, open, then closed again. ‘You’re fucking lucky Mr Mowat likes you, McRae, or you and me’d be taking a wee trip out somewhere quiet, with a welding torch.’
He bent down, looming over Logan. ‘Understand this, you’re nothing more than a wee piece of shite to me. Mr Mowat’s no’ a well man. See if he dies? You and me are going to have another talk.’
Reuben tossed the rectangular package at Logan. A sharp edge clunked against his head, making hot stars flash across the dark sky.
‘Enjoy your fucking present.’
‘Logan? Why are you sitting here in the dark?’ Click, and the kitchen light blossomed slowly to life, the energy efficient bulb flickering to a dull-white glow. Sam stood with one hand on the switch, eyebrows knitted together. ‘Are you OK?’
Logan looked up from the table, clutching a bag of defrosting peas to the top of his head. One hand wrapped around his stomach. ‘Not really.’
She peeled the bag of peas away from his head and peered at the skin. ‘God, that’s some bump!’
‘Walked into a door.’
Samantha frowned. ‘Have you been drinking?’
‘Tea.’ He pointed at the mug on the table, sitting next to Wee Hamish Mowat’s present.
She pressed the bag back against his head. ‘You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. Like Muppet Central out there…’ The fridge broke into a droning burr as she stood, peering in at the contents. ‘We got any white wine left, or did you finish it?’
‘I’ve been on orange juice and bloody lemonade all night, give me a break, OK?’
She turned. ‘I just asked if there was any wine left.’
Pause.
‘Sorry. I’ve…Not been the best of days.’
‘Been a lot of those recently.’ She clunked the fridge shut. ‘You want some more tea?’
‘Any chance of a hot water bottle?’
She filled the kettle, set it to boil, then disappeared from the room, coming back a couple of minutes later wearing her pink fluffy bathrobe and matching socks. Samantha thunked a roadkill-shaped Winnie The Pooh on the kitchen worktop, and unVelcroed his head. Unscrewed the plug and poured Pooh down the sink. Then filled him up from the steaming kettle.
‘Here.’
Logan held it against his stomach with his free hand. Groaned.
She stared at him. ‘Have you got your period, or something?’
No answer.
There was a rattle of spoons and mugs. Then she sat down on the other side of the table and handed over a fresh tea. ‘Here.’
‘Thanks.’
Pause. ‘Didn’t know you played chess.’
The set was made of wood – beech and mahogany – all laid out on a matching board. One of the pieces had a little cardboard tag tied around its neck, spidery copperplate marking out the words, ‘DETECTIVE SERGEANT LOGAN MCRAE’.
She picked the piece off the board – a horse’s head, carved in pale wood. ‘So you’re Batman now?’
‘That would be the
‘OK, I’ll bite. What the hell is going on with you?’
‘I’m turning into a cliche.’ He tried for a laugh, but it came out sounding forced and painful.
Silence.
‘Logan? Look at me, Logan.’
He pulled his eyes up from the tabletop. She placed the white knight back on the board. ‘You know…It’s OK to feel a bit down every now and then, but…well, maybe you should think about getting some help?’
Logan went back to staring at the coffee rings. ‘I’ve been seeing someone for about three months.’
There was an awkward pause. ‘I…’ A sniff. Then her voice went hard, brittle, ‘I see. Is she
