Guthrie worked his way through the cupboards as Steel shouldered the back door and stomped out into the overgrown garden. ‘Any biscuits?’
‘Already?’ Butler shook her head. ‘You just had three pies.’
‘Got a fast metabolism.’
‘Got a bloody tapeworm, more like…’ She trailed off into silence.
Someone was hammering on the front door. Then the letterbox clattered open and a voice shouted in through the gap, ‘MR KNOX? RICHARD? WHAT WOULD YOU SAY TO THE FAMILIES OF YOUR VICTIMS?’
‘Christ, not again.’ Guthrie looked at Butler. ‘Whose turn is it?’
‘I did the last two.’
‘Sod.’ Guthrie grabbed his peaked cap off the kitchen work-surface and jammed it on his head, then marched down the corridor.
‘RICHARD? DON’T YOU DESERVE THE CHANCE TO TELL YOUR SIDE OF THE STORY?’
Logan watched Guthrie haul open the front door – the woman squatting on the other side almost fell on her backside. It took Guthrie nearly two minutes to get rid of her, with a lot of arguing, complaints about freedom of the press, two attempts at bribery, and a veiled threat that Guthrie hadn’t heard the last of this.
She stormed off down the snow-covered garden path, a photographer in tow.
Guthrie closed the front door again. ‘Bloody
Something thumped against the wood and he sagged. Swore. Then put his hat back on again and wrenched the door open. A second snowball thumped against the wall beside him, sending out a flurry of white.
Logan could just make out the
Guthrie shouted: ‘Hoy! You!’ then hurried down the path after her.
Logan closed the door.
Richard Knox crossed himself, stood, then wiped a hand across his eyes. The room was even gloomier than usual, curtains drawn, the only light coming from the three-bar electric fire: its middle coil giving off a weak orange glow, the other two dead and dark.
Logan stood on the threshold, looking into the lounge. There wasn’t a single ornament left in one piece, the faded wallpaper pockmarked with the residue of ceramic explosions. The standard lamp lay tipped into the corner, its wooden upright snapped in the middle, brown wires poking out. Broken television on its back. Coffee table on its side, missing two legs. The overturned sofa missing an arm.
The only thing he hadn’t touched was his three-bar votive flame.
Logan hauled one of the armchairs back onto its legs, shoogled it in front of the fire and sat. ‘Like what you’ve done with the place.’
Knox didn’t look around, his voice small and snivelly. ‘How did they find us?’
‘Your old English teacher sold your school records.’
‘She always was a bitch, like.’ He rubbed his eyes again. ‘You ever stop and think, “maybe God doesn’t love us any more”? That he’s doing all this to punish us?’
Knox turned and wandered over to the closed curtains. ‘It’s a test, though, isn’t it? All this? A test of me faith.’
‘We have to move you somewhere else.’
‘Like prison.’ Knox smiled, his face creasing up on one side. ‘It was a test of me faith, and when I passed, God rewarded us. Got the prison shrink help us come to terms with me childhood. Stuff that was confusing us,
Logan sat forward. ‘You know, there’s a psychologist in Aberdeen who wants to help you as well.’
‘Like after Grandad Joe died in his sleep. Me mam was downstairs in the kitchen, arguing with Granny Murray – can’t remember what about, but there was lots of crying…And there was us upstairs, alone in the room with Grandad Joe.’ Knox reached out and stroked the faded velvet curtains. ‘He looked like butter, like he was made out of it, you know? All yellow and greasy, but when I touched his skin it was dry. Dry and cold. I was nine.’
‘His name’s Doctor Goulding. I can set it up an appointment for today, if you like?’
‘His teeth was sitting in a whisky glass beside the bed, and he’s lying there, mouth not quite shut, you know? Like he’s about to say something? So I pulls his mouth open, all the way, and runs me finger round the inside. His skin was cold, but inside he was still warm…’ Knox trailed off into silence, one finger tracing a circle on the dried- blood curtain. The smell of mould getting stronger.
Logan cleared his throat. ‘Maybe we should just—’
‘In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.’
‘Richard, we’re going to need to get you out of here.’
‘And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.’
‘Look, we’ve got a contingency plan for—’
‘And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.’ Knox stopped drawing his circle and grabbed the curtains with both hands.
‘Richard, this is important. I need you to—’
‘And God said, “Let there be light”!’ He threw the curtains open and Aberdeen did its best to rise to the occasion. Dawn had finally breached the horizon, colouring the snowbound garden with gold and amber.
