‘Kinky.’ Samantha peeled the stickers off the book’s front cover and dotted them onto her face. Now her forehead was ‘SOON TO BE A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE!’ and her left cheek was ‘2 FOR?10!’ She puffed out her cheeks and dumped the book in her lap. ‘I’m bored.’
‘How can I take money that’s come from running protection rackets, drugs, Post Office jobs, prostitution. .? ’
‘Bored, bored, bored, bored, bored.’
Typical. Might as well be talking to himself. Logan took another sip of beer. ‘What happened to that Stephen King I bought you? ’
Samantha’s shoulders slumped. ‘CD player’s knackered.’
‘Then get your arse better and come home.’
She smiled. ‘Why didn’t I think of that? ’ She flipped
‘“Belief can get you killed.
Forbes St John is one of the most powerful and feared men in England: leader of the Holy Inquisition, fourth in line to the throne. So what’s he doing lying on his back in a condemned council estate in central Scotland, with his chest ripped open and his heart torn out?
It’s 1999, two and a half centuries since a captured Charles III was beheaded in Edinburgh, bringing an end to the Act of Union. As Scotland’s ruling body — the Kirk — prepares to celebrate the 250th anniversary of Headsman’s Day, the last thing it needs is a diplomatic war with its militant Catholic neighbour.
Rowan Knox, one of the Kirk’s elite Fingermen, will have to catch St John’s killer without anyone finding out he’s been murdered. But that might be the least of her problems. Talk of dark magic, demons, and witches is rife in the inner cities, children are disappearing, and the police are powerless to help.
The darkness is gathering, and Rowan is the only one standing in its way. And if she doesn’t move fast, it’ll tear her to shreds.”’
Samantha shrugged. ‘Sounds OK.’ She tossed it into his lap. ‘Read to me.’
‘Do I look like
‘But I’m
‘Then
She crossed her arms, thumped back into the pillows. ‘Thought the whole point of getting the book was you finding out what Agnes Garfield was up to? ’
Sodding hell. ‘Fine.’ He picked the thing up. ‘Acknowledgements. Writing any book is a labour of love, and-’
‘Don’t be a prat, no one reads that bit. Start at the beginning.’
He flipped forward a couple of pages.
‘And do the voices.’
So this was what it was like to have small children.
He took another sip of Stella. ‘Chapter one.
“The old woman’s hands left bloody smears across the cloth as she smiled from the kitchen door. The whole place stank of meat and lavender and cats, of rendered fat and fear and rubbing liniment.
She dropped the cloth on the coffee table, amongst the jars and bottles. ‘Now, are you sure he doesn’t want an anaesthetic, dear? It’s-’”’
‘You’re not doing the voices!’
It was going to be a long night.
Logan eased back into the room with a mug of tea from the nurses’ station in one hand and a couple of pilfered custard creams in the other. He settled into his seat. ‘Quarter past ten, and it’s like
‘Mrs Shepherd just necklaced Thomas Leis. Crazy psycho bitch that she is.’
He put his tea and biscuits down on the bedside cabinet and picked up the book again. ‘It’s all a bit. .
‘Don’t be such a wimp. Read.’
‘One more hour, then that’s it. Some of us have work tomorrow.’
The nurse with the thick eyebrows and tufty black moustache checked Samantha’s chart. ‘I think it’s sweet that you’re reading to her. Wish I could get Benny to read to me. He’s like a slug when he gets home, just slithers up onto the couch and that’s him for the night. One day I’m going to snap and tip a whole carton of salt over him.’
Logan stretched the knots out of his back. ‘Well, she can have another couple of chapters, then I’m off. Crime doesn’t solve itself.’
The nurse smiled, kissed him on the cheek — the fine hairs on her top lip tickled — then left them alone.
Samantha rolled her eyes. ‘I know, I know: you’re a stud-muffin.’
‘Do you want more book or not? It’s twenty to twelve, I
No reply.
‘Thought so.’ He picked the book up again, skim-reading to where they’d stopped. ‘Right:
“His screams echoed around the tiny bathroom, each wave building on the last — deafening and harsh.
Rowan took a handful of his collar and forced his face down beneath the filthy water again. It sloshed over the edge of the bath onto the cracked floor tiles as he bucked and wriggled beneath the surface. Panicking. Hands tied behind his back, ankles tied to the rusty taps. The only way he’d be able to escape was drown. And she was far too professional for that.
She hauled him up again and he coughed, spluttered, then retched, making the water even dirtier than before.
He sagged there, his shoulders jerking as he sobbed. ‘It wasn’t me, I didn’t know. .’
‘You see, Mr Breull, some people think the trial by water’s the easiest of the three. I mean, what’s a little water compared to trial by blood, or fire? ’
He went under again, and she leaned her full weight between his shoulders, pinning him to the bottom of the bath. Counted to twelve. Then pulled him back up.
More coughing, more retching, filthy liquid streamed from his nose.
‘One more time: what did you do with Helen Fraser? ’
‘Please. . Please, I didn’t have any choice. .’
Rowan slammed his head into the bathroom wall, hard enough to crack the tiles and leave a smear of blood. ‘She was six!’
And back under the water he went.”’
Tuesday
23
‘Ow. .’ A burning knife sliced its way down his spine, then dug its glowing tip into his hip. Twisting. ‘God. .’
Silence.
Then the alarm on his phone warbled again.
Logan jabbed a finger at the screen till it shut up. Sagged in the visitor’s chair, legs still up on the bed.
Cramp chewed at his calves. Gritting his teeth, he levered his feet down from the wrinkled hospital sheets onto the grey terrazzo floor — cool beneath his socks. Scrubbed at his face. His voice came out as a deep gravelly growl. ‘Unngh. . Time is it? ’
Blink. Took a few goes to get his phone in focus, but eventually 06:30 wobbled into view. ‘Crap.’
Whose bloody clever idea was it to read a dirty big lump of a novel till four in the morning?
Samantha was asleep, lying there with her mouth open. Didn’t matter how many times he told her the
