Mr Pinstripe banged on the glass, his remarkably posh voice raised to a near shout. ‘Hey! Hey you, there! Officer Woman Thing!’ More banging. ‘Some rotten bugger’s stolen my script!’
Logan tried again. ‘Miss Powell?’
‘He’s gone. Haiden’s gone and it’s all my fault!’ She produced her phone and poked at it, then held it out so they could see the screen. Looked like a text message, but the text was too small to make out the words from here. ‘You see? He’s gone!’
King snatched the phone from her. Turning away as she reached for it. Reading out loud: ‘“Don’t expect me home tonight: I’m in Dover. Gonna get the next ferry to France. You’ll never see me again.” Only he’s spelled “France” with an “S”.’
‘Please, it’s my phone...’
King scrolled to the next one. ‘“Why couldn’t you back me up when the police came? Why didn’t you send them away? Do you want them to arrest me?” All caps for that last bit and three exclamation marks.’
Mhari reached for her phone again. ‘Please!’
‘“After all I’ve done for you. I thought you loved me. You said you loved me. How could you let them nearly catch me?” Nearly with two “E”s.’ King’s finger scrolled and scrolled. ‘There’s a lot more where that came from.’
She scrabbled for the phone, but he held it up, out of reach.
‘It’s mine! Give it back!’
Steel sighed. ‘Come on, Kingy, don’t be a dick.’
‘It’s evidence. So—’
Logan yanked the phone out of King’s hands and passed it to Mhari. ‘I’m sorry. Look, we need to ask you some questions. Can we do that?’
She clutched the phone against her chest, and backed away from King. The first tear broke free and rolled down her cheek.
‘Hey.’ Steel held up her hands. ‘It’s OK, it’ll be you, me, and the boy here. Detective Inspector King will wait outside.’ Scowling at him. ‘Won’t you, Detective Inspector?’
They stood there, staring at each other.
Logan put a hand on King’s arm, kept his voice low. ‘Come on, Frank, she’s not going to tell us anything if you’re there.’
King bared his teeth at Steel, then pulled out his own phone, turned, and marched away. Letting himself through the security door. ‘Heather? Get on to Port of Dover Police and the Border Force — Haiden Lochhead’s trying to hop a boat to France...’ The door clicked shut, cutting the rest of it off.
Good riddance.
They were definitely going to have to have a chat about his behaviour before someone made a complaint.
But in the meantime...
Logan smiled at Mhari. ‘Come on, we’ll have a sit and a chat, and DS Steel will get us all a cup of coffee. And a nice pastry.’
A bluebottle buzzed against the room’s window, banging its head off the glass behind the drawn blinds. Its big black body was a fuzzy silhouette against the glowing white, making it look the size of a small Labrador.
On this side of the blinds a row of locked filing cabinets ran along one wall, a small table, and four plastic chairs taking up the rest of the space — Mhari on one side, Logan opposite, Steel sitting between them. All with wax-paper cups of Wee Hairy Davie’s best Colombian roast and a pastry on a napkin. Mhari’s and Steel’s were fancy apricot-and-custard-Danish concoctions, but Logan had been lumbered with an Eccles cake — because hell hath no fury like a grumpy detective sergeant sent to the canteen to fetch coffee and pastries.
Mhari fiddled with her wax-paper cup, sniffing back the tears. ‘It was... it was like we were two bits of Lego, you know? We clicked together like that and stayed.’ She wiped at her eyes. ‘We love each other.’
‘Aye,’ Steel nodded, ‘I know the feeling. Me and Susan were the same.’
‘I don’t mean to annoy him, or make him angry, I don’t. But sometimes I can’t help it.’
Steel patted her arm. ‘I’m sure none of that’s your fault.’
‘He loved me and now he’s gone and I’ll never see him again...’ Bottom lip trembling.
‘You know what? Some men are just like that.’ She glanced at Logan. ‘It doesn’t matter how good you are, doesn’t matter what you do, there’s always going to be something that sets them off.’ Another pat. ‘It’s not you. It’s never you. It’s something inside them.’
Mhari shrugged.
Logan had a go. ‘Some men are always looking for an excuse to hit someone.’
Her hand fluttered up to the bruises beneath the caked-on makeup. ‘I walked into a door. Haiden always says I’m clumsy...’
Logan glanced at Steel.
She shook her head.
He nodded back. ‘Did Haiden ever mention Professor—’
His phone ding-buzzed in his pocket: incoming message. Then again. And again.
‘Sorry.’ When Logan pulled it out the caller ID ‘IT’S-A ME, TUFTY!’ sat in the middle of the screen. ‘I should probably—’
The thing launched into ‘Space Oddity’ and ‘BEHOLD THE MAGNIFICENCE OF TUFTITUDE!’ replaced the last ID.
‘Oh for God’s... How is he doing that?’ Logan pressed ‘IGNORE’ set his phone to silent and stuck it on the table. Smiled an apology at Mhari, tried to pretend he couldn’t see Steel rolling her eyes. ‘Where were we? Yes. Did Haiden ever mention Professor Wilson to you?’
‘He... didn’t like him. Wilson was always in the papers, and on the telly, banging on about how Scotland couldn’t survive without England.’ She took a sip of her coffee, leaving a blood-red smear of lipstick behind. ‘One time, Wilson was on the Today programme, saying Scotland should be grateful we’re allowed any MPs in Westminster at all and Haiden... I don’t know. He flipped. Started screaming and swearing at the radio. Grabbed it and smashed it to pieces on the work surface. You know? Hammering it down, over and over again, shouting about how this is our country. Ours.’
Steel ripped a bite out of her pastry, setting free a little spray of flaky bits as she chewed and talked at the same time. ‘Was that when Haiden went after him?’
‘He...’ Deep breath. ‘He said he was going to teach Wilson a lesson. I thought, you know, he’ll beat him up, or something. Show him what happens when you moan about Scotland like it’s a diseased piglet hanging off the English teat.’
‘When was this?’
She looked away. ‘Sunday night. I... I didn’t hear him come in again, so it must’ve been late.’
‘Notice anything different about him?’
‘You don’t understand: Haiden had to stop Professor Wilson spreading his lies. He’s a propagandist for the Imperial Aggressors. It’s people like him and the Unionist media that are holding this country hostage!’
Wow. All delivered with the unblinking zeal of a cult member.
Logan sat forward. ‘Did he say where he’d been?’
‘We have to rise up and be the nation again! They’ve kept us down for too long now. We can’t let them...’ She trailed off, staring at Logan’s phone as it buzzed and skittered on the tabletop. The words ‘It’s Tufty-Time!’ flashing on the screen.
‘Sodding... Enough.’ He switched the damn thing off and jammed it in his pocket.
King wouldn’t be the only one getting a talking to about his behaviour.
Logan let out a long slow breath. Stuffed the anger down. Smiled at Mhari again. ‘Do you have any idea where Haiden took Professor Wilson?’
She shook her head.
‘Any idea where he’s hidden him?’
More shaking.