Logan shifted on his sofa, the leather creaking beneath him.
Rennie sat on the other one, notepad out, pen poised.
Mrs MacAuley wrapped her arms around herself, kept her face to the window. ‘I’m sorry. I’m a bit...’ She huffed out a breath. ‘I’ve spent the last three and a half years trying to get my son back. And before you say anything: no, he’s not dead. I know he’s alive. I know it.’
‘DI Bell was the Senior Investigating Officer.’
She flinched at his name.
Strange.
Logan tried again. ‘Mrs MacAuley?’
‘He was... I saw it on the news.’
‘His colleagues say he was obsessed with Aiden’s disappearance. With finding your husband’s killer.’
Her chin went up. Back straight. ‘I call the station every Monday. They tell me the investigation’s still open, that you’re still trying to find my little boy. But nothing ever happens. Nothing.’
‘Did DI Bell come to see you before he... didn’t commit suicide?’
‘When my father died, I sold his house. That’s where I got the reward money from. Fifty thousand pounds after I’d paid off all his debts.’ She made a strangled hissing noise. Then, ‘Oh, there’s plenty of people who want to get their hands on it. Liars and frauds pretending they know things. And then there’s the press.’ She pronounced that last word as if it was drenched in sick. ‘Every time a child went missing, they’d be up here with their cameras and their microphones and their stupid insensitive questions. “How does it feel to lose a child, Mrs MacAuley?” “What would you like to say to the missing five-year-old’s parents, Mrs MacAuley?” Till I started setting Tristan on them.’ A smile — short and cruel. ‘One of the benefits of having a very large dog. They stopped coming after that.’
‘We’re just trying to figure out what happened to DI Bell.’
She turned, face dark and creased. ‘WHEN YOU SHOULD BE TRYING TO FIND MY SON!’
Outside, the dogbear started barking again.
Mrs MacAuley bared her teeth. ‘Instead I had to hire private detectives. So when the timewasters and the greedy come after the reward at least I know someone’s investigating it.’
‘Now,’ Logan held up a hand, ‘I’m sure the inquiry team is—’
‘Is anyone even working on the case any more?’
Good question.
‘I’ll look into that, I promise.’
She stared at him in silence for a bit, the colour in her cheeks faded to its usual grey, then she nodded. ‘Duncan turned up on my doorstep at two o’clock one morning. He’d been drinking. He stood there in my kitchen crying and apologising, because he couldn’t catch the piece of shit who killed Kenneth and took my boy.’
Now that was interesting.
Logan sat forward. ‘You called him “Duncan”?’
She waved a hand — dismissive. Turned her back on them.
‘Mrs MacAuley, were you and DI Bell...?’
‘Duncan was... complicated. He was the only one of you who cared. And I don’t mean pretend “I’m sorry for your loss” cared, I mean really cared. And now he’s dead.’ She rested her forehead against the glass. Sighed. Her shoulders slumped even further. ‘I think I’d like you to leave now.’
The pool car lurched and rumbled down the track, the dark woods swallowing Skemmelsbrae Croft in the rear-view mirror. No wonder Mrs MacAuley was a bit... Well, living there, given what had happened by that little shonky bridge, surrounded by those looming twisted trees.
Rennie clicked the radio on. More pop music. ‘What do you think: were she and Ding-Dong at it?’ A smile. ‘Good for Ding-Dong if they were, she’s milfalicious. I would, wouldn’t you?’
‘Don’t be a sexist arsehole. Her husband’s dead and her son’s missing. Have a bit of respect.’
Pink rushed up Rennie’s cheeks. ‘Sorry, Guv.’
Logan turned the radio off again, pulled out his phone and dialled. ‘Shona? Hi, It’s Logan. Listen I need a favour.’
A disgusted sigh. Then, ‘You always need a favour.’
‘I’m out and about at the moment — see if you can dig up whoever’s SIO on the MacAuley investigation: murder and abduction.’
‘What happened to your plainclothes gruntmonkey?’
‘He’s out and about too.’
‘Pfff...’ The sound of a keyboard receiving two-finger punishment clacked in the background. ‘Right, here we go... Oh.’
‘Shona? I don’t like the sound of that “oh”, Shona.’
‘Senior Investigating Officer is DCI Dean Gordon.’
Wonderful. Just sodding marvellous.
Logan screwed his eyes closed. ‘Oh for God’s sake.’
‘Not my fault.’
‘DCI Dean Gordon. The same DCI Dean Gordon who had a stroke three months ago and is now permanently off on the sick?’
‘And I repeat: not my fault.’
As if Mrs MacAuley didn’t feel let down enough already.
A sigh. ‘Thanks, Shona.’ Logan hung up and slumped in his seat.
Rennie pulled a face. ‘Let me guess: complete and utter, total cocking disaster?’
‘In a top hat.’
13
Logan’s phone dinged at him again.
TS TARA:
I was going to have a bath, but you don’t have any bubble bath. HOW CAN YOU NOT HAVE ANY BUBBLE BATH YOU MONSTER?!?!
Rain battered against the pool car’s roof, bounced off the bonnet, hammered the hatchbacks on either side. The Lidl they’d parked outside squatted in the downpour, a dreary grey bunker of a building with cheery posters in the windows.
Logan thumbed out a reply:
Because I’m a man. The willy should have been a giveaway on that one. Are you staying for tea tonight?
SEND.
Ding.
I’ll swap you. You bring home bubble bath & I’ll cook something for dinner. No more pizzas and takeaways. Proper food for a change!
Now that sounded like an excellent idea.
The driver’s door opened and Rennie thumped in behind the wheel. Sat there grimacing for a moment with his arms raised. Hair plastered flat to his head. Clothes darkened and dripping. ‘Urgh...’ He stuffed a couple of carrier bags into the rear footwell. ‘It’s like swimming out there!’
A wee girl exploded from the Lidl’s doors — couldn’t have been much older than eight — a bottle of brandy clutched in both hands. Running for it.
Two seconds later, a lanky security guard appeared, sprinting after her, mouth moving as if he was shouting something.
Logan turned, watched the pair of them hurdle the low stone wall and race off down the Lang Stracht. ‘I’m troubled, Simon.’
‘Might as well have jumped in the River Don.’ Wiping his face with his hands. ‘Utterly soaked.’
‘The timeline worries me.’ He counted it off on his fingers. ‘Aiden MacAuley is abducted and his dad is killed. DI Bell fancies Fred Marshall for it, but can’t prove anything so Marshall is released without charge. Then Marshall vanishes off the face of the earth and Bell fakes his own death.’
‘You still think Bell killed Marshall?’
‘He killed whoever it was we buried, so why stop there? If you’re planning on disappearing anyway, why not go for a bit of rough justice?’