‘And they like you, which is a bonus.’ A wrinkly wink. ‘Normally they go through babysitters like vomit through a sock.’
‘But I’ve never—’
‘Ooh, look at that.’ Steel checked her watch. ‘Gotta go, or we’ll be late.’ She marched towards the front door. ‘Naomi’s bedtime is eight, Jasmine can stay up till ten, but only if she’s behaved herself and done her teeth after dinner. No chocolate.’
‘But Logan isn’t here!’
‘We’ll see you tomorrow for a nice big slap-up breakfast. Have fun!’
She actually skipped out the door, climbed into the driving seat of the sensible family hatchback. Grinned as she fastened her seatbelt.
Susan gave Tara another wave as the car pulled away, while Steel cackled.
This wasn’t fair.
‘I’m not good with children!’
That tiny voice bellowed out again, like something off Jurassic Park: ‘Thooloo! Thoolooooooooooo!’
Tara twisted the tea towel until it was tight as a garrotte. ‘Oh God...’
Logan wrestled the ladder in behind the boxed Christmas tree again. Something else that would probably never see daylight again. Never be taken out and covered in decorations...
God, this house was depressing.
He turned and made for the door through into the hall. Then stopped.
Chalmers’ shoes and glasses. All lined up on their respective shelves.
The glasses weren’t anything special — half wire frames with a blueish tint to the legs. He put them back in their place. Then picked up the shoes: grey and black, scuffed around the toe, the laces tucked inside. There was soil caught in the treads. Tiny flecks of green grass.
Now there was a thought.
He pulled out his phone with his other hand and scrolled through his contacts. Set it ringing.
A blare of party music got muffled by something. Then, ‘Hello?’
‘Dr Frampton? It’s Logan. Logan McRae?’
‘Ah, Inspector McRae. Let’s see it’s... twenty past seven on a Saturday evening, I’m guessing this isn’t a social call?’
‘I know it’s the weekend, but I wondered if you could maybe do me a wee favour?’
‘A forensic soil scientist’s work is never done. What do you need?’
‘I’ve got a pair of shoes with some dirt on them. I need to know what they trod in and where.’
‘Do you now...’ A pause. ‘Well, I suppose you did sort out that thing for me...’ Then a slurping noise came through the phone’s speaker. ‘It’ll have to wait till tomorrow, though: I’ve been downing Tom Collinses since four and even I wouldn’t trust me to run the mass spectrometer.’
‘Thanks. I’ll drop them off on my way past. Fifteen minutes?’
‘If I’m in the hot tub, you can leave them in the porch.’ A smile crept into her voice. ‘That or borrow a swimming costume?’
‘Can’t. Things to see, people to do.’
‘Shame. I’ve got a pair of budgie smugglers you’d look lovely in.’
‘Actually, I’ve got to...’ He hung up and had a wee shudder. Woman was incorrigible.
Right, all he needed now was newspaper to wrap Chalmers’ shoes in and a box to keep them safe from here to Dr Frampton’s house.
Logan tucked the Amazon box under his arm and locked the front door.
Kermit the Weirdo was waiting for him, standing on the driveway, the streetlight behind him casting his face and hands into shadow. The creepy effect was somewhat undermined by the fact he was sheltering under a Hello Kitty umbrella. Was that meant to be ironic, or did it belong to some unknown baby sister? Kermit took a step closer, eyes hungry in the gloom. ‘You find anything?’
‘I didn’t get your name earlier.’
Kermit nodded. ‘Norman. Clifton. But my mates call me “Tebbit”.’
‘That’s a shame.’ Logan held up his hand — the key glinted on the end of its fuzzy fob. ‘I’ll have to keep hold of this for a couple of days, Norman. Part of the investigation.’
‘Oh...’ He turned and scuffed away down the drive, shoulders hunched, umbrella canopy glowing like a pink mushroom as he passed beneath the streetlight.
‘Thanks for all your help.’ Logan smiled and waved him goodbye, keeping his voice nice and low so Kermit the Weirdo couldn’t hear him. ‘And this way you can’t sneak in and lick the floor where she hanged herself, you utter freak.’
More waving and smiling, until Kermit disappeared into his mum’s house, then Logan hurried down the driveway — scrambling in behind the Audi’s wheel as his phone belted out its generic ringtone.
He dumped the cardboard box on the passenger seat, then answered the call. ‘McRae.’
What sounded like a little girl, singing in the background, came through the speaker. Another, littler girl joined in, getting most of the words wrong.
‘An allosaurus, name of Doris, lived long ago inside a forest,
She was a stinky dinosaur, everyone told her so...’
Then the whole lot was drowned out by a harsh, hissing whisper. ‘You utterly and completely misogynistic bastard!’
‘It really hurt her feelings to be told she’s unappealing,
So Doris asked a brontosaurus, because she didn’t know,
And he said...’
‘OK...’ He checked the caller ID: ‘TS TARA’. Frowned. ‘Tara, is that you?’
‘We haven’t invented soap, so that’s why we’re all smelly,
Or stethoscopes, or skipping ropes, or envelopes, or telly!’
‘Why didn’t you tell me? I mean the thing about the old lady rotting her way through the floor was bad enough, but I am not your bloody babysitter!’
Not another one. He tried not to sigh, he really did.
‘Remember when I lent you my key this morning on the condition that you didn’t turn out to be a complete nutjob?’
‘Just because I offered to cook dinner doesn’t make me your skivvy!’
‘What the hell are you on about?’
A muffled scrunch. Then, ‘Don’t act like you didn’t know: she turned up and dumped Jasmine and Naomi on me then ran away! She. Her. Steel!’
She dumped...? Oh God.
A cold hard lump ballooned inside his stomach.
How could she do that?
‘Tara? I’m going to have to call you back. I’ve got to go shout at Roberta Sodding Steel!’ He hung up and stabbed Steel’s number in his contact list. Set it ringing as he started the car and pulled away from the kerb.
The Audi’s hands-free system picked it up, and a robotic-sounding Steel belted out of the speakers. ‘You’ve reached the voicemail of Roberta Steel. I’m busy, or I don’t want to speak to you. Leave a message and you’ll find out which.’
Bleeeeeeep.
He strangled the steering wheel — if only it was her neck! ‘You can’t abandon Jasmine and Naomi with Tara and sod off! Are you trying to ruin everything for me?’ He bared his teeth, dragged in a long breath. ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!’ Then mashed the ‘END CALL’ button with an angry thumb.
Had another scream for good luck. ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!’
Called Tara.
She was still doing the angry pantomime whisper. ‘Logan?’