Sally stiffens. ‘I told you I’m fine.’
‘It’s not for you.’ He sticks a spoon in the mug and stirs. ‘It’s a little something to help our guest relax and not attack people.’ Stirring and stirring and stirring, till the water turns a pale-blue colour.
‘Ray, don’t hurt her! Please.’
He picks up one of the sheets of mini stamps. ‘I’m not hurting her, I’m... protecting her. She’ll wake up and she won’t be able to remember any of this. You want her to remember this? You want her to have nightmares for the rest of her life?’
‘But she’s—’
‘We’re doing this for Aiden, remember? And it’s better for her this way. Some Rohypnol to forget, a tab of acid so she doesn’t get PTSD.’
How are they any better?
Sally’s breath thickens in her throat, warmth spreading through her eyes as the kitchen blurs and a tear splashes into the meltwater puddle.
Raymond walks over and strokes Sally’s arm. ‘Shh... It’s OK. We’ll bring Aiden home tomorrow, you’ll see.’ He leans in and kisses her lightly on the non-bloody side of her forehead. ‘I promise.’
25
Logan stood in front of the medicine cabinet and popped a couple of Aripiprazole out of their blister pack. The orange tablets snuggled into his cupped palm, like a small child watching a vampire movie. He filled his tumbler from the tap, right up to the brim, and—
Banging on the door, accompanied by Naomi’s high-pitched I-want-something squeaclass="underline" ‘Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!’
‘Give Daddy a minute, Little Monster.’ He palmed the pills into his mouth, washing them down with every drop of water in the tumbler.
‘Help! I needs to make wee-wee!’
He closed the medicine cabinet — his reflection grimaced back at him. ‘Oh joy.’
Susan, Steel, and Tara stood at the open patio doors, nursing mugs of coffee while Naomi and Jasmine played catch-the-leaf with Cthulhu in the garden. Jumping and pouncing between the puddles.
Logan tucked his Police Scotland black T-shirt into his Police Scotland itchy black trousers and joined the coffee drinkers. ‘At least it’s stopped raining.’
Susan wrapped an arm around Steel. ‘You know what we should do today? We should go to the park. Big family picnic. That’ll be nice, won’t it?’
‘Oh aye?’ Steel looked at her. ‘With all those kids being snatched?’
‘Well, how about the beach then?’
Logan straightened his epaulettes. ‘Actually, I can’t. Got to go hand over the Chalmers investigation. Now it’s a murder.’
‘Ooh...’ Steel turned. ‘Murder?’
‘Someone’s going to have to run an MIT and we all know it won’t be me.’ Epaulettes straightened, he tapped Tara on the shoulder. ‘Do you want a lift, because you’ve got that thing, don’t you?’
She frowned at him. ‘Thing?’
He nodded at Naomi and Jasmine, shrieking their way around the garden.
‘Oh, that thing! Yes. Definitely. I’ll grab my coat.’
And they were off — hurrying through the living room and out into the hallway. Struggling into their jackets as Steel finally realised what was going on.
‘Hey! Wait a minute!’
Logan zipped up his fleece, voice an urgent whisper. ‘Quick, quick!’
Steel burst into the hall as they made for the door. ‘Wait, who’s—’
‘Bye!’ He bustled Tara outside, making for the car. ‘Lock the door behind you, and that litter tray needs cleaning!’
‘But...’
Logan thumped the front door shut. ‘Run!’
They scrambled into the Audi, he cranked the key in the ignition and pulled out of the driveway while Tara was still fastening her seatbelt.
And: escape!
Logan pulled up outside an imposing block of modern flats on Riverside Drive. The kind of place that looked as if it’d been modelled on GCHQ. Still, the top-floor flats must have had a great view of Craiginches prison, till they closed it. Bulldozed it. And turned it into yet more flats.
Tara opened the passenger door and climbed out. Walked around to the driver’s side.
He buzzed down his window. ‘Sorry about that. I really didn’t... you know.’
‘Pfff...’ A shake of the head. ‘Yeah, well, maybe it wasn’t exactly the fifth circle of hell.’ Though she didn’t look convinced.
‘The kids aren’t that bad when you get to know them.’
Still didn’t look convinced.
‘OK, maybe they are, but it’s like drinking really cheap wine. The first couple of glasses kill your taste buds and after that you’re too numb to care.’
She sighed, then leaned in through the open window and kissed him. Smiled. ‘You’re a terrible boyfriend.’
‘I know, I know.’
Tara turned and strutted towards the flats, putting a bit of hip into it. ‘You can spend the rest of the day trying to think how to make it up to me!’
Logan grinned and drove off.
Logan tucked the case folder under his arm and raised a fist to knock on DCI Hardie’s office door. Stopped, knuckles inches from the wood, as a voice bellowed out:
‘FOR GOD’S SAKE, GEORGE, JUST DO WHAT YOU’RE BLOODY TOLD FOR ONCE!’
The door jerked open and Logan jumped clear as DS Robertson burst into the corridor.
Hardie was visible in the gap between her and the door frame — sitting at his desk with his head in his hands while DS Scott tried to hand him a form.
DS Scott stuck it on the desk instead. ‘I’m going to need you to sign—’
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!’
Robertson closed the door behind her, shutting him off. Then leaned back against it, grimacing at Logan. ‘I gave up my Sunday for this.’
‘Now not a good time?’
‘A good time?’ She pulled her chin in, lip curled, as if Logan had suggested battering puppies to death with a hammer. ‘It’s like being trapped on the waltzers with an angry badger. I’d leave it at least an hour, if I was you.’
Fair enough.
What most people don’t realise is that it’s not the grief or even the shock that gets you when you lose someone. Maybe, if it’s natural causes, but not when it’s murder.
Yes, those things are there, but what really gets you, what really consumes your soul is anger. Rage. Hatred for the person who did that, not just to your husband or your loved one (the one they killed), but to you and everyone in your family. To everyone who ever knew the happy, funny, sweet, lovely man you married before some animal murdered—
The office door thumped open and Logan looked up from Cold Blood and Dark Granite.
It was Rennie, returned with the spoils of his important mission: two mugs of coffee. He had something tucked under one arm, making him all lopsided as he pushed the door shut again. ‘You’re not still reading that, are you?’
‘Hmmm...’
you married before some animal murdered them.
Because murder isn’t something that happens to one person in isolation, it happens to everyone they’ve ever met. Kenneth didn’t just die, he was taken from us. From me, his wife, from his mother and father, from his brother and his nephews, from his friends at work. From his son.
Rennie thunked a mug down on Logan’s desk. ‘Nightshift CID think they’re clever, but you’ve got to stay up pretty late to get one over on Detective Sergeant Simon Rennie. Ta-da!’ He dug into his armpit and produced a packet of custard creams. ‘Hidden inside a half-empty box of past-its-sell-by-date bran flakes. As if I wasn’t going to look in there.’