‘Oh. OK. So I had a go at unlocking it myself.’
Oh no. No. No. No. No. No...
Steel stared at him. ‘Did something just crawl up your bum? Cos it looks like something just crawled up your bum.’
‘Guv?’
‘Tufty.’ Logan tightened his grip on the phone, forcing out each individual word as if it was made of uranium: ‘What — did — you — do?’
‘Only unlocked it on the third try! I has a genius. See, when I was in her house I noticed all these—’
‘How is this “worse news”? What was on it?’
‘Don’t you want to hear my tale of genius and derring-do?’
Why did everyone have to be a pain in his backside? Was there some sort of competition going on? Because right now, Tufty was winning.
‘What — was — on — the — phone?’
‘Pff... I bet Inspector Morse never gets—’
‘Tufty: I swear on my father’s grave...’
‘All right, all right. There was nothing there. Someone had deleted everything: call history, texts, photos, the lot.’
Logan slumped again. ‘Urgh. That is “worse news”.’
‘But they did leave one entry in the phone’s history: a fifteen-minute outgoing call at ten twenty-two.’
‘Any idea who she was calling?’
‘The Samaritans.’
So either Isobel was wrong about the marks on Chalmers’ arms and ankles, and she did kill herself after all, or someone was covering their tracks.
‘But then I has another genius.’ There was a scrunching papery sound. ‘Someone might have deleted everything, but that doesn’t mean it has to stay deleted. You can get all manner of things off an SD card if you know what you’re doing. And fortunately for us, Constable Stewart Quirrel is like a sexier Stephen Hawking.’
‘You recovered it? All of it?’
‘Oh yes.’ More scrunching. ‘And my clever doesn’t stop there. Her phone’s got GPS built in. Which is trickier to hack, but if I can pull a Mitnick we’ll know everywhere it’s been in the last six days.’ There was a small pause, followed by a swanky proud tone. ‘Are we impressed now?’
Damn right we were. Even if we didn’t have a clue what a ‘Mitnick’ was.
‘You, my little friend, have earned yourself a whole packet of sweeties!’
‘Woot!’
‘Now get back to work.’ Logan hung up and dug the chip on the end of his fork into the cauliflower cheese. Grinned. Today was going to turn out just fine after all.
31
The Huntly Asda glowed beneath the low, heavy clouds as Steel took them across the roundabout. And the rain fell. Sheets of grey and darker grey set the landscape out of focus, robbing it of colour as the windscreen wipers squeaked.
Steel nudged him. ‘Anything juicy?’
Logan looked up from Tufty’s email. ‘Not so far. Most of Chalmers’ texts are her fighting with her husband. “Why didn’t you empty the dishwasher?”, “Don’t you ever dare speak to me like that again.”, “You’re disgusting Brian.” Only she’s spelled “disgusting” wrong.’
‘How about naked pics? She must have some of those on her mobile. Everyone has those!’
He stared at her. ‘Remind me never to borrow your phone!’
‘Hmph.’ Her nose went up. ‘Done. Don’t want to send you into an onanistic frenzy.’
Logan shuddered and went back to the email as they drove off into the wilds of Aberdeenshire.
‘Well, this is romantic.’ Steel pulled up on the little rectangle of tarmac acting as a car park at the side of the road. ‘Wish I’d brought some lubricant, now.’
Ben Rinnes loomed in front of them — a lopsided lump of a hill, dark purple with heather. A track cut across it, pale tan in the never-ending rain. Another hill loomed behind them — more tussocky heather with the odd pine tree to break up the monotony.
Headlights swept over the pool car as the Scene Examination Transit crept past and turned onto a chunk of hardstanding in front of a padlocked metal gate with ‘NO PARKING ~ KEEP ENTRANCE CLEAR’ on it.
A small river had formed, coming down the track, out under the gate, and across the road. And still the rain fell.
Yeah, searching in that was going to be loads of fun.
Logan reached into the back of the car and grabbed his peaked cap and high-viz jacket. ‘We’re going to get soaked, aren’t we?’
‘You are. I’m staying put.’
He handed her the other high-viz. ‘Not a chance in hell.’
‘Gah...’
They wrestled their way into their jackets and climbed out into the downpour. Then Logan hurried around to the boot and got the Crimestoppers umbrella. Popped it open.
It twitched and thrummed in the wind.
Steel grabbed it off him and glowered at the rainswept hill. ‘For future reference, this was the moment I decided to kill you.’
Lovely.
Logan pulled on his hat and jogged over to the Transit van. Knocked on the driver’s window.
As it buzzed down, what sounded like Queen’s Greatest Hits belted out for a couple of beats, then clicked into silence, leaving only the engine’s diesel grumble, the thunk-squeak of the windscreen wipers, and the hiss of falling rain.
Polly put both hands back on the wheel and bared her top teeth. Staring straight ahead.
On the other side of the gate, the track reached away around and up the hill. Little rapids marked the bigger stones and potholes as the water coursed down it.
She sucked in a breath. ‘I’m not sure this is a good idea. I mean, if we had a big four-by-four, maybe...?’
Steel banged on the side of the door. ‘Just get the bloody gate open. We’re drowning out here!’
Polly turned in her seat. ‘Bouncer?’
Bouncer zipped up his jacket, pulled up his hood, and hopped down from the passenger side, armed with a large pair of bolt cutters. He strode over to the padlock and snipped right through the shackle — the hinges squealing as he hauled the gate open.
Logan hurried around to the passenger side and climbed in. Scooted across to the middle seat as Steel clambered in after him and thunked the door shut.
The Transit growled and juddered its way onto the track, then stopped so Bouncer could close the gate, open the side door and scramble inside.
Grit and gravel crunched beneath their wheels as the Transit crawled uphill. Lurching through the riverbed potholes and rapids, heather thick on either side.
Polly bared her teeth again, knuckles white where she gripped the steering wheel. ‘Still say this is a bad idea...’
She was probably right, but what choice did they have?
No one said a word as the van grumbled its way up the narrow track. Thumping and groaning. Windscreen wipers squealing and moaning. It listed left for a moment, then thudded down again — everyone bouncing in their seats.
Polly’s knuckles went even whiter. ‘Eeeek!’
Steel grabbed the handle above the passenger door.
The little red dot on Logan’s phone crawled along Dr Frampton’s map.
Another lurch to the left, the hillside falling away like a heather-covered cliff face as the van swayed and bounced.
Someone in the back laughed — high-pitched and nervous.
And on they went, climbing the river / track. On and on and on and—