‘Yeah... Well, maybe?’
‘Get a warrant sorted — I want his medical records. And don’t let them fob you off this time!’ Logan grabbed his phone and called Control. ‘I need you to put me through to Sergeant Rose Savage.’
The sound of muffled fingers on a keyboard rattled out for a bit, then: ‘I’m sorry, Sergeant Savage isn’t on duty today. Do you want to leave a—’
‘Then put me through to her mobile.’
Rennie stuck bachelors one-through-three in the folder again. ‘They’re not going to give me a warrant without corroboration or probable cause. How am I supposed to—’
Logan held up a finger, silencing him as Sergeant Savage answered.
Her voice dripped with suspicion. ‘Who’s this?’
‘When you worked with DI Bell, do you remember him mentioning Rod Lawson at all?’
No reply.
‘Hello? You still there?’
‘Sorry, you broke up a bit. Did Ding-Dong mention...?’
‘Rod Lawson.’
‘Rod...? No, that doesn’t ring a...’ Another small silence. ‘Oh, wait, you mean Hairy Roddy Lawson? The Sandilands Sasquatch? Oh, I know him fine. Did him for possession and shoplifting more times than I can count. Haven’t seen him for ages, though. Why, has something happened to him?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’ Logan tried another sip of evil coffee. Nope, still horrible. He pushed the cup away. ‘Did Bell mention him?’
‘Not that I can remember. But it was a long time ago.’ Something clunked in the background. ‘Sorry. Is it important?’
‘And when you ID’d Bell’s body, there wasn’t anything suspicious about it?’
‘What, other than the fact he’d blown his own head off and then burnt to a crisp? Other than that, you mean?’
‘Fair point. But—’
The canteen door thumped open. ‘Inspector McRae?’ A lanky PC with a centre parting waved at him.
‘Hold on a second.’ Logan put a hand over his phone’s mouthpiece and raised his eyebrows at the constable. ‘Yes?’
‘Your guy’s solicitor says they’re ready to make a statement.’
‘Thanks.’ He went back to the phone. ‘Sorry, got to go. If you remember anything, give me a shout, OK?’
‘Will do.’
Logan hung up and stood. Curled a finger in Rennie’s direction. ‘Come on then, let’s see what kind of lies Norman Clifton’s got for us this time.’
35
Norman Clifton had swapped the sniffing and eye wiping for tiny silent sobs, bottom lip wobbling. Which might have been due to the amount of trouble he was in, or it might have been down to the bright pink handprint swelling up on his left cheek.
His solicitor sat all prim and proper next to him, cardigan buttoned all the way up to her neck.
Logan nodded at Norman. ‘In your own time.’
Norman sat there, not making eye contact. Digging away at a mole on his right wrist with his fingernails. Worrying at it till tiny drops of scarlet stained the pale surrounding skin.
Mrs Cardigan sniffed. ‘My client wishes to make the following statement.’ She picked a sheet of handwritten paper from the table in front of her, reading out loud. ‘“I want to apologise for not being completely honest with you earlier. I was worried that you would jump to the wrong conclusion if I told you that I had seen Mrs Chalmers’ body after she had died.”’
Rennie snorted. ‘Wrong conclusions? Us? Whatever gave you that idea?’
‘“I let myself into the Chalmers’ household using one of the spare keys my mother holds for them, as has been my habit over the last eight months.”’ She paused and directed a foul look at Norman. ‘“I like to be in the house when they are both asleep. I find it peaceful and... stimulating.”’
‘Ooh, I see.’ Rennie leaned forward, voice all conspiratorial. ‘Is that a polite way of saying you have a bit of a wank?’
Tears welled up in Norman’s eyes, making them glisten. A tiny bubble of snot popped from one nostril.
‘“I realise now that this was misguided and that I need professional help.”’
‘Oh it’s too late for—’
‘Look,’ she lowered the statement and glared at him, ‘do you think we could do without the snarky running commentary?’
‘Sorry.’
‘“When I entered the premises at two in the morning I could not see Mrs Chalmers in her bedroom. Searching the house I discovered her body in the garage. I was traumatised by this and left immediately, returning home.”’ Mrs Cardigan cleared her throat. ‘“Where, reflecting on what I had seen, I became... stimulated. Afterwards, I revisited the garage and was again... stimulated.”’ A warm pink flush spread up her neck and into her cheeks. ‘“It was then that I inadvertently licked Mrs Chalmers’ face while trying to comfort her remains with a kiss.”’
Norman’s shoulders jerked as a massive sob burst free.
His solicitor dug a hanky out from the sleeve of her cardigan and thrust it at him. ‘“I realise that this was a severe error of judgement on my part and would like to offer my sincere condolences and apologies to Mr Chalmers.”’ She placed the statement down in front of him and folded her arms.
Logan raised an eyebrow. ‘Finished?’
‘Finished. I have advised my client to respond to any further questions with “no comment” until we can have him assessed by a mental-health professional.’
Rennie curled his top lip. ‘Well... he certainly needs one.’
Another snot bubble burst, but Norman didn’t wipe it away, he sat there sobbing, tears shining on his cheeks, eyes as pink and swollen as the handprint on his cheek. ‘I’m sorry... I’m sorry I... I didn’t... didn’t mean to...’ He looked at Logan for the first time since they’d sat down. ‘I just... just wanted to taste her dying tears...’
Rennie leaned in close, his voice barely a whisper. ‘You think he did it? Killed her, I mean.’ He made a big show of pantomime glancing at the custody desk, where Mrs Angry Cardigan was in conversation with Aberdeen’s answer to inbreeding — Sergeant Downie.
A fiver said he had gills and a vestigial tail.
And speaking of weirdos: Norman Clifton’s sobs echoed out from behind a closed cell door. Huge and deep and wracking. Which served the wee sod right.
Logan shrugged. ‘Pfff... Maybe he sneaks into the house and he finds Chalmers doped up on antidepressants and booze? Thinks this is going to be his one opportunity to watch someone die, carries her into the garage, and hangs her. Or maybe he finds her trying to kill herself and decides to lend a hand? Or maybe he’s telling the truth and all he did was get turned on by a dead woman?’
A shiver. ‘Creepy little pervert.’
‘Better organise a search warrant for his mum’s house. You don’t get to be that weird without leaving traces.’
‘Guv.’ Rennie hurried off as Mrs Cardigan stepped away from the custody desk, glowered, stuck her nose in the air, and stomped over.
She stopped right in front of Logan, hands on her hips. ‘You’re not really charging him with murder, are you?’
‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.’
‘I’ve known Norman since he was a baby; I was at school with his mother.’ The nose went up another inch. ‘He’s always been a bit... odd. But this? Killing someone?’
Logan took out his notebook. ‘Didn’t torture any family pets as a kid, did he?’
She cleared her throat. Looked away. ‘I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to discuss this case any further until Norman has received the help that he needs.’ And she was off, thundering out through the custody suite doors like a bowling ball in a brown cardigan.