The Missing and the Dead

— Thursday: Rest Day -
22

A yawn. A stretch. A scratch. Then Logan slumped back into his pillow.

Sunlight glared around the border of the curtains, revealing the peeling wallpaper around the window in all its hideous glory. Have to get that stripped off today. Well, it was that or paint the living room. Or the stairs. Or do one of the other hundred jobs that-

What was that?

He sat up, ears straining to catch the noise again.

A clunk came from somewhere downstairs.

There was someone in the house.

Need a weapon. Extendable baton. Not as good as a shotgun, but it’d do.

His hand fumbled down the side of the mattress, fingertips searching for the equipment belt and …

Idiot.

Of course there was someone in the house: Helen Edwards. She was going to the toilet, wasn’t she. There wasn’t one on the ground floor, so she’d climbed the stairs.

Who was it going to be, Freddy Krueger?

He lay back. Slow calm breaths, until the thudding beat in his chest faded a bit.

Idiot.

Five more minutes: then up.

Logan hauled the T-shirt over his head and scuffed his way downstairs. A handful of fliers for the local takeaways lay scattered beneath the letterbox, along with a collection of canvassing leaflets for the upcoming by-election. Vote for me, I’m not a scumbag!

Yeah, right.

He scooped the lot up and carried them through to the kitchen.

Helen Edwards stood at the sink, elbow-deep in suds. Pots and pans were piled up on the draining board, while what looked like every plate in the place was stacked on the other side.

Logan stopped at the doorway. ‘Is everything really that filthy?’

She turned. Pink spread across her cheeks. ‘It … No. I just …’ She pushed a dirty-blonde curl out of her eyes with a soapy finger. ‘I was sitting about and I thought, I know, I’ll do something useful — I’ll clean the kitchen.’

He clicked the kettle on. ‘You want tea?’

‘Please.’

For a minute, the only sound was the clicking rattle of the water boiling.

Logan cleared his throat.

Cthulhu padded into the room and hopped up onto the windowsill in one fluid motion. Arched her back, then sat down, tail in the air, front paws at ten to two, like a small fuzzy ballet dancer. Logan reached out and scratched her behind the ears, getting a deep rumbling purr for his troubles.

Behind her, sunlight washed the face of Banff police station. Gave its sandstone cheeks a rosy glow.

An old man went by on a bicycle.

Helen cleared her throat.

Yeah, this wasn’t awkward at all.

Click.

Logan made the tea. ‘I’m heading off to see Samantha later.’

‘Do you … Do you think they’ll hear about the DNA today?’

‘Probably not. They’re upgrading the equipment in Aberdeen so everything’s going to Dundee instead. And they’ve always got a backlog these days — rapes, murders, severed feet. It’s Thursday now. Lucky if it’s done before the weekend, to be honest.’

‘Oh.’ Helen’s head drooped.

‘DCI Steel will be kicking up a fuss, try to get it prioritized, but there’s only so much she can do.’

The last pot got added to the clean pile. ‘Can I see it?’

‘See what?’

She took the first plate from the stack and slipped it into the foamy deep. Kept her face turned away from him. ‘The swimming pool. Where they found her.’

Logan pulled up at the brow of the hill. From here the North Sea was a polished slab of blue slate, edged with white where it hushed against the pebble beach below.

The coastline stretched away ahead — the reaching cliffs paling and turning blue as they faded into the distance. Stone fingers reaching for the horizon.

Tarlair Outdoor Swimming Pool’s nest of white cubist buildings nestled in the depths of the rocky bowl, walls shimmering in the morning sun.

His rusty Clio’s engine sounded like a screwdriver scraping along a breezeblock.

‘You sure you want to do this?’

Helen nodded.

‘OK.’ He put the car into gear and slid them down the hill, around the dog-leg bend, and onto the patchwork stretch of potholes and rutted tarmac.

A Police Pod sat in the car park, in front of the burned-out remains of the bin, but the door was shut. No sign of life.

He parked next to it. ‘If you feel uncomfortable, or sick, or anything like that, let me know and we’ll get you out of here. It’s not a problem.’

‘Right. Yes.’ She unclipped her seatbelt. Blew out a breath. Brushed the curls from her face. ‘You can do this …’ Then opened the door and stepped out into the sun.

Logan joined her. Locked the car — as if anyone would be desperate enough to steal a rattly heap like that.

A line of blue-and-white ‘POLICE’ tape stretched across the gap in the rock that acted as a gateway to the site. He pulled it up and ushered her through.

She glanced back at the pod. ‘This is all right, isn’t it? We’re not going to get into trouble?’

‘I called DCI Steel — they’ve finished the search. The barrier tape’s there to stop weirdoes and grief-tourists snooping.’

She picked her way along the path, past the pebble beach with its stone archway and kelp bones. Stopped in front of the Aberdeenshire Council sign:

She stared at it for a while. Then took a deep breath and walked past, making for the boxy art deco buildings.

‘You’re sure you’re OK?’

A nod. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’ She wrapped her arms around herself. Holding it in. Stopped at the top of the apron.

Three wide tiers of dark concrete, edged in white, led down to the inner pool. Little more than a rock-strewn swathe of cracked grey.

Helen puffed out her cheeks. There was no inflection in her voice at all. ‘Where did you find her?’

He pointed at the corner of the outer pool. The water level had gone down since Monday evening — evaporated in the sun, or drained out through cracks in the sea wall.

She followed him, past the main building with its grime-streaked walls, around the edge of the amphitheatre space, and out onto the side apron.

‘Watch your footing.’

The walkway got worse the closer they got to the outer pool, crumbling away to expose massive holes strewn with rock and pebbles. Bits of broken glass and sun-bleached crisp packets nestled amongst the weeds.

Logan came to a halt at the corner of the outer pool. ‘This is it.’

The whole place obviously got battered with huge storm surges, going by the size and the number of rocks that made a drift against this side of the pool. The force needed to shift them must’ve been massive.

Helen sank down on the edge of the pool, feet dangling over the stones. Stared down into the water. Closed her eyes. Bit her bottom lip. Her shoulders quivered. A sniff. Then the tears came.

Logan swallowed. Looked away.

Stood there in silence and listened to her grief.

‘Look, all I’m saying is light a fire under them, OK?’ Logan leaned on the roof of the car. ‘She needs to know if it’s her daughter or not.’

On the other end of the phone, Steel sounded as if she was crumpling tinfoil. ‘Oh aye, and how come you’re so interested all of a sudden? Yesterday it wasn’t your case. You had beddy-byes to go to.’

‘How would you feel if it was Jasmine?’

‘Don’t you sodding dare.’

‘Well, give the lab a kick then. It’s a dead wee girl we’re talking about.’

‘Anyone touches Jasmine, I’ll make the Spanish inquisition look like a WRI meeting. Doesn’t matter how fast or far they run, I’ll find them and skin them alive.’

‘And how could you not find Helen anywhere to stay?’

‘Make them wear their arse for a face.’

‘She slept on my couch last night. It was that or stick her in the cells.’

Helen stood on the pebble beach, at the water’s edge, staring out to sea.

‘Oh, I see. You’ve taken her in and now finding the wee kid’s killer’s a top priority, is it? What, did she polish your truncheon for you last night?’

‘She thinks her daughter’s dead. And you find it funny?’

A sigh. ‘No.’ Steel took a deep breath. ‘Look, I told McKenzie to sort it out — accommodation, contact details, next of kin, the lot. I’ll get it done. And I’ll tell the lab to get a shift on. OK?’

‘Thanks.’

‘Going to be a right pain in the backside though. His Royal Finnieness has decreed there’s no point having all these bodies on the ground up here. Operational priorities.’

‘Doesn’t want to pay the overtime?’

‘Half the team’s back to Aberdeen tomorrow. They won’t even let me keep Rennie, you believe that? Rennie! He’s about as much use as a cardboard dildo, but he’s better than DS Sulkypants McKenzie.’

‘Don’t be such a moan. And make sure you give the lab a kicking, OK? I’ve got to go.’ He hung up. Put the phone back in his pocket.

The pebbles scrunched beneath his feet.

Helen’s eyes were bloodshot and swollen, the tip of her nose flushed and pink.

Logan shuffled to a halt beside her. ‘You all right?’

She nodded, then wiped her eyes with the heel of one hand. ‘Sorry. Being stupid.’

‘They’re going to chase up the DNA match. See if they can’t get the lab to bump it up the list.’ Way out to sea, a scarlet fishing boat carved a line of white across the blue. ‘They’re sorry about the mix-up with the hotel. DCI Steel says she’s going to make sure they get somewhere organized for you, so you don’t have to crash on my couch.’

‘Oh.’ Helen picked at the corner of a fingernail. ‘That’s very kind.’ Her shoulders curled in.

‘You sure you’re OK?’

She looked away. ‘I don’t want to be a burden. It’s just … I don’t want to be on my own. I’m always on my own, in B-and-B’s and hotels and buses and trains and it’s really nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who understands what it’s like.’

Logan stared at her.

Pink bloomed on the back of her neck. Spread to her cheeks. ‘And I could help out — my father was a painter and decorator with Glasgow City Council …?’ She cleared her throat. Looked down at her feet. ‘Sorry. Being stupid again.’

He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ve got to go see Samantha. You any good at stripping wallpaper?’

A massive supply vessel dragged a wake of white behind it, making for the horizon. The sky made a perfect blue dome, wrapping around the jagged coastline, punctuated with the wheeling slashes of herring gulls. Faint screeches and craws drifting down to the balcony.

All the wheelchairs faced out to sea, their occupants slumped and slouching against their chest restraints. Propped up in the sunshine.

Logan swapped his phone to his other hand, then dabbed a tissue at the corner of Samantha’s mouth. ‘Yeah, sorry.’

On the other end, Deano sighed. ‘And you’re sure?’

‘Can’t. Something’s come up and I’m stuck.’

‘You do remember I’ve got ribeye steaks the size of your head?’

‘I know. I’d love to, Deano, but I can’t.’

Samantha’s forehead was getting a bit red. Have to get her a big hat or something.

‘We’ve got a heap of beer too.’

A groan escaped Logan’s lips. ‘You’re not making this any easier.’

Well, it wasn’t as if he could abandon Helen to do the DIY while he went out and got stuffed and hammered, could he? And there was no way in hell he could take her with him. Turn up to a barbecue with what might be the dead little girl’s mother in tow? It wouldn’t be fair on her. Or the team.

How were they supposed to relax and enjoy themselves if they had to be on their best behaviour the whole time?

He’d never hear the end of it.

‘Well, if you’re sure you’re sure.’

‘Trust me: if I could, I would.’

After all, there would be other barbecues. Other steaks.

Logan’s stomach growled.

And it wasn’t as if he didn’t have plenty tins of lentil soup at home.

Logan pinned his phone between his ear and shoulder while he tied up the third bin-bag. ‘You’re kidding. Not till Monday?’

On the other end, Steel sniffed. ‘Two high-profile rapes, and another three severed feet in the Clyde today.’

Logan glanced towards the bedroom door. No sign of Helen, but he dropped his voice anyway. ‘Surely a murdered little girl trumps three severed feet?’

‘In a sensible world, yes. Here? No. Even tried getting Big Tony Campbell to weigh in, but no doing. We’re in the queue.’

‘Someone needs a stiff kick in the balls.’ Logan unfurled another bin-bag and stuffed a wodge of stripped wallpaper into it.

The room looked a lot better without the peeling mess of sickly purple paper. Now the walls were stripped back to the pink plaster — speckled with fresh white filler. A going over with sugar soap and a coat of white emulsion had faded the stains on the ceiling a bit, but nowhere near enough. The air tasted sticky and plasticky from the paint fumes.

‘Which reminds me: I gave Becky a chewing out for no’ getting a hotel arranged for our victim’s mother. So off she goes, looking like she’s about to burst one, and gets everything sorted.’

‘Ah …’

‘Only, you know what Ms Helen It-Might-Be-My-Dead-Daughter Edwards says when Becky tells her there’s a room booked for her? “No thanks, I’m staying with a friend.”’

‘Well, maybe-’

‘Ungrateful cow.’ Something crunched down the line, and Steel’s voice went all muffled, as if her mouth was full. ‘In other news: you want to play the voice of sanity for a change?’

The last of the stripped-off wallpaper went in the bin-bag. ‘What did you do?’

‘Only reason those feet are higher up the list is because the media’s got their teeth into them. What if someone leaked it? “Police labs ignore murdered six-year-old’s DNA in half-arsed PR grab?”’ More crunching. ‘Or something snappier: “Scumbag Labs DNA Cock-up.” You know the kind of thing.’

‘No.’

‘Well, you come up with a better headline then.’

‘No, I mean: no. Don’t do it. You leak it after rattling everyone’s cages, it’ll get back to you. You really that keen to spend more time with Napier?’ Logan tied the last bag and added it to the pile. ‘You can’t leak it. They’ll nail you to the ceiling.’

‘So I get Rennie to do it.’

‘Yeah, because there’s no way that could possibly be tied back to you.’ He gathered the bin-bags together and struggled them out onto the landing.

Tuneless whistling came from the bathroom.

Logan hefted the debris downstairs. ‘How’d you get on with Nicholson last night?’

‘Well, what about Becky then? I could get her to do it.’

‘No.’

‘Pfff …’ More crunching. ‘Your girl Nicholson’s a bit keen, isn’t she?’

He dumped the bin-bags at the front door. ‘Let me guess, you didn’t get anything.’

‘Two hours of sod all. Well, no’ counting nasty cups of tea and dirty looks. Dr Kidfiddler says he’s putting in a complaint about harassment.’ The grin shone through Steel’s voice, ‘Turns out he doesn’t like being roused at three in the morning and grilled about access to barbiturates. Poor baby. Should’ve thought about that before he started molesting wee kids.’

Upstairs, the toilet flushed. She’d be down in a minute.

‘Look, I’ve got to go.’

‘Oh aye, got a hot date, have we? Rosy palm bringing round her five sisters for a gangbang?’

‘I’m hanging up.’

‘Hope you’ve got protection. A Marigold glove would probably do if-’

He poked the button, then slid the phone back in his pocket as Helen appeared at the top of the stairs.

She tucked a curl behind one ear. Smiled. ‘What’s for dinner?’

‘Lentil soup.’

The smile froze. ‘Again?’