Blind Eye

68

'You still alive? Hello? What the hell's going on?' DI Steel's tinny voice rattled out of the phone as Logan slumped against the wall, breathing heavily. 'Hello? Are you dead?'

'No.' He took out a fresh pair of latex gloves — struggled to pull them on over his trembling, blood-stained fingers — then bent down and picked up the gun. It was almost as heavy as the scaffolding coupler, but looked lot more dangerous. Black, scuffed and functional. Logan pressed the release button and slid the magazine out of the handle. Eighteen slugs of dull metal with shiny brass casings. He slapped the magazine back in place and hauled the slide back to cock it. Then made sure the safety was on. Three settings: one white dot, one red dot, and three red dots. Logan went for the white dot, hoping that meant the thing wasn't going to suddenly go off at random and take some portion of his anatomy with it.

Just in case, he wasn't sticking it in the waistband of his trousers.

'Right, I'm going to find Pirie and Wiktorja.'

'Firearms team is on its way. Don't do anything stupid, OK?' He could hear her puffing and panting as she spoke, as if she was running or something.

Logan took the stairs back down to the ground floor.

'Thanks. Your confidence in me is really reassuring.'

'Hey, I'm no' the one let that bloody Polish tart into my house.'

Logan scowled at the phone. 'That "bloody Polish tart", is a missing police officer!'

'No she's not. You said you knew-'

'Wiktorja told me all about it, OK? They suspended her because of what happened when I was there. It wasn't her fault.'

The office unit had a single door at the back that opened out onto the warehouse structure. No more surprises. Logan snicked the safety catch from one white dot to one red dot. Then nudged the door open.

'Don't be a divvy.' There was the sound of a car engine starting on the other end of the phone, swiftly followed by the wail of a police siren. 'She wasn't suspended, she was fired. Two years ago, for taking backhanders from some German crime lord called Ehrlichmann.'

Logan froze. 'What?'

'You heard: she's bent. And no' in the good way.'

'How can she be… But… No, she was there — Ehrlichmann's goons shot her!'

'I'm just telling you what her sergeant told me. She sabotaged a bunch of high-profile drug busts. Nearly went to prison for it.'

'But they shot her…'

A voice sounded behind him: 'What the hell are you doing?'

Logan spun around, the gun snapping up till it was inches away from DS Pirie's nose. 'What-'

'Ah, Jesus!' Pirie danced backwards, tripped over a drum of electrical cable and went crashing down onto his backside.

'You moron.' Logan lowered the gun. 'I could've killed you!'

'Fuck… Think I've just shat myself.' The detective sergeant stuck out a hand and Logan pulled him to his feet. Pirie's nose wrinkled. 'What smells of puke?'

'Where have you been?'

'What's going on? Hello?'

'It's Pirie, he's not dead.'

'Tell him no' to let you do anything stupid! He-' Logan hung up on her. Then switched the phone off so she couldn't call him back.

Pirie brushed cement dust from his backside. 'Where did you get the gun?'

'Big Polish bloke called Grigor, works for Kravchenko. I bashed his head in with a scaffolding coupler.'

Pirie's face went even paler than normal. 'Is he dead?'

Logan put a hand on the door. 'There's a firearms team on its way. You can stay here and wait for it, or you can come with me.' He pushed through into the warehouse.

The place was cavernous, just a big empty space with a freshly laid concrete floor. Piles of building equipment made little islands in the huge room, bathed in the sunlight that streamed in through a set of open roller doors.

'Ah, Detective Sergeant, what take you so long?' Kravchenko stepped out from behind a stack of dark orange I-beams, each one marked-up with chalk hieroglyphics. He was wearing a baggy linen suit and a white shirt. Even had a tie on. 'Did you get lost, yes?'

Logan pointed the gun right between the old man's eyes. 'Vadim Mikhailovitch Kravchenko, I am arresting you for the attempted murder of one Rory Simpson.'

'I see…' He smiled. 'You have gun. OTs-33 Pernach: Russian, sturdy, like machine gun. Is good choice, but not so accurate I am thinking.'

Logan took three steps forward. 'Face-down on the ground, hands behind your head, now!'

'You are forgetting something, yes?' He dragged Senior Constable Wiktorja Jaroszewicz out from behind the stack of I-beams. Her hands were tied behind her back, a livid bruise spreading a purple, green and yellow stain across her cheek. She was groaning and swearing behind a gag made of duct tape.

'I said, on the ground!'

Kravchenko frowned. 'You are not wanting to see her alive?' He pulled out a silvered automatic pistol, the kind they used in gangsta rap videos and pressed it against her stomach. 'Now we have the Mexican standoff. Put down your gun, or I will shoot her.'

Logan shrugged. 'And?'

Pirie tapped him on the shoulder: whispering, 'I really don't think this is a good idea.'

'Shut up, Pirie.'

'But I am serious, yes? I will shoot your woman.'

'Logan, I really think we should bugger off and wait for that backup!'

Logan marched further into the room, gun never leaving the dead centre of Kravchenko's face. 'She's not my woman, she's yours.'

'I don't-'

'Go on, shoot her.'

'Logan, what the hell are you playing at?'

Kravchenko frowned, head tilted to one side. 'This is the reverse psychology, yes? You pretend to want I shoot Senior Constable Jaroszewicz?'

'She's not a senior anything — they fired her two years ago, for taking bribes from a bunch of German mobsters.'

'I am not understand…'

'The pair of you played me for a right bloody idiot. Oh yeah, Wiktorja was looking for Gorzkiewicz, but not for the Polish police. And guess who found him for you — me, like an idiot. It wasn't your handler who tipped off Ehrlichmann, was it, Wiktorja? It was you.' He glared at her. 'What did you do, text them when you were in confession? That it? "Bless me Father, for I have sinned, oh and by the way, I'm selling out the stupid police officer from Aberdeen to my murdering bastard of a boss"?'

She shook her head, lank blonde hair whipping back and forth. Mumbling behind the gag.

'Bet you didn't expect to get shot. What, did they find out you were screwing Ehrlichmann over too? You weren't undercover, you were working for this… prick!'

'Logan, I really think we shouldn't be-'

'Shut up, Pirie.' Back to Kravchenko. 'She was the one told you how to find Rory Simpson, wasn't she? Where I was hiding him. All this bloody time, using me! So you know what, I'm calling your bluff.'

Pirie grabbed his sleeve. 'What the hell are you playing at? Don't-'

'Go ahead: shoot her.'

The old man shrugged. 'OK.'

And that's just what he did.