The Missing and the Dead

62

Samantha’s claw scraped down his cheek.

Grey …

…

Cold …

Logan cracked open his eyes.

He was lying on his side, being dragged along the concrete walkway by one leg.

‘Gnnnph …’ His head throbbed, as if something living in there was trying to dig its way out.

‘Oh, you’re awake?’ Graham Stirling gave his leg another tug. ‘Good. Wouldn’t want you to miss this. A man shouldn’t be late for his own funeral.’

But … Where were the patrol cars? Where were Steel, Deano, Nicholson, and Tufty?

Samantha. Where the hell was Samantha?

Move. Get up.

But Logan’s arms and legs were like strips of rubber. ‘Nnngh …’

‘Thought I’d hit you too hard there.’

They’d reached the middle of the walkway between the two pools, where David Bisset lay still as the grave. Rain bounced off his body, turning the pool of blood seeping out of his nose and mouth a delicate shade of pink.

Stirling let go and Logan’s leg thumped against the walkway.

‘Have to say, I’d expected more of them. But they’re only kids, so what can you do?’ He knelt and rummaged through the equipment belt fastened around David’s waist. ‘Limb restraints and handcuffs. You learn a lot about this kind of stuff when you’re remanded for trial.’

He unrolled both of the bright yellow restraints. Then squeezed Logan’s knees together and wrapped them tight. Then did the same with his ankles.

‘Four months in that stinking cell with a junkie. You think that was nice for me?’ Stirling unclipped the cuffs from their holder. ‘He’d go to sleep every night, talking about all the things he was going to do to me if I didn’t get him some money, or cigarettes, or drugs.’

MOVE.

Logan forced himself onto his side.

Samantha lay on the concrete apron, spread-eagled. Catherine wasn’t far away, flat on her back with her arms outstretched. What happened to Nicholson and Steel? Where was the cavalry? ‘Nnnng …’

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘Kill … you.’ The words hurt, echoing around his battered skull.

‘Wrong way round.’ Stirling put a foot against Logan’s shoulder and pushed him over onto his back. ‘They broke into my house in the middle of the night. Little David and Catherine Bisset, all bitter and fired up and ready for revenge.’

Rain pattered down against his face.

Deep breath. And MOVE.

Stirling grabbed Logan’s left wrist and snapped the handcuff on, squeezing the metal arm until it was far too tight.

COME ON AND BLOODY MOVE!

Logan’s right hand trembled. He hauled it off the ground and fumbled at Stirling’s face. Gouge his eyes out, rip them from his nasty bruised little face.

But Stirling pulled his head back, grabbed at the hand. Missed. Fought for it. ‘It’s time … for you … to go … away.’

Don’t let him. Don’t.

Click, the handcuff closed around the other wrist.

Stirling frowned. ‘They were waiting for me, in the kitchen. Attacked me in my own house, can you believe that? Thought David was going to kill me.’ A shudder. ‘But I stuck to my guns: told them what they wanted to hear. It was all lies of course. You set me up. Their dad wasn’t a pervert. And eventually, they stopped kicking me and hitting me and stamping on me and curled up against the fridge and cried instead.’

He stepped back. Took hold of the limb restraint around Logan’s ankles and hauled — pulling them to the edge of the walkway.

‘Was quite sweet really. They’re so suggestible when they’re that age, aren’t they? Didn’t take much to convince them to come after you and the coma girl.’ Stirling wiped his hands down the front of his shirt. ‘I’ve never worked in a team before. I like it. Definitely going to try this again.’

The words had to be forced out, like mouthfuls of stone. ‘They’ll … They’ll find you. … They’ll stop … you.’

‘Don’t be stupid.’ He squatted down, patted Logan on the cheek. ‘Now you go in the water, and you sink, and you die. And everyone thinks David and Catherine did it. Yet another horrible Jacobean revenge tragedy, played out in the northeast of Scotland.’ A grin. ‘You should see your-’

Logan snapped both wrists forward, slamming the cuff’s centre bar into Stirling’s face.

He went over backwards, into the water.

MOVE!

Logan groaned onto his side again and coiled up into the foetal position, fingers searching for the Velcro end of the limb restraints around his ankles. He scrabbled at the edge and yanked. The restraint ripped free. Knees next. Grab the end and-

Graham Stirling burst from the water, a thick slash of purple across his top lip, pouring blood down his face. ‘AAAAGH!’ He grabbed Logan and dragged him backward off the walkway and into the pool.

Cold water enveloped him in its jagged arms. Dug its claws into the back of his head as Stirling climbed on top, keeping him under.

Logan opened his mouth. Salt water burned in his nose. One last tug and the restraint around his knees tore free. He kicked, shoved, and finally got his head above the surface. Gasped in a huge breath.

Sirens. Real ones this time, getting closer.

Graham Stirling backed off. ‘It’s your word against mine. They abducted me, and you tried to kill- Ulk …’

Logan grabbed two handfuls of Stirling’s collar and pulled him off his feet, turned and forced his head beneath the water. Face up. Blood seeping from the gash in his top lip. Arms and legs thrashing. ‘YOU DO NOT COME AFTER SAMANTHA!’

Fingers scrabbling at Logan’s wrists. Grabbing at the handcuff’s centre bar.

Eyes wide.

‘YOU HEAR ME?’ Logan shook him, forced him further under, arms locked, pushing until the water brushed his own chin. Held him there. ‘NEVER AGAIN!’

Stirling’s hands reached up, like they were trying to find the light.

The sirens were getting louder.

This was taking too long.

Any minute now they’d clear the hill and it would be all over. Graham Stirling would lie and weasel his way out of another attempted murder charge. And Samantha would never be safe.

No.

Charles Anderson was right. Some people didn’t deserve the law.

He gave Stirling’s collar a shake. ‘DROWN DAMN YOU!’

‘Logan.’

‘DROWN AND DIE YOU FILTHY-’

‘Logan.’ A hand on his arm. ‘Stop.’

He blinked. Looked around.

Samantha stood beside him, the water lapping around her chest. She shook her head. ‘This isn’t you, Logan. This is him.’

‘But …’ He turned. Samantha lay on the concrete apron, spread-eagled, motionless, where he’d left her. ‘Are you …?’ A lump formed in his throat, almost too big to swallow. ‘Are you dead?’

‘Let him go. Please.’ Her hand was cool against his cheek. ‘For me.’

A wave boomed against the sea wall, sending up an explosion of spray.

She lay on the concrete. She stood by his side. ‘You know this isn’t right. Let him go.’

Stirling’s fingers clutched at the air, as if he could grab a handful and take it down beneath the water to breathe.

Logan let go. ‘I miss you.’

‘I know you do.’ Her smile was a knife in his chest. ‘Thank you.’

Graham Stirling thrashed to the surface, coughing and spluttering, face an unhealthy shade of purple. ‘Aaaaaaaagh!’

‘What for?’

‘For everything.’ She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. ‘For still being you.’

Stirling waded to the concrete walkway, clutched onto the edge, retching and trembling as a patrol car appeared at the entrance to the pool.

Its swirling blue-and-whites made sapphires and diamonds in the pounding rain. The doors sprang open and Deano, Tufty, and Nicholson jumped out. An ambulance screeched to a halt beside the patrol car, siren adding to the din.

Logan turned his back on them. ‘Samantha, I …’

But she was gone.