Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
He’d kill for a murder right about now.
DCI Jack Logan wriggled uncomfortably on the hard plastic chair, his hands gripping his knees in an attempt to stop himself throttling somebody. Himself, possibly.
This was the third meeting of six. He would swear the seats were getting smaller and more uncomfortable each time. At the rate they were going, the last one would just be a metal spike rammed right up his jacksie.
Or maybe that was just his growing impatience talking.
Still, three of six. Nearly halfway. This would all be over soon.
What was this one again? Shite. He should’ve been paying more attention.
He glanced to his left. Shona Maguire, his… He hated to use the word “girlfriend” at their age, but “partner” had other connotations in his line of work. Shona sat nodding along, a carefully annotated report card in her lap, fully engaged with the older woman on the other side of the desk.
Good. At least someone was listening properly.
Logan stifled a yawn and craned his neck just enough to be able to read the heading at the top of the report card page.
‘Maths.’
The conversation stopped. Shona and the teacher both turned to look at him, and he realised that he’d spoken the word out loud.
The teacher—Mrs Morrison, according to the wee card on her desk—was a small, anxious-looking woman in her mid-sixties. Although, Jack was sure that working with teenagers all day almost certainly aged you prematurely, so she could be anywhere from late-forties upwards.
‘Maths?’ she said, and the questioning note to her voice didn’t bode well.
‘What about it?’ Shona asked, her brow creasing in confusion.
‘Well, I mean…’ Logan shifted in the too-small seat. ‘It’s important, isn’t it?’ he ventured. ‘Numbers and all that.’
‘I mean, aye. I suppose it is,’ Shona agreed. There was a slight edge to her usual Irish lilt, though. The music of it was missing.
‘That’s all I was saying.’
‘Maths was the last one,’ Shona reminded him. ‘This is Olivia’s Guidance teacher.’
Logan winced, now dimly recalling a man with no chin and big glasses, talking endlessly about Pythagoras’s Theorem through in the main hall.
‘Aye. It’s, eh, it’s just that it’s hitting me now,’ Logan said. ‘About the numbers and that,’ he added weakly, then he steepled his fingers together in a way he hoped made him look interested, and urged the teacher to continue.
‘Ha. Right. Yes.’ Mrs Morrison looked Jack up and down, smiled artificially, and then turned all her attention back to Shona. ‘As I was saying, I’m aware that Olivia has had something of…’
She picked up a pencil and gripped both ends, rolling it between her fingers as she tried to formulate the end of her sentence.
‘…an unorthodox upbringing.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’ Logan interjected.
From over on Shona’s left came a tut and a sigh. ‘It means unusual.’
Logan leaned forward a little until he could see Olivia. She had her hoodie up and her earpods in, arms folded, knees bent up in front of her so her heels were wedged against the front of her seat. It was a position he couldn’t have got into if he’d tried.
‘No, I know what the bloody word means,’ Logan said. ‘I meant, what’s she getting at?’
‘Jack,’ Shona muttered.
‘No, I want to know what she’s saying,’ Logan continued. ‘What’s so “unorthodox” about it?’
Across the table, the teacher flashed him a smile, even as she picked up a sheet of paper.
‘No offence intended, Mr Logan. But, in Olivia’s own words’—she tilted her head back and squinted slightly at the page she was holding—‘“My mum’s dead, my dad’s in prison for dealing drugs, and I now live with the cop who banged him up, and a woman who cuts up dead bodies all day. ”’
Logan’s chair seemed to shrink another inch or two.
‘I mean… when you put it like that.’
‘It’s not all day,’ Shona said. ‘And, to be clear, it is my job. It’s not, like, a hobby.’
‘And it was a bit more than just dealing drugs,’ Logan added, then he held up his hands. ‘Although, that’s not really relevant, I suppose.’
‘I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with current arrangements,’ Mrs Morrison continued. ‘Quite the opposite. I think, given Olivia’s history, there was scope for her to go a little off the rails. What with all the, you know…’
She pinched the bridge of her nose while waving the other hand.
‘…the kidnappings and violence, and whatnot. But, I have to say, she’s adapting admirably.
Olivia is a bright girl—very bright, in fact.
Too bright, in many ways. If she were to apply herself going into her final year of secondary and maybe, you know, make some friends, I think she could really do rather well. ’
‘She’s got friends,’ Logan said, feeling an urge to set the record straight. ‘Harris Bell.’
‘No, I hate him now,’ Olivia said.
‘Aye, she hates him now,’ Shona confirmed.
‘What? Since when? How come?’
‘He tried to talk to her about Pokémon,’ Shona said.
Olivia snorted. ‘I mean, seriously? Like I was going to care.’
‘What’s Pokémon?’ Logan asked. ‘Is that the wee cartoon monsters?’
Shona lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Don’t get her started.’
Across the table, Mrs Morrison cleared her throat, then smiled broadly until she had everyone’s attention.
‘The point is, Olivia is at a crossroads right now. She can continue as she is, and I’m sure she’ll be fine. Average grades. Average university. Average life. And maybe, given everything she’s been through, that’ll be enough.’
She locked her fingers together and stared at Logan and Shona in turn, ignoring Olivia completely.
‘But if she knuckles down, cracks on, really focuses, then the world could be her oyster.’
The guidance teacher leaned back, signalling—to Logan’s relief—that she was almost done with them.
Logan’s phone buzzed in his pocket.
Shona’s hand found his knee under the table. Not now.
He left it.
‘I’ve been blessed with a lot of bright, sharp-minded pupils over the years,’ Mrs Morrison continued. She was still smiling, but there was a note of something mixed in with it. Concern, maybe.
Or fear.
‘And Olivia, for better or worse, might well be the sharpest of them all.’
Logan placed a hand on his lower back and stretched through some of the discomfort that had been building there for the last ten minutes.
‘Three down,’ he muttered. ‘What’s next?’
Shona checked the list. ‘RMPS.’
‘What’s that when it’s at home?’
Once again, Olivia tutted. ‘Religious, Moral, and Philosophical Studies.’
Logan’s lips moved like he was trying to work out a difficult maths problem. He hoped no-chin with the glasses wasn’t watching.
‘What, you mean RE?’
‘Basically, aye,’ Shona said. ‘It’s Mr Livingstone.’
‘Turd Fingers,’ Olivia added.
Logan blinked. ‘Why’s he called Turd Fingers?’
Olivia shrugged. ‘Dunno. Does it matter?’
Logan stepped aside to let the next family through. He met the dead-eyed gaze of a dad in his fifties, and felt a fleeting moment of kinship.
‘I was just wondering how you end up saddled with a nickname like that,’ Logan said, once the door was shut.
‘I told you, I don’t know!’ Olivia snapped.
Shona slid between them. ‘Maybe he’s just got shit on his fingers,’ she suggested, in an attempt to defuse the argument before it could fully flare up.
‘I fucking hope not!’ Logan replied. ‘And what do you mean “just”?’
‘Jack…’
‘I’ll tell you now, if he thinks he’s shaking my hand, he can forget it.’
There was a vibration inside Logan’s coat pocket, and he remembered the notification he’d ignored during the meeting.
As Shona set off along the corridor, back in the direction of the main hall, Jack took out his phone and checked the screen.
His face lit up. Never before had he been so pleased to see the name DC Tyler Neish.
‘Aw, ya beauty!’ The words came tumbling out before he could stop them.
Shona and Olivia both stopped and turned back to look at him. He wiped the smile from his face just in the nick of time.
‘Did you say something?’ Shona asked.
‘Aye. Aye, I did,’ Logan replied. He sighed wearily. He really hoped he wasn’t overselling it. ‘I’m going to have to miss out on these last three appointments.’
He held up his phone so Shona could see the messages for herself. So she couldn’t blame him for tapping out early.
‘There’s been a murder.’