Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
‘You think she’ll be OK?’ Shona asked.
‘Olivia? Aye. She’ll be fine. She walks home from school all the time,’ Logan assured her.
‘Yeah, but that’s during daytime.’
‘She’s got Taggart with her,’ Logan countered. ‘He’ll look after her.’
‘What’s he going to do if someone attacks her? Slobber on them?’
Through the window, Logan caught the eye of DC Neish, who gave him a wave of acknowledgement.
‘Nobody’s going to attack Olivia,’ Logan said. ‘Not if they know what’s good for them, anyway. She can handle herself.’
Shona nodded. ‘Aye. No. I suppose you’re right,’ she conceded.
Logan reached for the door handle.
‘It’s just… You know. Like that teacher said,’ Shona continued. ‘It’s not exactly normal, this whole thing. I just want to do right by her. I don’t want to let her down.’
‘You’re not. We’re not. We won’t,’ Logan said. ‘I mean, it’s a miracle she’s alive, given everything, so anything above that’s a bonus.’
Shona smiled at that, but her heart wasn’t in it. ‘I just don’t want her to lose her way.’
Logan slid a hand on top of hers. The size difference meant he almost enveloped it completely.
‘She won’t. And if she does, we’ll help her find the way back.’
Shona turned her hand, palm upwards, and locked their fingers together.
‘You’re not a bad lad, Jack Logan,’ she told him.
She gave his hand a squeeze, then pulled hers away as she pushed open the door.
‘No matter what everyone else says.’
It took a second for him to process that last comment.
‘Here, what the hell’s that supposed to mean?’ he called after her.
But she was already gone.
He caught up to her just before the cordon tape, which a uniformed constable was already hurriedly pulling aside to let them pass.
‘Thanks. This the car, is it?’ Shona asked, pointing at a black BMW that stood apart from the police vehicles on either side.
‘Uh, aye. Yes. Ma’am,’ the constable said.
Shona grimaced. ‘Oh, God, please don’t call me that,’ she said, producing a sealed pack of surgical gloves from her pocket. ‘Makes me sound like one of you lot.’
She raced on towards the waiting car, and Logan realised what the rush was about. There was no tent erected over or around the vehicle. Scene of Crime was yet to arrive. Shona was trying to get in there and officially declare the death without crossing paths with—
‘“When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?”’
Geoff Palmer emerged from behind a police van, snapping the elasticated hood of his white paper suit into place around the bright red orb that was his face.
Under normal circumstances, there wasn’t much to enjoy about the head of the Scene of Crime unit. Looking at him was a chore. Listening to him was often a physical ordeal. Any moment spent in his company, in Logan’s opinion, was some form of Karmic punishment for past misdeeds.
And tonight, for some reason, Geoff was doubling down on all of it. He came hobbling towards them, back stooped, face twisted into a monstrous scowl. Everyone within earshot had turned to look at him, equal parts drawn and repelled by the shrill screech of his voice.
‘“When the hurly-burly’s done, when the battle’s lost and won”!’ Geoff cried.
Logan blinked, drawing back a step. ‘The hell is this now?’
Palmer stopped in front of them, screwed one eye shut, clawed at the air, and threw back his head.
‘“That will be ere the set of…” Ooh-ya-bastard!’
Geoff froze, his head tilted at an awkward angle.
‘Aw. Shit. I just did my neck in,’ he yelped, gripping and rubbing it through the protective paper suit. ‘Yep. Yep, I’ve absolutely knackered it.’
A smile spread slowly across his face. Logan felt a weariness creeping over him. If there was one thing worse than Geoff Palmer, it was a happy Geoff Palmer.
‘And that, lady and gentleman,’ he said, easily straightening his neck as he took a little bow, ‘is a little thing that we in the business call acting.’
Logan and Shona both regarded him in silence for a few moments, then they split up, weaving past him on either side like he was a rock in a river.
‘Aye, very good,’ Logan said, brushing him off.
Undaunted, Palmer hurried along in their wake.
‘You not going to ask why I did all that?’
‘Apparently not, no.’
‘You’re not curious?’
Logan stopped, angling himself to block Palmer’s path, so Shona could crack on with her part of tonight’s proceedings. It was taking one for the team, and then some.
‘No, Geoff. I’m not. I’m about as far removed from curious as it’s possible to be. I mean, what’s the opposite of curious?’
Palmer answered on autopilot. ‘Indifferent?’
‘Aye. Aye, that sounds about right,’ Logan told him. ‘I’m indifferent.’
‘I’m going to be in an advert,’ Palmer announced, apparently not having heard a word the DCI had just said. ‘It’s for teeth.’
Logan was annoyed at himself for even asking the question, but it was out of him before he knew it.
‘What do you mean it’s for teeth? How can they advertise teeth? We’ve got teeth, we don’t need to buy more of them.’
‘No, like dentures, or implants, or some shite like that,’ Palmer said. ‘Toothpaste, maybe, I don’t know.’
Logan’s gaze flitted to the Scene of Crime man’s mouth, and the slabs of yellowy-brown contained therein.
‘And they’ve got you advertising them?’
‘Yep!’ Palmer said, rocking back on his heels. ‘I’m the before picture.’
‘You’re the…? So, what’s…?’ Logan tutted and shook his head, furious at himself for still being involved in this conversation. ‘How is that acting, Geoff?’
Palmer’s smile didn’t fade in the slightest. ‘Well, telly, isn’t it?’
‘Alright, boss?’
Logan let out a chirp of relief as DC Neish appeared beside him.
‘Tyler, thank Christ. Look after Geoff, will you? Make sure he’s got everything he needs, so I don’t have to continue talking to him.’
‘Eh, aye, no problem, boss,’ Tyler replied, before a throaty sob from Palmer cut him off.
Both detectives turned to look as the Scene of Crime man screwed up his face and tried to squeeze tears from his ducts. With his chubby red cheeks, he looked like a baby suffering from colic. It was a face that only a mother could love, and even then, only if she didn’t look too closely.
His upset lasted all of five seconds, before his grin fought its way to the surface.
‘Huh? Yeah?’ He pointed at both men, then drew himself up to his full, unimpressive height. ‘Acting.’
Logan met Tyler’s eye. ‘Sorry, son,’ he said, then he turned on his heel and went marching off to join Shona at the car.
Detective Constable Dave Davidson rolled his wheelchair past the line of police vehicles on the Aviemore side of the cordon, headed for the unmarked car that had been lurking at the back of the line for a while now.
The man who sat gripping the steering wheel snapped his head up in fright when Dave rapped a knuckle against the driver’s side glass.
‘You alright in there?’
Inside the car, Hamza Khaled nodded. The movements were sharp and hurried, and the big smile that he plastered on really over-egged the pudding.
Technically, Hamza was Dave’s boss, if you adhered to that sort of way of thinking, which Dave generally didn’t.
‘Eh, aye. Aye, I’m good, aye,’ Hamza said, his voice muted by the window between them.
‘Right. It’s just, you’ve been sat on your arse in that car for about ten minutes,’ Dave pointed out. ‘Which suggests to me that things aren’t exactly peachy.’
Hamza’s window slid down before stopping halfway. His light brown skin seemed several shades paler than usual. Or greyer, maybe.
‘No, no, I’m fine, honest,’ he insisted.
There was a shake muddled in with his Aberdonian accent.
‘I’m just… Well, I was running a bit late, and it’s…
I’m just taking a wee minute to get my head in the right place.
You know, prep a bit. It’s all just a bit…
I mean, not new, obviously, not that. But, I don’t know.
It’s… different. Than normal. Than before. ’
‘Oh, believe me, I get it,’ Dave told him. ‘I was the same myself when I first got this gig. Full-on impostor syndrome. Who the hell was I to be a detective?’
‘No, that’s bollocks,’ Hamza told him. ‘You’re great. You’re nailing it.’
‘Aye, well, cheers for that. Back at you. There’s nothing wrong with feeling like that, though.
You ask me, the only people who don’t get impostor syndrome are A, psychopaths, and B, impostors.
For everyone else, it’s just the way things are.
You just put the head down and muscle through it, best you can. ’
Hamza swallowed and looked ahead through the windscreen. There were dozens of Uniforms dotted around. Constables, sergeants, civilian support teams, the works. All out there. All waiting.
‘Or you could just sit in there all night like an absolute fanny,’ Dave ventured.
Hamza laughed at that. Not a lot, but it was something.
Dave rolled back a few feet, making room for the door to open. Hamza stepped out, adjusted his tie, and smoothed down the front of his dark grey suit.
‘Thanks for the pep talk, Detective Constable,’ he said, giving Dave a nod.
‘No bother, Detective Inspector.’ Dave winked. ‘Now, go show them how it’s done.’