Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
‘You wanted to see me, sir?’
Logan turned from the Big Board, which he’d been studying for the past twenty minutes, and acknowledged Sergeant Fleck with a nod.
‘Yes. Thanks for coming in.’
Gavin let the door swing closed behind him and stopped with his heels together. He looked over at Ben and Hamza, and nodded a silent hello before turning back to Logan.
‘No bother. I was just about to start shift, so I was downstairs.’
‘Right. Good. Well, I won’t keep you long,’ Logan told him. ‘Just got a couple of questions about our mutual friend.’
‘Joe?’ The sergeant sighed. ‘What’s he done now?’
‘Funny. That’s more or less what I said. You drove him home yesterday, aye? After we let him go?’
‘I did, yeah. Thought that was best.’
‘How did he seem?’
Fleck puffed out his cheeks, then shook his head. ‘Fine. I mean… quiet. Tense. Not his usual self, but then I wasn’t really expecting him to be. I think you gave him a bit of a scare.’
‘I have that effect on a lot of people,’ Logan said. ‘He say anything?’
‘About…?’
Logan shrugged. ‘Anything.’
‘Just that he was sorry, really. Kept stressing that. Went on about his wife’s dolls a bit. I saw those, by the way, when I dropped him off. He was right. Bloody awful things.’
‘And when he got home? How was he then?’ Logan pressed.
Fleck hesitated. ‘Aye, fine. About the same. Why? Has something happened, sir?’
Logan drew in a breath, then let it slowly out through his nose.
‘His wife phoned. He went out on his patrol last night and didn’t come back.’
‘Oh, God.’ The sergeant groaned. ‘Oh, Jesus. I told him not to go out. I bloody… I told him to stay in the house until all this was sorted out. He promised me. He swore to me he would stay in.’
‘Aye, well, doesn’t seem like he stuck to that. What time did you drop him home?’
‘About half four,’ Fleck said, after a moment’s thought. ‘Got back up the road just after five. Was on shift in the office downstairs, catching up with paperwork until eight.’
‘Right, well, he didn’t waste any time then. According to his wife, he went out about an hour after you dropped him home. She reminded him what you’d said, but he said it was important.’
Fleck ran a hand down his face. ‘Jesus Christ, Joe,’ he whispered. ‘And, what? He didn’t come back? He’s been gone since then?’
‘Seems like it,’ Logan confirmed. ‘The wife fell asleep on the couch. Went through to check on him this morning and the bed hadn’t been slept in.’
Fleck shifted his weight around on the balls of his feet, like he was anxious to get moving. ‘Right, so… what now?’
‘I’ve got one of my DCs headed down to talk to her.’ Logan checked his watch. ‘Given the speed the bugger drives at, he’s probably there already.’
The sergeant nodded, but the worried look on his face suggested he was hoping for more.
‘And what about a search, sir?’
‘Not yet. He’s an adult. Been missing less than eighteen hours.’
Fleck’s expression briefly tipped over into horror. ‘But… he’s an old man. He’s vulnerable. He was scared. Ashamed. About what he’d done. About what might happen to him.’
Frustration got the better of the sergeant, and his hand trembled as he scratched at his throat and chin.
‘He promised me he was going to stay home. He promised. I should’ve realised. I should’ve spent more time talking to him. I… I should have made sure he was alright. He made a mistake, but he’s a good man!’
Fleck deflated, losing steam.
‘He’s a silly old bugger, but he’s a good man.’
‘Or he’s up to his neck in it and did a runner the first chance he got,’ Logan offered by way of a counterpoint.
Fleck straightened his shoulders. Shook his head. ‘I don’t believe that, sir. Not Joe. I’m worried he might have done something stupid.’
‘He already did something stupid,’ the DCI reminded him.
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘No. I know.’ Logan regarded the sergeant for a few moments, then clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. ‘Right, well, we’ll see what the wife has to say.’
He started to turn to the board, then stopped, sighed, and turned back.
‘Take a couple of constables. Head down and have a poke around. I’ll clear it, if needs be.’
The sergeant nodded crisply. ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’
‘I hope you find him. I hope he’s alright. But, be very clear on this, Sergeant,’ Logan continued. He took a step closer to Fleck, his shadow falling over him. ‘If he’s mixed up with all this in some way, I’ll throttle him myself.’
‘Don’t worry, sir. It won’t come to that,’ the sergeant assured him. He turned towards the door. ‘But if it does, then I’ll hold him down for you.’
He stepped back just in time to avoid the door swinging inwards as Tyler came charging into the room.
‘Sorry. Sorry, Sarge,’ the DC blurted out. ‘Didn’t see you there. Cause… the door, and everything.’
Tyler waved a hand in front of his face and blew upwards.
‘Is anyone else hot in here? I’m melting.’
Logan met Sergeant Fleck’s eye. ‘Interview.’
‘Ah,’ said Fleck. He gave Tyler a nod. ‘Good luck.’
‘Cheers,’ Tyler said, shifting aside to let the sergeant pass.
He waited for the door to swing closed again, then tapped his watch and looked imploringly up at DCI Logan.
‘What’s taking so long, boss? She’s been in there for ages.’
‘It’s been about half an hour, son.’
‘Exactly! What, are they holding her hostage or something?’
Logan glanced across to the cluster of desks in the middle of the room, where Hamza and Ben sat huddled around Hamza’s PC.
‘You know it’s going to be at least an hour, aye?’ Logan ventured. ‘Maybe two?’
‘Two hours?!’ Tyler screeched. His face paled. ‘How? What have they got to talk about for two hours? I’ve not got enough stuff to say!’
‘Relax, son. They’ll be asking you questions.’
‘Aye, but unless the first one is, “Can you count to five thousand really slowly for us?” then I’m not going to be able to fill two whole hours!’
‘Tyler.’ Logan put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, pinning him in place so he’d stop dancing on the spot. ‘You’ll be fine. Alright? You can talk shite for Scotland, son. Filling two hours will not be a problem, believe me.’
The detective constable seemed to relax a little at that. ‘Cheers, boss. That means a lot. I mean, I know you were slagging me off.’
‘Wee bit, maybe,’ Logan conceded.
Tyler smirked. ‘But thanks. You’re right. Two hours is nothing. No bother.’
‘That’s the spirit. And who knows? Maybe you’ll get that counting question, after all.’
Tyler held up both hands, with his index and middle fingers crossed. ‘That’s the dream.’ He tilted his head back in the direction of the door. ‘That sergeant have anything to say on Joe Robertson?’
Logan shook his head. ‘Not really. He’s worried about him, though. Said he was scared. Embarrassed.’
‘You think he’s…?’ Tyler drew a thumb across his throat.
Logan chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. ‘Let’s hope not,’ he said, then he turned back to the Big Board, unpinned the A4 square of glossy paper, then turned it around to reveal the face of Bosco Maximuke again.
‘I’m bringing him in,’ Logan declared, eyeballing the black and white mugshot. ‘He knows more than he’s letting on. I’m going to get it out of him. Make him talk.’
Over at the desks, Ben turned to Hamza, then shot a meaningful look in Logan’s direction.
Jack was already reaching for his coat. Already steamrollering towards the exit.
‘I’ll go get him myself. He says he’s found God. Well, I’ll put the fear of Him into the Russian bastard.’
‘Um.’
Hamza’s chair rolled back from the desk as he stood up.
‘Um, I don’t think that’s wise, Jack.’
The name came out as a half-stammer, like the DI was tripping over it.
Logan stopped. Turned. Stared.
‘Sorry?’
Hamza glanced down at Ben, who now sat with his chin resting on a clenched fist, fully invested in whatever was on the computer’s screen, and wilfully oblivious to the conversation unfolding around him.
‘Bringing Bosco in. I, eh, I can’t back you on that.’
Logan took a step towards him. ‘You can’t back me on that?’
‘Um, no. No, I can’t. If you bring him in, given everything that happened, given your relationship—our relationship—with him, then it’ll jeopardise this whole investigation.’
He stole another look down at the man sitting next to him. Ben was still focused on the screen, though he was now also eating a Kit-Kat that he’d apparently produced out of thin air.
‘This is… This is technically my case. I’m SIO,’ Hamza continued.
‘Reporting to me,’ Logan reminded him.
‘Yes. Aye. I know, but still.’ Hamza swallowed. ‘I, uh, I make the calls.’
‘And I can overrule them.’
‘You can, sir. I mean, Jack. You can, aye. But… you won’t. I don’t think. Because you know I’m right.’
Logan jabbed a finger towards the photo on the board. ‘He’s hiding something. He’s been lying to us. To me.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Hamza conceded. ‘But that doesn’t change anything. We can’t interview him. Not us. If we do, and he’s guilty, then he walks.’
The floor beneath Logan’s feet groaned, like it was struggling to hold the weight of his anger.
‘If he did this, if it was him, then we’ll get him,’ Hamza said. ‘But only if we do it right. Do it properly. And this—you bringing him in—it wouldn’t be proper. It wouldn’t be right.’
Logan said nothing. The only sounds in the room were the faint creaking of fabric as the DCI’s fist tightened around his coat, and the quiet snap of a chocolate-covered wafer finger.
Logan breathed in.
Breathed out.
‘Fine,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Then what do you suggest?’
‘We get someone else to bring him in and carry out the interview.’
Logan’s coat slumped down as if in relief as he tossed it onto the back of a chair.
‘Oh? And just who, exactly, did you have in mind?’
DCI Nathan Reeve’s smile was like the beam of a spotlight shining on the man across the table.
‘Bosco Maximuke. Bosco. Bosco. That’s fun to say,’ Reeve declared.
He said the name a couple more times, really popping on the boh.
‘You know, I think the only other Bosco I ever heard of was in the A-Team. You know, the TV show? Bosco “B.A.” Barracus. Everyone just called him B.A., though. Stood for “Bad Attitude.”’
Reeve drummed his hands on the table, his smile somehow hitching up even higher.
‘How’s your attitude, Mr Maximuke?’ He tapped on the thick paper file positioned beside him. ‘According to this, you’ve had some issues.’
‘You are American?’ Bosco asked.
‘No, sir, I am not.’
‘You sound American.’
‘Yes, sir, I do,’ Reeve confirmed, his smile not wavering. ‘But, while I could gab all day long about the wheres and the whats of my upbringing, that’s not why we’re here.’
Reeve gestured to the empty seat beside the Russian, then glanced at the light of the recording equipment set back near the mirror on the DCI’s right.
‘Could you just confirm for me one more time that you have waived your right to legal counsel?’
‘I do not need lawyer. I have done nothing wrong.’
‘Well, that is great!’ Reeve cried. ‘In that case, this should all be done and dusted in no time, and we can get you on your way. But, if you change your mind and would like someone to come in…’
Bosco shook his head. ‘I have all the support I need.’
He looked very deliberately up towards the ceiling. Reeve followed his gaze, not understanding at first. His smile beamed brighter still when the penny dropped.
‘Oh! Oh, you mean…?’
‘Jesus. Yes.’
‘You’re religious. Well, that’s great! What church are you with?’
Across the table, Bosco blinked. ‘I am with… Christian God.’
‘Awesome! But I mean, like, which denomination, exactly? Me, I was raised Southern Baptist. You know, Bible study, Sunday morning service, choir, Bible camp, mid-week service on Wednesday nights—gotta have that top-up! Daily prayers. Devotionals. Whole nine yards.’
Bosco was staring blankly at the DCI’s mouth, like he was trying to work out what all the words he’d just heard actually meant.
‘Christian God,’ he mumbled.
Reeve accepted the answer with a nod, and another ratcheting up of his smile. His eyes twinkled in a way that suggested not one iota of the rest of his expression was fake.
‘That’s terrific. Good for you, Mr Maximuke!’
He slid the folder over until it was positioned right in front of him.
‘And, well, I hope the Lord has cleared His schedule for this afternoon.’
Reeve opened the folder to the uppermost page and clasped his hands together on top of it.
‘Because we have got us a whole heap to get through…’
‘He’s good.’
Logan turned his head just enough to scowl at Ben Forde, who stood in the observation room beside him, watching the performance on the other side of the glass.
‘Who? Captain fucking Sunshine? He’s done nothing.’
‘He’s put Bosco on the back foot about the religious stuff,’ Ben pointed out.
Logan tutted and folded his arms. ‘We all knew that was bollocks. And Bosco knew that I knew it was bollocks. And I knew that he knew that… And anyway, we didn’t have to go through that bloody performance.’
Ben fought back a smirk, but didn’t argue.
‘Bit of Kit-Kat?’ he asked, holding up a foil-wrapped finger.
‘No,’ Logan said, but he grabbed it anyway, unwrapped it, and tossed the whole thing into his mouth.
They both stood there chewing silently while, on the other side of the glass, DCI Reeve continued his questioning.
‘How come you were so keen to bring Bosco in all of a sudden, anyway?’ Ben probed.
‘Because he lied to me.’
‘About what?’
Logan finished chewing. He swallowed, then swept his tongue across the front of his teeth, clearing away the chocolate debris.
‘Not important,’ he said. ‘But he knows something. He’s hiding something. And I don’t think the bloody’—he waved a finger towards the glass—‘Sundance Kid through there has it in him to get to the truth.’
‘Well, let’s no’ go and underestimate him yet,’ Ben suggested. ‘I get the feeling he knows his stuff.’
There was a knock at the door—a quick tap-tap before Hamza let himself in.
‘How’s it going?’ the DI asked.
‘Good,’ said Ben.
‘Terrible,’ Logan insisted.
‘Aye, well, eh, I know you want to watch this, but… Something’s come up,’ Hamza said. He looked back over his shoulder, then faced them again. ‘There’s something you’re going to want to hear.’