Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
DCI Nathan Reeve’s smile had not faltered. Not until now.
‘I can see why you didn’t need a lawyer present, Mr Maximuke,’ he said, running a hand through his thick crop of red hair. ‘You’ve already got that whole “talking plenty, saying nothing” thing nailed down tight, huh?’
Across the interview table, Bosco feigned his innocence. ‘I do not understand. I try my best to be helpful and answer your questions.’ He held his hands open, palms upwards. ‘Perhaps there is language barrier.’
Reeve let out a single breath of laughter. ‘Perhaps.’
He drummed his fingers on the table a few times, then sat back in his chair like he was settling in.
‘As you already picked up, Mr Maximuke, my accent ain’t exactly local. See, I was brought up by my daddy in Tennessee. Place called Lewis County. Beautiful community. Real nice folks.’
He smiled fondly at the memory, then gave himself a shake.
‘Anyhow, we had this mare. In the horse sense, I mean, not the political. Mean thing. Pretty as a picture, mind you. Coat like poured molasses, eyes bright and clever. But she did not trust a soul. First time I stepped into the pen, she pinned her ears back and came at me like some creature from the fires of hell. Scared me half to death.’
Reeve chuckled. Across the table, Bosco sat in silence.
‘Now, some folks, they see a horse like that, they figure you gotta show it who’s boss. You know? Break its spirit. They’ll shout, crack a whip, force the thing into submission.’ Reeve shrugged. ‘And you can do that. It’ll work. Least for a while. Horse’ll carry you, sure enough.’
He looked away for a second, gave a quick shake of his head.
‘But it’ll hate you every second of it. And the first chance it gets—first loose nail in a fence, first moment your back’s turned—it’ll bolt. Or it’ll throw you. Maybe stomp you while you’re down, if it’s that kind of horse. One of the mean ones, like she was.’
He paused, letting that thought settle.
‘But I never held with that approach myself. Me, I’d go in quiet. Sit on the fence rail. Let her watch me for a while. Let her get used to the idea I wasn’t there to hurt her. Might take hours. Days, sometimes. Just being there. Letting her figure out for herself that she had a choice.
‘See, thing about horses—thing about people, too, I find—is they’re always making a calculation. They’re weighing the odds on how this ends. Easy way, or hard way.’
He leaned forward, like he was letting the Russian in on a secret.
‘That mare, well, she fought me every inch at first. Tried to bite. Tried to kick. Tried to scare me off. But I never raised my voice. Never laid a hand on her in anger. Not once. Just kept showing up. Kept being patient.’
Reeve’s eyes sparkled, like he was reliving his whole youth right there in that moment.
‘Eventually, she let me close enough to touch her neck. You could feel her heart hammering under the skin. Baboom. Baboom. Baboom. She was scared. Not mean, like I’d thought. Just afraid of me and of what came next.’
He held his hands open, palms up, a mirror of Bosco’s gesture from a moment before.
‘Once she figured out I wasn’t there to hurt her, well… everything got easier after that. Saddle went on fine. Bridle too. She turned out to be the best horse I ever owned. Smart. Loyal. Never threw me once.’
He leaned closer still. The sparkle in his eyes gave way to something darker.
‘But I’ll tell you this. If I’d needed to, if she’d made a different choice, I could’ve broken her the other way. Wouldn’t have enjoyed it. Not one bit. Wouldn’t have been my preference.’
He gave Maximuke a nod. It wasn’t a particularly friendly gesture.
‘But I would’ve done what was necessary to get what I wanted.’
Bosco considered the detective’s words for a while, his expression remaining carefully neutral.
‘Fun story.’
‘That horse was not my enemy, Mr Maximuke, just like I am not yours. I want to help you here. While I’m not fully versed on all the facts of this case, seems to me like someone wants to see you in a mess of trouble,’ Reeve told him.
‘And, if you keep stonewalling me the way you have been, I guarantee you’ll wind up there. ’
His smile returned, as big, bright, and as bold as ever before.
‘So, you going to let someone frame you for a double homicide, Mr Maximuke? Or are you going to accept the hand I’m offering?’
Ben Forde’s popcorn packet rustled as Logan slipped into the observation room. There was silence from the wall-mounted speakers, both men on the other side of the one-way mirror now just sitting there, like they were each waiting for the other to speak.
‘How’s the Ginger Cowboy getting on?’ Logan asked, easing the door closed.
Ben fished out another fistful of popcorn and turned back to the window. ‘He’s been talking about a horse.’
‘A horse?’ Jack asked, then he lowered his voice so as not to be heard through the glass. ‘The fuck do you mean?’
‘Just talking about a big horse,’ Ben said. He brought the bundle of buttery kernels to his mouth and munched on them like a grazing animal. ‘Sounds like it was a right handful.’
Logan looked from Ben to the men beyond the mirror, and back again. ‘Right, to hell with this, I’m going in,’ he announced, turning back towards the door.
‘Hold on,’ Ben urged. He chewed. Swallowed. Rummaged around in the bag again. ‘Give it a minute.’
‘I was aware of them. From prison,’ Bosco began, his voice slow and careful, like he was choosing his words. ‘Victor Belov. Kendrick Crichton. I had been told of their moves to fill void left by… my organisation.’
Logan stopped to listen. Ben held out the open bag of popcorn, but the DCI dismissed it with a shake of his head.
‘How did that make you feel?’ Reeve asked.
‘Angry. At first. But for not long. I did not hold grudge. By then, I had found God.’
‘Hallelujah,’ Reeve chimed in, without an apparent ounce of irony.
‘By then, all I care about is getting out. Is seeing my daughter. My Olivia.’
He stressed the word “my” like it was for the benefit of the man on the other side of the mirror.
‘That is why I make deal. Turn grass. For daughter. For family.’
‘He’s so full of shite, I can smell it on his breath through the glass,’ Logan muttered.
Ben glanced down at his popcorn, but then carried on eating, regardless.
‘So, I phone her. I phone her, to tell her I am coming home in few weeks, that we will soon be together.’
Logan found himself taking a step closer to the glass.
‘What did she have to say about that?’ Reeve asked.
Logan held his breath. Waited. Waited.
In the other room, Bosco sighed and shrugged. ‘Nothing. I get no reply. She just hang up phone and block number.’
The Russian lowered his head and looked down at his fingers, which had become knotted together over the past minute or two.
‘I get feeling that Olivia wishes I was rotting in jail forever.’
‘Got that printout you asked for, boss.’
Logan crooked a finger in Tyler’s direction as he headed for his office. ‘Bring it in here and shut the door.’
Tyler shot a worried look across the desks to Sinead, but she reassured him with a smile and a shake of her head that he wasn’t in any trouble.
Rising to his feet, Tyler picked up a sheet of paper still warm from the printer, then scurried after the DCI.
The page was whipped from his hand the moment he entered the office.
‘Door,’ Logan reminded him, his eyes already scanning the text on the printout.
The list was short, and he found Olivia’s number almost straight away. A glance at the date confirmed what Harris and Bosco had both said. Olivia’s father had called her almost a month ago from prison.
The call had lasted fourteen seconds. Nowhere near long enough for them to formulate any sort of plan together.
But long enough to warn her he was coming.
‘Is that what you needed, boss?’ Tyler asked.
Logan looked up as if surprised the detective constable was still there. ‘What? Oh. Aye. Aye, that’s it.’
He set the page down on his desk and rubbed a hand across his mouth, his brain already racing through all the implications of this new information.
‘Do, eh… Do you need anything else?’
‘Hm? No. No, that’s fine,’ Logan said, then his mind cleared and he slapped a hand against the door before Tyler could open it. ‘Wait. No. Nearly forgot. The Little Mermaid?’
Tyler smiled, but it was a thin and uncertain thing. ‘What about her, boss?’
Logan raised his eyebrows. ‘Care to explain?’
‘Right. OK. Well…’ Tyler took a deep breath. ‘She lives under the sea, right, but what she really wants—’
‘Not the plot, Tyler,’ Logan interjected. ‘Your apparent losing of it in that interview earlier.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Tyler swallowed. ‘You, eh, you spoke to Detective Superintendent Mitchell, then?’
‘I did,’ Logan confirmed. ‘I think she was still processing. What the hell were you thinking?’
‘I, eh, I just got nervous, boss,’ Tyler said.
‘So you spoke for two hours about a Disney movie?’ Logan asked. ‘You’re a clown, son, but you’re no’ that much of a clown.’
Tyler stole a furtive look at the door, and at the window beside it. Through the narrow slats in the blinds, he could see Sinead cradling her phone to her ear as she scribbled notes in her pad.
When he spoke again, there was a note of resignation in his voice. ‘I never actually wanted the DS gig. Not really. I mean, it’d have been fine, but it wasn’t like I was all that fussed. I think I’m better at sort of, you know, running about after people.’
‘What, like a servant?’
‘Eh? No. Chasing folk, I mean. Being the, you know, like the muscle.’
Logan looked down. Next to him, the DC appeared to have the build of a Victorian child.
‘Right,’ Jack said, choosing not to comment further.
‘But Sinead kept going on at me. Said I should go for it. Said it wouldn’t be fair if I stepped back because of her. Told me if I didn’t apply, she wouldn’t either. And she had to. I wanted her to. Because she’s amazing, and she deserves it.’
He studied her through the blinds again.
‘And there’s no way I could ever compete with her, even if I wanted to.’
Logan sighed. ‘So, you went in front of a panel of some of the most senior officers in Police Scotland, and told them you cry when the mermaid gets her legs?’
Tyler nodded. ‘I did, boss. And I do. Gets me every time. See, it’s what she’s always wanted. Them legs. It’s what she’s dreamed about, what she’s worked for, what she’s been striving for for so long. So long. She deserves those legs. She’s earned them legs. They should be her legs.’
He was still looking out through the window at his wife, but turned back to Logan now.
‘So, aye, boss.’ He bumped against the centre of his chest. ‘That bit always gets me here.’
Logan tried to look annoyed, but couldn’t hold on to it. ‘Nice analogy, son.’
Tyler’s smile brightened, but there was a downward flicker of his eyebrows. ‘Boss?’
‘The legs. Getting the legs.’ Logan flicked his gaze towards the window. ‘Sinead. Really wanting it.’
Tyler followed the DCI’s gaze for a moment, before turning back to him, fully confused now.
‘What are you on about, boss? Sinead’s already got legs. I meant the Little Mermaid.’
Logan stood staring down into DC Neish’s upturned face. There had been times over the past few years—many, many times—when Jack had quietly wondered how much of Tyler’s personality was an act.
Could the lad really be this gormless? Could anyone?
Or was that all a performance, hiding a sharper intellect and keener mind than anyone gave him credit for?
Logan prided himself on his ability to see people as they truly were, but even after all this time, he was none the bloody wiser.
‘We can’t tell her, boss, OK?’ Tyler urged. ‘Sinead, I mean. About my interview. About what I did. She would’ve got the promotion, anyway. I don’t want her thinking she only got it because I, you know, said all that stuff.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry, son,’ Logan said. He met the younger man’s eye as he opened the office door. ‘I don’t think anyone in their right mind would ever think that.’