Chapter 41
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Eleanor Belov was adamant that she hadn’t been anywhere near the site of her second husband’s death, and she had the receipts to prove it.
Security camera footage from outside the house and her front gate showed her car hadn’t moved.
Her phone’s GPS tracking had her at home all day, and she told Logan that at least two delivery drivers—one dropping off a package, the other bringing a food order—would be able to verify that she’d spoken to them directly.
It was the car that confused Logan the most. If it had just been Eleanor herself at home, he could’ve worked on the assumption that someone else had been driving the vehicle when it was picked up on the camera.
But the car hadn’t budged. It wasn’t her.
The security camera footage could be faked, of course. It would be easy enough, especially for someone of her means. The fact she’d been so quick to access it from her phone had set some alarm bells ringing, but another thought had crept in at the same time.
The car. The bag.
Her car. Her bag.
What if Victor Belov had never been the target?
What if—
There was a knock at the door. A thump-thump-thump that demanded a response.
‘Excuse me,’ Logan said.
He announced he was pausing the recording, then stopped the tape. By the time he was out of his seat, Ben had already cajoled the Uniform on guard into opening the door.
The look on the older man’s face told Logan not to waste time asking questions. Not in front of Eleanor and her legal team, at least.
‘Sorry, I’ll just be a few minutes,’ he told them. Then, ignoring the lawyer’s objections, he stepped out into the corridor and closed the door. ‘What?’
‘We’ve got him,’ Ben said. ‘The van. The driver. We found him.’
‘What? Where is he?’ Logan demanded.
Ben hesitated. ‘Well, I mean, we don’t actually know that, but we know who he is. Name’s Curtis Neil.’
The name drew a blank look from the DCI. ‘Who the hell is he when he’s at home?’
‘Member of the neighbourhood watch group. Ex-military. Bit of a headcase, by all accounts,’ Ben said.
‘Dave ran a check on him. Dishonourable discharge from the military. Convictions for assault. Gavin reckons he’s dangerous.
Never really fit in with the others. Bit of a loner, except for his girlfriend. ’
Logan considered the new information, rubbing at his chin and picking at a plook that had formed there in the stubble.
‘The van. Bosco. It was definitely two guys you saw?’
‘Definitely. No doubt,’ Ben confirmed.
‘Then he’s no’ that much of a loner, then,’ Logan concluded.
He turned to the constable who stood rigidly by the door, pretending he wasn’t listening.
‘Give it ten minutes, then go in and offer tea and coffee,’ he instructed. ‘If they kick up a fuss about leaving, say you’ll need to come talk to someone, then wait out here until they start knocking.’
The constable’s jaw dropped open, but he nodded to say he understood, even if the instructions clearly terrified him.
‘Don’t worry, son. If anyone tries to give you grief about it, just say I bullied you into it,’ Logan told him, then he planted a hand on Ben’s shoulder, turned the older man around, and steered him in the direction of the Incident Room.
‘Talk to me!’
Logan entered the room like a hurricane, throwing the doors wide and bellowing to everyone within earshot. Right now, everyone included only Ben, Dave, and Sergeant Fleck.
Fleck jumped to his feet, hurrying to the printer, which was midway through spitting out a mugshot of a sullen-looking man with a buzz cut and a neck tattoo.
‘Curtis Neil, joined HAWKS about a year and a half ago,’ the sergeant said. ‘Same time he moved to the area. Got an address just outside Nairn, where he lives with his girlfriend, Cassidy… something. I’ll have to check that.’
‘Get Uniform round there,’ Logan instructed.
‘We’re already on it,’ Dave called back over his shoulder. He had a headset on now, plugged into his desk phone, making it easier to make and receive calls at speed. ‘They’re nearly at the address.’
‘This Curtis fella’s behind the blackmail, too,’ Ben said. He nodded to Dave, egging him on. ‘Tell him.’
‘Callum Walker spoke to Hamza down at the scene twenty minutes ago. Told him everything. Curtis roped Callum into making the call to Victor Belov, but Curtis was the one behind it.’
There was a pressure behind Logan’s eyes. Not a headache, exactly. More like something was trying to burst free.
‘Why was he blackmailing him?’
‘For money?’ Ben guessed.
‘He left the money,’ Logan reminded him. ‘If it had been about the money, why leave it behind?’
‘Could’ve panicked,’ Dave suggested.
‘Maybe,’ Logan conceded.
He didn’t think that was it, though. There had to be more.
That bag.
That car.
Glass, and footprints, and a single stray fingerprint.
And who the hell was Curtis Neil? Why hadn’t they flagged him before now? Why wasn’t he up there on the Big Board?
‘Should we get Tyler and Sinead back in?’ Ben asked.
‘No. Not yet. Leave them,’ Logan said.
Dave put a finger in his ear, gave a quiet acknowledgement, then turned in his chair. ‘No sign of anyone at Curtis Neil’s address.’
‘Shite!’ Logan hissed.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, arms folded, fingers drumming as he studied the board, trying to make sense of it all. Everything they’d gathered, everything he’d heard.
Her bag.
Her car.
‘Wait!’ Fleck cried. He hurried back to the desk he’d been using and opened up a web browser. ‘Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!’
‘What?’ Logan demanded. ‘You got something?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know. Maybe. Give me one sec,’ Fleck said.
He looked up at the ceiling, then shut his eyes, concentrating. Then, he held his breath as he typed a few characters and hit the Return key.
‘Yes! I’m in.’
Logan and Ben both joined him at his desk. The web browser showed a very simple webpage full of animated GIFs and colourful typefaces.
‘The hell’s this?’ Ben asked.
‘It’s the HAWKS membership site,’ Fleck told him. He clicked randomly through a lengthy menu of several dozen options. ‘I think… If I can just…’
A final click brought up a map of the whole north of Scotland. A few dozen dots covered it like a dose of the measles. Fleck found a dropdown menu up near the top and clicked on it, revealing a list of names.
He started to type, and by the time he’d reached the second letter of Curtis’s name, only one dot remained on the map. It blinked on and off, drawing attention to itself.
‘Yes! His vest. He’s got his vest with him. The tracker. He’s got the tracker on!’
‘Where is that?’ Ben asked, squinting at the screen. ‘Looks like it’s in the Cairngorms.’
Fleck turned the scroll wheel of the computer mouse, zooming in. The dot stayed the same size, but the terrain around it grew. It zoomed in on the mountain range, in on the dirt track, in on the little square building miles from anywhere.
A bothy.
A bothy in the shadow of the Cairngorm Mountains.
At the foot of The Devil’s Point.
The thought that was trying to claw its way out of Logan’s head forced him to screw his eyes shut.
Her car.
Her bag.
Her first husband.
Jack’s eyes snapped open.
Oh, God.
‘Gavin, get your car round front. We’ll take that,’ Logan barked.
The sergeant hesitated. ‘We, uh, we not just sending a team round, sir?’
‘No. Too noisy. Too risky,’ Logan said. ‘Me and you. Ben, find a way to keep Eleanor Belov here. Barricade the bloody door if you have to.’
Ben nodded, even if he didn’t fully understand. ‘Will do.’
‘Dave.’ Logan turned to the detective constable, another order already forming itself on his lips.
He stopped when he saw the state of him. Dave sat in his wheelchair, both hands clamped on top of his head as he stared in disbelief and horror at something on his screen.
‘What? What now?’ Logan asked.
‘No, no. I don’t… I don’t get this,’ Dave muttered. He hit refresh. Watched. Waited. Let out a strangled gasp that revealed that, whatever the problem was, it had not improved.
‘What’s the matter? What’s happened?’
‘It’s… I don’t understand. It’s her money,’ Dave said. He hit refresh again. Again. Again. ‘It’s Eleanor Belov’s money.’
He looked back over his shoulder at the others.
‘It’s gone,’ he said. ‘Her entire wallet’s been emptied.’