A Litter of Bones Page 11

  “Aye, pretty good,” DS McQuarrie agreed. “I mean, you did go in flashing your ID and declaring it a police emergency, but still…”

  “Never hurts to light a fire under them,” Logan said. He gazed out through the windscreen at the police station looming ahead of them. “Does it ever stop raining around here?”

  “Occasionally, aye. Nice when it does.”

  “Shite when it doesn’t, though, I’d imagine.”

  “Oh God, aye,” Caitlyn confirmed.

  She pulled into a parking space at the side of the station, then flipped the little lever that activated the automatic handbrake. The fact you had to flip a lever seemed to negate the ‘automatic’ bit, she’d always thought, but it was still better than wrestling with the pull-up handle she’d had in her previous cars.

  “Right then,” said Logan, unclipping his belt. “Let’s go see what Mr Walker has to say for himself.”

  He caught the door handle, but didn’t pull it yet. “I want you sitting in on the interview.”

  “Me? What about DI Forde?”

  “He’s tired. He needs a break,” Logan told her. “Besides, Ben’ll let me get away with murder. I want you keeping things by the book. Alright?”

  Caitlyn nodded. “Sure. Aye. No bother.”

  “Right. Good,” Logan said. He pulled the handle and opened the door. “Let’s go find that boy.”

  “You might want to get changed first, sir,” Caitlyn suggested.

  Logan looked down at his shirt. It was in a hell of a state, quite frankly—soaked through, smeared with dirt, and stained down one side with blood. Between that and the stitches, he reckoned he must’ve made for a truly horrifying sight.

  “Nah,” he said, stepping out into the downpour. “Adds to the effect.”

  Logan and Caitlyn sat across the table from Ed Walker in one of the station’s two interview rooms, audio and video recorders listening in and watching on.

  Someone suitably junior from one of the local legal firms had been dragged out of his warm house and was scanning through a bundle of documents DI Forde had presented him with when he’d arrived. Lawrence, someone had said his name was, although Logan didn’t know if this was his first name or his last name. Nor did he care.

  “Sorry. Sorry, won’t be…”

  Lawrence licked a finger and flipped on a page. His lips moved silently as he quickly read.

  Logan’s chair creaked as he leaned back and sighed, very deliberately.

  “Sorry!”

  Walker’s head was down, his eyes fixed on the table in front of him. Like Logan, he was still wet, although nowhere near to the extent the detective was, his leather jacket having protected him from the worst that the weather had thrown at them.

  “Right. Aaaaand done. Sorry,” said Lawrence, dragging his eyes up from the page and setting the document back on the table. “Now, what did you—?”

  “Where is he?” Logan asked, brushing the young solicitor’s question aside before he could finish it. “What did you do with the boy?”

  “I told you, I ain’t seen him,” Walker said, raising his gaze to meet the DCI’s.

  “Then why hide? Eh? Why run? Why clout me with a bloody torch?” Logan asked, indicating the sutures on his head. “If you had nothing to do with Connor’s abduction, why do all that?”

  “Because I’ve been inside, ain’t I?” Walker spat. “I know what you lot are like. Ex-con living next door. Kid goes missing? I know what you’ll be thinking.”

  Logan leaned forward, interlocking his fingers on the desk before him. “Trust me, Eddie, you have no idea what I’m thinking. If you did—if you had even the faintest notion of what’s going on in my head right now—you’d be much more forthcoming with information, I can assure you.”

  Lawrence shot a look across the table at DS McQuarrie, but she ignored it.

  “Where is he?” Logan asked again.

  “I told you, I don’t know. I only heard about him going missing on Friday night. I haven’t seen him since… I don’t know, Wednesday, maybe.”

  “Where did you see him on Wednesday?”

  “Coming home from school.”

  “Did you follow him?”

  Walker tutted. “Out the window.”

  “Right. Out the window. Got you,” said Logan. “So, not through the holes you made in his bedroom ceiling, then?”

  Walker snorted. “What holes? What are you on about?”

  “We’ll come back to that,” Logan told him. “We’re circling around the big issue here a bit, don’t you think?”

  He slowed his voice down, speaking each word very deliberately in turn. “Where. Is. Connor?”

  Walker ran his tongue across the front of his bottom teeth. He ran his fingers through his beard, which was even worse in real life than it had been in the photograph.

  “Neverland.”

  “What?”

  “Through the Looking Glass. Outer space.” Walker leaned in closer, his voice rising. “I keep telling you, I don’t fackin’ know where he is! I’d never hurt any kid, never mind him. If I did know where he was, I’d say, but I don’t. Alright? I don’t.”

  Logan’s eyes became narrow slits. He squeezed his hands together. As long as they were together, they weren’t around Walker’s throat.

  He was annoyed at himself for bringing DS McQuarrie in. And yet, at the same time, relieved she was there.

  “What do you mean ‘never mind him’?” Logan asked. “What’s so special about him?”

  “What? Nothing,” said Walker. He settled back in his chair, his eyes darting away from Logan.

  “Aye there is. You singled him out. You wouldn’t hurt any kid, never mind him. Why wouldn’t you hurt him in particular?” Logan pressed.

  “Because he’s my neighbours’ kid, ain’t he?”

  Logan laughed. “Neighbours? It’s no’ Ramsay Street. You’re squatting, Eddie. Illegally. Which, in case your crack legal team here hasn’t already informed you, is a clear violation of your parole.”

  Lawrence half-smiled and frowned at the same time, like he’d just heard a joke he didn’t quite get, but which he suspected he was the punchline of.

  “Isn’t that right, DS McQuarrie?”

  “Blatant breach, sir,” Caitlyn confirmed.

  “Shocking violation,” Logan reiterated. “Although, would you say it’s currently Mr Walker’s biggest problem?”

  “Far from it. I’d say it’s the least of his worries, sir.”

  “Hear that? The least of your worries.” Logan jabbed a thumb in Caitlyn’s direction. “And she knows her stuff. Believe me.”

  He started to count on his fingers. “Let’s look at those worries, shall we? Breaking and entering. Squatting. Criminal damage. Possession of a Class B drug. Resisting arrest. Clouting a police officer with a dirty great torch, and… Oh, aye. Lest we forget. Kidnapping.”

  He shot Caitlyn a sideways look. “Anything I missed?”

  “Did you count B&E twice, sir?” DS McQuarrie asked. “The boat.”

  “The boat. God, aye. I forgot the boat.” He beamed a broad grin across the table at Walker. “Told you she’s good. That’s potentially a long stretch. A long stretch. I mean, I’ve been doing this a while, I could probably get you six months for just the state of this shirt alone, never mind what you’d get sent down for for the rest of it.”

  Sucking in his bottom lip, he shook his head. “No. It is not looking good, Eddie. It’s not looking good at all.”

  Logan stopped there for a while, letting the silence worm its way into Walker’s head and do his talking for him.

  It was important to give it all a bit of time to sink in. Bed down. If you knew what you were looking for during an interview, you could actually see the moment the full gravity of the situation hit them, and watch as the idea of a lengthy sentence and all its horrible repercussions took root in their heads.

  Walker was no different. His breathing became short, his eyes shimmered, and somewhere in th
at badger’s arse of a beard, his bottom lip gave a wobble.

  Bingo.

  “Of course, we could make a lot of that stuff go away,” Logan said, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Breaking in. The drugs.” He indicated the wound on his forehead. “I’m even prepared to overlook this, Eddie, and I do not say that lightly. Do I, Detective Sergeant McQuarrie?”

  “No, boss. You do not say that lightly.”

  “I do not say that lightly,” Logan reiterated. “We can do it, too. Me and her. We can make all that other stuff go away. We’re nice like that. But you have to tell us where Connor is, Eddie.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Come on, Eddie! This is your future we’re talking about.”

  “I don’t know!”

  “I’m running out of patience fast here, so I’m going to ask you one more time,” Logan said. He leaned forward, his face twisting into an involuntary snarl. “Where’s Connor? What have you done with him?”

  “Nothing! I don’t fackin’ know where he is! I keep telling you!” Walker blurted, tears rolling down his cheeks. “If I knew, I’d tell you, but I don’t! I swear, I don’t!”

  “I think you’re lying to me, Eddie.”

  Walker’s face was a scrunched up mess of tears and snot now. His shoulders shook as he sobbed silently, eyes closed.

  “Maybe we could take a break,” Lawrence volunteered.

  “He’ll get a break when he tells us where the boy is,” Logan said.

  “He says he doesn’t know,” the solicitor said, his tone bordering on apologetic.

  “I know what he said. I don’t believe him,” Logan countered. “What about the teddy? The envelope? How did you know about that?”

  Walker sniffed and wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “What teddy? What are you on about?”

  “Don’t give me your shite!” Logan snapped. His fist thumped the table. Lawrence jumped in his chair. “The teddy you left on the doorstep. With the photo. How did you know about the writing?”

  “What teddy? What photo?” Walker asked. He looked to his brief for support. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.”

  There was a knock at the door. Logan tutted. “What?”

  The door opened a crack, revealing a narrow strip of DC Khaled. “Boss. You got a minute?”

  “Kind of busy right now.”

  “It’s important. You’re going to want to see.”

  Logan eyeballed Walker. “I’ll be right back. You use this time wisely, Eddie. Think about your options. It shouldn’t take you long.”

  He stood up so he towered above the other man. “You’ve no’ got all that many left.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “This had better be bloody important.”

  “It’s major, sir,” Hamza told him, leading the DCI back into the Incident Room. Tyler Neish stood a good eight or nine feet from DS Khaled’s desk, where the laptop was sitting open. Hamza gestured to it wordlessly, then hung back with Tyler while Logan approached.

  “What am I meant to be looking…?” Logan began, then his voice trailed off as he got closer and saw what was currently displayed on the screen. “Hang on. Is that…?”

  “Aye. Looks like it, sir,” Hamza said. “Didn’t notice at first, but I spotted it when going back through.”

  A jumble of thoughts spun around inside Logan’s head, none of them quite falling into place. The photo was a gamechanger, no question about it. He just had no idea what the game was going to change into, that was the problem.

  “Can you run me off a couple of copies of this?” he asked, pointing to the screen.

  Hamza nodded. “It’ll take about fifteen minutes. I’ll have to get a USB to take—”

  “Do whatever you need to do.”

  Logan turned his attention to Tyler. He noticed that the younger officer had got himself tidied up after the chase through the trees. He looked immaculate, with only a few hairs out of place, and even those had been styled that way deliberately.

  “Is the liaison still with the Reids?” Logan asked him.

  “Not sure, sir.”

  “Check and find out. Then, send someone to get Catriona Reid. In fact, you go. Tell her we need to ask her a few questions. Nothing major, tell her, just some background stuff. Keep the husband at home in case anyone tries to get in contact.”

  “Got it.”

  Logan looked around the Incident Room. “DI Forde around?”

  “He’s getting his head down for an hour, sir,” Hamza explained. “Thought it was a good time. Plans doing the nightshift, if we need to.”

  “Right. Fine.”

  “What do you want me to do with Catriona Reid when I bring her in?” Tyler asked.

  “There’s another interview room, right? Stick her in that, then come get me.”

  “It’s occupied, sir,” Hamza said.

  Logan frowned. “What? Who by?”

  “Your journalist,” Tyler volunteered.

  “Henderson?”

  Tyler shook his head. “Nah. The other one. The local guy. Fisher, is it?”

  “Thomas Fisher,” said Hamza.

  “Alright, you fucking swot,” Tyler teased. “We didn’t have to go far to find him, he was out front with the rest of them.”

  “Right, aye. I’d forgotten about him. Anyone spoken to him yet?”

  “Not really, boss, no,” said Tyler. “He’s sitting in there looking fit for tears, though.”

  Logan sighed. “Fine. Tyler, go get Catriona Reid. Hamza, I don’t hear that printer going.”

  Hamza practically snapped to attention. Tyler took out his car keys and spun them on a finger, like a Wild West Sheriff with a six-shooter.

  Logan turned to the door. “Right, Mr Fisher. Let’s get you out of the road.”

  Tom Fisher gave a throaty little sob at the sight of Logan when the DCI threw the Interview Room door wide open. He stood there in the doorway, one hand on the handle, a shoulder resting against the frame.

  The young journalist’s eyes widened in horror as he took in the blood on Logan’s shirt, and the cakes of dried crimson on the side of his neck.

  “I d-didn’t do anything!”

  Logan smiled, good-naturedly. “Relax, Mr Fisher. You’re not under arrest. I just need you to help clarify something for us.”

  He entered the room but didn’t close the door all the way. Tyler had said that Fisher had been close to tears, but by the looks of him now he’d fully succumbed to those at some point, and was now all red-ringed eyes and dried snot.

  “Don’t worry, Mr Fisher. We’re going to have you out of here in just a couple of minutes,” Logan soothed. “I just have a question about Ken Henderson.”

  Fisher frowned. He was younger than most journalists Logan had dealt with, although a lot of the local reporters tended to be that bit less experienced. Not all, of course—Logan had come across some right terriers in the local press over the years—but for some it was the first rung on a career ladder that would ultimately take them all the way to the bottom.

  “Who’s Ken Henderson?”

  “Another journalist. Freelance. Grey hair. Smarmy bastard.”

  “Oh. Yes. Him. From Glasgow?” Fisher asked. He nodded even before Logan had volunteered an answer. “Yes. I was talking to him this morning. He seemed nice enough.”

  “Oh, aye. He does seem nice. He seems lovely, in fact, when he wants to,” Logan agreed. “He isn’t, though. You’ll want to watch yourself there.”

  Fisher said nothing. He’d had acne in his younger years, and the scars of it dotted his cheeks. Logan vaguely recalled seeing him in the scrum outside the Reids’ house earlier in the day. He couldn’t place exactly where he’d been, but he seemed familiar enough.

  “Ferguson said you told him about a teddy bear that was delivered to the home of Connor Reid. Is that true?”

  Fisher was quick to nod. “Yes.”

  Logan closed the door. Fisher’s eyes darted from the DCI to the door and back again
. He shifted anxiously in his seat.

  “And how did you come to know about this teddy bear?”

  “The Spar. You know, down the road from the house? Not the one up the hill.”

  Logan had no idea where either of the shops were, but didn’t say as much.

  “Go on.”

  “Someone in there was talking about it,” Fisher continued. “Well, I mean, everyone was, really. Two women were chatting about it. And an old fella. They said something about it having a ransom note?”

  Fisher sucked in a steadying breath, then swallowed. “Is that… Is that true?” he asked.

  “I think we’ll stick to me interviewing you, son, if you don’t mind?” Logan told him.

  Fisher blushed and immediately looked away. “I wasn’t…” he began to protest, but then clearly thought better of it. “Sorry.”

  “We’re all just doing our jobs. I get it,” Logan told him. “So, it was general chatter, was it? About the bear, I mean. You didn’t see anything yourself?”

  “No. I mean, yes. I mean... People talking. That was all. I just… I passed it on. Ken, was it? He said we should keep each other in the loop with stuff, so I told him about it.”

  “Aye. That sounds like him,” Logan said. “I’m guessing he hasn’t been quick to keep you ‘in the loop’ at his side?”

  Fisher blushed again and shook his head.

  “No, thought not.”

  “There was…”

  The young journo’s voice fell away.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I mean. No. I mean… It was just that he didn’t seem surprised or anything,” Fisher said. “About the teddy and the ransom note, or whatever it was. He didn’t seem surprised.”

  “You think he already knew?”

  “I’m not saying that, no. I’m not…” Fisher shook his head. “He probably was surprised, just didn’t show it.”

  “Aye,” said Logan. “Probably.”

  He opened the door.

  “Right, thanks for your time.”

  Fisher’s face almost collapsed in on itself with relief. “That’s it? I can go?”