The Missing and the Dead (68 page)

Up. Get up.

‘You’ve spoiled it.’

It battered against his chest. Knives and needles, cracking through his ribs.

GET UP!

‘I had them all nice and trained. But you couldn’t …’ He stopped. Stared off at the entrance to the outdoor pool.

The ringing in Logan’s ears changed tone, wailing up and down, regular and electronic. And it wasn’t in his head any more.

Stirling put his hands up and the baton clattered to the concrete apron as two patrol cars screeched to a halt by the pool buildings. ‘Your word against mine again. David and Catherine tried to kill you. I tried to stop them, but I was so weak after they attacked me.’

The Big Car’s doors sprang open and Nicholson and Steel charged out into the rain. Sprinting across the crumbling poolside. Tufty and Deano jumped out of the other car.

Oh, thank God.

‘No jury’s going to believe anything else.’

Logan rolled onto his front, forced himself to his knees, and shuffled over to Samantha.

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

Breathe …

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

Breathe.

‘You lied about me last time, why would they think this was any different?’

One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

SODDING BREATHE!

Samantha’s chest convulsed and foul-smelling water spewed out of her mouth. Coughing and spluttering. Heaving in great ragged breaths, eyes wide, staring up into the thick black sky. Hands pressing against her chest.

He scooped her up and held her: cold, clammy, but warming up.

Steel’s voice cut through the downpour. ‘You! Where the hell do you think you’re going?’

Graham Stirling faked a couple of sobs. ‘They tried to kill me! They attacked me in my house and beat me and I was so scared.’

‘Get your arse over here.’

‘Samantha.’ Logan brushed the hair from her face and she blinked up at him.

Frowned. ‘L …’ She licked her lips. Swallowed. ‘Logan?’

Holy shit.

He almost dropped her. Squeezed her tighter instead as something warm burst inside his chest. ‘Hey you.’

‘Where am … Why am I all wet?’ Samantha reached for his hand, but hers wouldn’t work, the fingers stayed curled into a claw. ‘What—’

‘You haven’t moved in four years. But it’s going to be OK. I promise.’ He leaned in and kissed her.

Samantha’s claw scraped down his cheek.

Grey …

…

Cold …

Logan cracked open his eyes.

He was lying on his side, being dragged along the concrete walkway by one leg.

‘Gnnnph …’ His head throbbed, as if something living in there was trying to dig its way out.

‘Oh, you’re awake?’ Graham Stirling gave his leg another tug. ‘Good. Wouldn’t want you to miss this. A man shouldn’t be late for his own funeral.’

But … Where were the patrol cars? Where were Steel, Deano, Nicholson, and Tufty?

Samantha. Where the hell was Samantha?

Move. Get up.

But Logan’s arms and legs were like strips of rubber. ‘Nnngh …’

‘Thought I’d hit you too hard there.’

They’d reached the middle of the walkway between the two pools, where David Bisset lay still as the grave. Rain bounced off his body, turning the pool of blood seeping out of his nose and mouth a delicate shade of pink.

Stirling let go and Logan’s leg thumped against the walkway.

‘Have to say, I’d expected more of them. But they’re only kids, so what can you do?’ He knelt and rummaged through the equipment belt fastened around David’s waist. ‘Limb restraints and handcuffs. You learn a lot about this kind of stuff when you’re remanded for trial.’

He unrolled both of the bright yellow restraints. Then squeezed Logan’s knees together and wrapped them tight. Then did the same with his ankles.

‘Four months in that stinking cell with a
junkie
. You think that was nice for me?’ Stirling unclipped the cuffs from their holder. ‘He’d go to sleep every night, talking about all the things he was going to do to me if I didn’t get him some money, or cigarettes, or drugs.’

MOVE.

Logan forced himself onto his side.

Samantha lay on the concrete apron, spread-eagled. Catherine wasn’t far away, flat on her back with her arms outstretched. What happened to Nicholson and Steel? Where was the cavalry? ‘Nnnng …’

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘Kill … you.’ The words hurt, echoing around his battered skull.

‘Wrong way round.’ Stirling put a foot against Logan’s shoulder and pushed him over onto his back. ‘They broke into my house in the middle of the night. Little David and Catherine Bisset, all bitter and fired up and ready for revenge.’

Rain pattered down against his face.

Deep breath. And MOVE.

Stirling grabbed Logan’s left wrist and snapped the handcuff on, squeezing the metal arm until it was far too tight.

COME ON AND BLOODY MOVE!

Logan’s right hand trembled. He hauled it off the ground and fumbled at Stirling’s face. Gouge his eyes out, rip them from his nasty bruised little face.

But Stirling pulled his head back, grabbed at the hand. Missed. Fought for it. ‘It’s time … for you … to go …
away
.’

Don’t let him. Don’t.

Click
, the handcuff closed around the other wrist.

Stirling frowned. ‘They were waiting for me, in the kitchen. Attacked me in my own house, can you believe that? Thought David was going to kill me.’ A shudder. ‘But I stuck to my guns: told them what they wanted to hear. It was all lies of course. You set me up. Their dad wasn’t a pervert. And eventually, they stopped kicking me and hitting me and stamping on me and curled up against the fridge and cried instead.’

He stepped back. Took hold of the limb restraint around Logan’s ankles and hauled – pulling them to the edge of the walkway.

‘Was quite sweet really. They’re so suggestible when they’re that age, aren’t they? Didn’t take much to convince them to come after you and the coma girl.’ Stirling wiped his hands down the front of his shirt. ‘I’ve never worked in a team before. I like it. Definitely going to try this again.’

The words had to be forced out, like mouthfuls of stone. ‘They’ll … They’ll find you. … They’ll
stop
… you.’

‘Don’t be stupid.’ He squatted down, patted Logan on the cheek. ‘Now you go in the water, and you sink, and you die. And everyone thinks David and Catherine did it. Yet another horrible Jacobean revenge tragedy, played out in the northeast of Scotland.’ A grin. ‘You should see your—’

Logan snapped both wrists forward, slamming the cuff’s centre bar into Stirling’s face.

He went over backwards, into the water.

MOVE!

Logan groaned onto his side again and coiled up into the foetal position, fingers searching for the Velcro end of the limb restraints around his ankles. He scrabbled at the edge and yanked. The restraint ripped free. Knees next. Grab the end and—

Graham Stirling burst from the water, a thick slash of purple across his top lip, pouring blood down his face. ‘AAAAGH!’ He grabbed Logan and dragged him backward off the walkway and into the pool.

Cold water enveloped him in its jagged arms. Dug its claws into the back of his head as Stirling climbed on top, keeping him under.

Logan opened his mouth. Salt water burned in his nose. One last tug and the restraint around his knees tore free. He kicked, shoved, and finally got his head above the surface. Gasped in a huge breath.

Sirens.
Real
ones this time, getting closer.

Graham Stirling backed off. ‘It’s your word against mine. They abducted me, and you tried to kill— Ulk …’

Logan grabbed two handfuls of Stirling’s collar and pulled him off his feet, turned and forced his head beneath the water. Face up. Blood seeping from the gash in his top lip. Arms and legs thrashing. ‘YOU DO
NOT
COME AFTER SAMANTHA!’

Fingers scrabbling at Logan’s wrists. Grabbing at the handcuff’s centre bar.

Eyes wide.

‘YOU HEAR ME?’ Logan shook him, forced him further under, arms locked, pushing until the water brushed his own chin. Held him there. ‘NEVER AGAIN!’

Stirling’s hands reached up, like they were trying to find the light.

The sirens were getting louder.

This was taking too long.

Any minute now they’d clear the hill and it would be all over. Graham Stirling would lie and weasel his way out of another attempted murder charge. And Samantha would never be safe.

No.

Charles Anderson was right. Some people didn’t deserve the law.

He gave Stirling’s collar a shake. ‘DROWN DAMN YOU!’

‘Logan.’

‘DROWN AND DIE YOU FILTHY—’

‘Logan.’ A hand on his arm. ‘Stop.’

He blinked. Looked around.

Samantha stood beside him, the water lapping around her chest. She shook her head. ‘This isn’t you, Logan. This is him.’

‘But …’ He turned. Samantha lay on the concrete apron, spread-eagled, motionless, where he’d left her. ‘Are you …?’ A lump formed in his throat, almost too big to swallow. ‘Are you dead?’

‘Let him go. Please.’ Her hand was cool against his cheek. ‘For me.’

A wave boomed against the sea wall, sending up an explosion of spray.

She lay on the concrete. She stood by his side. ‘You know this isn’t right. Let him go.’

Stirling’s fingers clutched at the air, as if he could grab a handful and take it down beneath the water to breathe.

Logan let go. ‘I miss you.’

‘I know you do.’ Her smile was a knife in his chest. ‘Thank you.’

Graham Stirling thrashed to the surface, coughing and spluttering, face an unhealthy shade of purple. ‘Aaaaaaaagh!’

‘What for?’

‘For everything.’ She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. ‘For still being you.’

Stirling waded to the concrete walkway, clutched onto the edge, retching and trembling as a patrol car appeared at the entrance to the pool.

Its swirling blue-and-whites made sapphires and diamonds in the pounding rain. The doors sprang open and Deano, Tufty, and Nicholson jumped out. An ambulance screeched to a halt beside the patrol car, siren adding to the din.

Logan turned his back on them. ‘Samantha, I …’

But she was gone.

‘Here.’ Steel held out a plastic cup from the machine down the corridor. The smell of burned coffee and chemical creamer oozed into the air like a seeping wound.

‘Thanks.’ He reached up to take it. A line of dark-red bruising encircled his wrist, marking where the cuffs had dug in.

A nurse scuffed by, trainers making tortured squeaks on the green terrazzo floor.

Steel sank into the plastic seat next to his. ‘I would’ve been here sooner, but we were searching Dr Kidfiddler’s place. Found a digital camera in the garage with photos of the dead wee girl on them. Before she was dead, anyway. No’ to mention a stash of phenobarbital – same stuff they found in her bloodstream.’

‘Good.’ The coffee tasted every bit as bad as it smelled.

‘Denies it all, mind. Like that’s a shock.’ Steel had a good long frown at Logan’s clothes. ‘You should go home and change.’

‘Nearly dry now.’

‘Nothing’s going to happen if you leave her for half an hour. Go home, get something to eat.’ She put a hand on his shoulder, warm and firm. ‘I’ll stay and make sure everything’s under control.’

An old lady hobbled past, wheeling a drip on a stand, muttering to herself.

‘Don’t you have to go interview Gilcomston?’

Steel let loose a nasty little laugh. ‘His esteemed highness, Darth Finnie, has decided to do it himself. Thinks a more senior officer would have a better shot at bursting him. Sod took it away from me.’

Logan toasted her with his horrible coffee. ‘Welcome to my world.’

They sat in silence for a bit, as doctors and patients shambled by like something out of a zombie movie.

‘Logan …’ Steel looked off down the corridor. ‘That wrapper of heroin. You planted it, didn’t you?’

‘Me?’ He pulled the corners of his mouth down. ‘Nah, doesn’t sound like me.’

She lowered her voice. ‘If you hadn’t found it, we couldn’t have arrested him. He’d still be at home and we’d no’ be able to prove he had anything to do with that wee girl.’

A volunteer trundled by, pushing a trolley laden with clinking teacups and a big metal urn.

Steel waited until he’d disappeared down the corridor. ‘More importantly, Gilcomston’s no’ getting released on bail: he’s getting locked up till his trial. And if Charles Anderson really is on some sort of mission from God to bump off paedophiles – and he’s killed the other three in the ring – you just saved Dr Kidfiddler’s life.’

Logan stared down into the Brownian depths of his plastic cup. ‘Proud day for us all.’

‘Yeah.’ She stretched out in her seat.

The clock on the wall ticked off another minute of their lives.

Steel had a dig at the underwire on her bra. ‘While we’re at it: you want to tell me what happened with Graham Stirling?’

A shrug. More horrible coffee. ‘I got hit on the head a couple of times. It’s a bit fuzzy.’ Logan reached up and brushed his fingertips over the twin pads of gauze taped over the wounds. ‘He tried to drown me. I fought back.’

‘So all this stuff he’s saying about you holding him under the water …?’

A shrug. ‘Like I said: I fought back.’

‘Don’t sweat it. Everyone knows he’s a lying wee sod anyway.’ She closed one eye and really had a go at her cleavage, like a Labrador with fleas. ‘Pffff … Well, Catherine Bisset’s under observation for concussion. Brother David’s been wheeched off to Aberdeen with intracranial swelling. They’ve put him in a medical coma. Won’t get to charge him until …
if
he comes out of it.’

‘Shire Uniform Seven, safe to talk.’

Logan groaned. Took the Airwave from his fleece pocket. ‘Thump away, Maggie.’

‘Thought you’d like to know: the care home have got David Bisset on CCTV abducting Samantha. And there’s a fax in for DCI Steel. Results of a Stable Isotope Analysis she ordered on a section of thighbone?’