Tufty hit him. ‘Meanwhile, in the real world: Gary Lochhead’s dying, right? Maybe he wants to do it somewhere special? Maybe that’s why Mhari got him out of here? I mean, most people want to die at home, right? Only he can’t, because he doesn’t have one any more, but maybe...’
There was something about the painting. Not just the colours, or the light. Something special.
‘Sarge?’
Otherwise why would Gary Lochhead keep it there all these years?
Tufty tugged on his arm. ‘If you like it, don’t think anyone would mind if we took it in as evidence.’
A nod from Guthrie. ‘It’s pretty good, really. Not Gustav Klimt good, but as paintings go?’
‘Ooh, it’d look great in the incident room! DHQ could do with a bit of brightening up.’
All these months, lying there looking up at a painting he’d done years ago in a Glasgow prison.
‘Sarge? Earth to Planet Sarge? Come in, Planet Sarge.’
Logan turned and grabbed Tufty by the shoulders. ‘You, my geeky little friend, are a genius!’
Tufty stuck his arms in the air. ‘Yay!’ Then lowered them as Logan barged out through the door. ‘Wait, what did I do this time?’
Logan’s Audi roared and spluttered its way across Dyce, the siren sounding as if it was trapped underwater. Only one of the blues worked, flickering off and on like a demented Christmas tree as they made for the nearest on-ramp to join the ring road.
Tufty fiddled with his phone, tongue poking out the side of his mouth as he clicked and scrolled. At least it kept him quiet, which was more than you could say about Steel.
Her voice groaned through the hands-free kit. ‘Are you kidding me?’
‘I know it’s a stretch, but—’
‘I only got into the sodding office two minutes ago — after about an hour’s sleep, by the way, thank you very much — and you want me to go out again? I’m organising a major buggering womanhunt here!’
He threw the Audi around the roundabout. Accelerating out of it in the gravelly growl of a broken exhaust pipe. ‘It’s not—’
‘And Rennie’s getting me a coffee. Can I at least drink my coffee?’
‘Mhari’s been building up to something and she needs a big finale. Her “Wallace”.’
The dual carriageway lay empty in front of them as the speedometer crept up to seventy, the engine sounding like a slow-motion explosion in a tuba factory. The steering wheel juddering in Logan’s hands.
‘Aye, and what about backup? You remember what happened last time? Assuming this isn’t all some huge spud-funting waste of time.’
She’d walked right into that one.
‘Well, since you’re volunteering: sort out a firearms team, dog unit, OSU, and everything else you can get out to Loudon Wood Stone Circle. And do it quick: we’re on our way there now.’
‘Oh, in the name of God’s sharny—’
He poked the ‘END CALL’ button before she could get going.
‘Err, Sarge?’ Tufty waved at him from the passenger seat. ‘Shouldn’t we get King’s team involved too? They’ve kinda got a vested interest.’
True.
‘Go on then.’
Tufty took out his phone and dialled. ‘Sergeant Gallacher? It’s Tufty.’ A pause as he smiled and nodded. ‘Yes, I do know what time it is, thanks.’
The needle nudged eighty and the noise got worse. With any luck the car would make it as far as Loudon Wood before the engine managed to eat itself...
The sky shone a brilliant blue as they hammered up the A90.
‘Sarge?’ Tufty poked away at his phone, face all scrunched up. ‘I has a worry that this stone circle is going to be an absolute bumhole to find. All the websites say it’s buried away in the woods.’
‘If Mhari can find it, we can find it.’
Traffic was getting heavier, as the morning commute from Ellon to Aberdeen kicked off. All those lucky sods who didn’t have to be at work till six, when Logan was still there from seven o’clock the previous sodding morning.
‘Yeah, but what if we get lost in the woods, Hansel and Gretel style?’
‘You’ve got GPS on your phone, you idiot.’
‘I know that. But it’s the woods. And it’s dark. And in the middle of nowhere. And there’s probably Druids lurking with sickles waiting to sacrifice nubile young police officers to the ancient bloodthirsty gods.’
Logan overtook a bread van. ‘Thought you said it was two minutes outside Mintlaw?’
‘That just means the Druids have a shorter commute.’
Mind you, the proximity to Mintlaw wasn’t a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all. ‘Traffic Unit’s based there — give them a call and see if they’ll lend us some officers. They’ve got to have someone on nightshift.’
‘Okeydoke.’ He pressed the button on his Airwave. ‘Control? Can you put me through to whoever’s in charge of the Divisional Road Policing Unit nightshift?’
A bored voice crackled out of the handset’s speaker. ‘Connecting you now.’
It was replaced by a wailing siren overlaid on the sound of a racing engine and a woman shouting over their combined racket. ‘THAT YOU, TUFTY?’
‘Sergeant North? Dude! Well, Lady-Dude. Er... I mean: safe to talk?’
‘NOT HUGELY, CHASING A BMW ON THE A947 NORTH OF FYVIE. MAN’S DOING NINETY!’
‘Have you got anyone we could borrow? We need to chase down a murder suspect in the woods outside Mintlaw.’
‘GOT ONE CAR IN PETERHEAD, AND THE OTHER’S IN PORTSOY. WHICH WOODS?’
‘Loudon.’
The racing engine noises got louder. ‘LEAVE IT WITH ME. GOTTA GO!’
‘Thanks, Sarge.’
But she’d already hung up.
Tufty let go of his Airwave and grimaced at Logan. ‘No way they’re going to get to us in time. Not from Peterhead, Portsoy, and Fyvie.’
Logan tightened his grip on the shuddering wheel. ‘Then it’s you and me, isn’t it?’
‘In the woods. With the Druids.’
47
The Audi made a gurgling, grinding noise as Logan wrestled it along the twisting road, west out of Mintlaw. Sheep and barley — caught in the early morning sunshine — no longer streaked past the car windows, because no matter how hard he tried, the damn thing wouldn’t go faster than forty any more.
Tufty hunched over his phone, staring at the map. ‘Soon...’
Great chunks of Forestry Commission pines marched across the landscape, curling over the hilltops or standing in gloomy regiments — breaking up the patchwork blanket of fields.
Heather’s voice fizzed and crackled out of the car’s speakers. ‘About a mile south of Ellon, blues-and-twos all the way.’
‘Thanks, H.’
Tufty pointed through the windscreen at a road sign not-so-rapidly approaching on the left-hand side of the road. ‘SKILLYMARNO’, ‘STRICHEN’, ‘WHITE COW WOOD FOREST WALKS’, ‘WHITE COW WOOD CAIRN’, and most importantly: ‘LOUDEN WOOD STONE CIRCLE 2 ½’.
The wee lad bounced in the passenger seat. ‘There! Take a right.’
Logan stamped on the brakes and threw the Audi around the turn. Tyres squealing. Something clanging ominously under the bonnet as if it was in the process of falling off.
‘Guv? DI King, is he...?’
Good question. ‘They’re doing everything they can.’