‘Oh, I think it does.’
She sniffed and spat. ‘So you lock me up, so what? I won’t be the first political prisoner to lead a revolution from inside a jail cell.’
‘Political prisoner? You abducted and mutilated four people including a police officer. You murdered two people — maybe three if the paramedics can’t save your father. I don’t think anyone’s going to have a hard time telling you and Nelson Mandela apart.’
‘Nelson Mandela led the armed resistance, you moron: he was a founding member of Umkhonto weSizwe. So yes, like him I’ll be a martyr for my country.’
Tufty joined them at the fallen stone. ‘A nutjob for your country, more like.’ He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, to where the paramedics were wrestling Gary Lochhead onto a stretcher. ‘They’ve got his heart going again, but can’t say if it’ll stay that way, so they’re wheeching him out of here, ASAP. Air ambulance is on its way.’
Mhari kept her puffy eyes fixed on Logan. ‘And your “police officer” had it coming.’ Her smile looked obscene on that swollen scarlet face. ‘I was going to cast Edward Barwell in the role of Judas, dirty little two-faced journalist dickbag. You know he used to be pro-independence? But soon as his paymasters changed, so did his opinion pieces.’
‘And then DI King caught up with you.’
‘He offered to “help me disappear” for a share of the gold. Can you believe that? He betrayed the PASL and he betrayed you as well.’ Her snot-slicked chin came up. ‘You should be thanking me.’
Over on the other side of the stone circle, Steel pulled the e-cigarette from her mouth and made a loudhailer with her other hand. ‘HOY! SOMEONE’S DUG A BIG HOLE HERE!’
Tufty stuck his chest out. ‘Was that where you were going to bury Gary Lochhead’s body?’
‘Bury him?’ She laughed, the sound thick and sticky with mucus. ‘I was going to quarter him and send the bits to the four corners of Scotland. Post his head to Holyrood and his heart to the First Minister. This is your early morning alarm calclass="underline" rise and bloody shine, and do something instead of talking about it!’ She snorted. ‘Bury him.’
Then what was the hole for?
Logan stared at Mhari, then over at the recumbent stone. Pointed at Tufty. ‘Keep an eye on her.’ He picked his way across the rutted grass.
That bright-blue duffel bag was still there, along with the spade. He snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves and undid the zip.
Inside was another bag, only this one was ancient — the leather rotting and caked with earth. Trying to open it made a chunk of bag come away in his hand, creating a gap the size of his fist.
Something inside gleamed.
Was that really...? It was.
He reached in and pulled out a gold ingot. Much, much heavier than it looked. Solid. Expensive. Wow. There was another one in there, every bit as shiny and impressive.
Steel stepped up beside him and gave a low whistle. ‘Think anyone would notice if we nicked one of them and split the proceeds?’
‘Yes.’ He slid the ingot into the crumbling bag again where it made a very satisfying clink. Then stood and marched back over to Mhari, grinning.
‘You sure we can’t nab one of them?’ Steel followed him, glancing over her shoulder at the bag. ‘Just a teeny weenie one?’
‘No.’ Logan stopped in front of Mhari. ‘Well, well, well. Looks like we’ve—’
‘Doesn’t matter.’ Her angry-pink chin came up. ‘There’s plenty more where that came from. Hidden in secret caches all over Scotland. Waiting to fund the revolution. Guns, and bombs, and explosives aren’t cheap, but they’re worth every stolen penny.’
Steel squatted down in front of her. ‘See me? I’m all for independence. But I want a Scotland of the Enlightenment; a nation of fairness and equality; a nation that cares about the smallest, weakest person living here every bit as much as the biggest, richest one. A nation that welcomes everyone: aye, even the English.’ She patted Mhari on the leg. ‘What I don’t want is some sort of apartheid shitehole full of racist, moronic, ethnic-cleansing wankspasms like you.’
Rennie slumped over, face turned down at the edges, phone still clutched in his hand. ‘Guv? That was Control. The hospital say DI King passed away half an hour ago.’
Mhari looked up at Logan again. ‘Told you: you should be thanking me.’ She bared her teeth at Steel. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll save my voice for my lawyer.’
Logan pulled into the kerb, the Audi coughing and spluttering like a sixty-a-day man. Half the dashboard was dark, and the bitter smell of roasting plastic oozed out through the blowers. When he turned the key, the engine kept going for a couple of seconds, before finally grinding to a halt.
He sat there, both hands on the wheel.
The road was one long line of granite tenements, broken up by modern flats. Some sort of builder’s merchant on the other side, its yard full of bricks and racks of timber.
Black wires were draped across the front of King’s building, like an unconvincing combover, trying to hide the dirt-streaked stone and failing.
King’s flat was up there — second floor right — the windows ablaze with sunlight.
Deep breath.
Sitting in the passenger seat, Steel sighed and put a hand on his knee. ‘You want me to go in and tell her?’
Yes.
‘No. I should do it.’ He tried for a smile. ‘You stay here and look after the loon.’ Hooking a thumb over his shoulder.
‘Hmmm?’ Tufty didn’t look up from this phone, completely absorbed in whatever he was fiddling with.
Logan reached for his peaked cap, turning it in his hands. ‘It all went so horribly wrong.’
‘Aye. But look on the bright side: we caught Mhari Powell, or whoever the hell she really is, we saved—’
‘Ooh! Ooh!’ Tufty bounced in his seat. ‘I does has a result!’
Steel glowered over her shoulder. ‘Shut yer yap, Spongebob Crappants, the grown-ups are talking.’ She frowned at Logan. ‘Where was I? Oh, aye: we saved—’
‘No look, look!’ He poked his phone between the front seats, screen angled so they could see it. ‘Sergeant Wartynose, from Northumbria Police, has been to see the real Mhari Powell. He showed her fake Mhari’s photo and she recognised her!’
Steel snatched the phone from his hand and squinted at the screen. ‘Why have you got the font so small, how’s anyone supposed to read this?’
Tufty rolled his eyes in the rear-view mirror. ‘Turns out our Mhari shared a flat with the real one years ago, when they were both training to be psychiatric nurses. Called herself “Margaret Lochleat” in those days. Apparently she was kinda obsessive and, I quote, “a bit of a weirdo”. Which is putting it mildly, given what we caught her doing.’ A grin. ‘See? I said that, didn’t I? I said she’d probably been—’
‘Blah, blah, blah.’ Steel tossed the phone over her shoulder — Tufty scrambling to catch it before it landed.
‘Hey!’
She turned to Logan again. ‘As I was saying, before I was so moronically interrupted: we caught her, we saved Gary Lochhead, and we recovered about...’ She pursed her lips. ‘About four hundred grand’s worth of stolen gold bullion? And you didn’t get stabbed this time. So I’m going to call it a win.’