Yay...
He shuffled on, past the puffins, past a sort of Fuzzy-Felt-meets-Freddy-Krueger thing, past a huge oil painting of a tattooed woman’s face, and over to the lifts. A walk of about two minutes that had taken quarter of an hour.
Still, at least it was a change of scene.
He pressed the up button and waited. And waited. And waited.
Ding. The lift doors slid open revealing a gloomy metal box, with duct tape holding sections of the floor-covering down. An old man stood in the corner, his back to the lift, one hand over his eyes, a bouquet of flowers dangling from the fingers of the other as he cried.
Logan stepped inside. Selected the floor number from the list of wards printed onto strips of masking tape with permanent marker. Stood there in silence as the lift juddered and groaned its way up through the building.
Ding.
He wheeled his drip stand into another off-green corridor lined with variable artwork.
Better view out the windows though. Looking across the rest of Aberdeen Royal Infirmary, down Westburn Road, and off to the North Sea. All of it shining in the afternoon sun.
He shuffled his way to a set of double doors, next to a green button, beneath a sign marked ‘SECURE WARD ~ RING FOR ENTRANCE’. So he did.
Then stood and watched two seagulls fighting over what was probably half a battered mealie pudding, until a nurse appeared and let him in.
‘Thanks. You haven’t seen a police officer kicking about, have you?’
She pointed. ‘Down there, on your left. Can’t miss her — she’s like a black hole for bourbon biscuits.’
Logan put his best slipper forward and followed the directions.
PC Baker was right where she was prophesied to be, sitting on a plastic chair, outside a private room. Short and stocky, with one arm in a bright-pink fibreglass cast. Nose buried in a J.C. Williams book: ‘PC MUNRO AND THE HANGMAN’S LAMENT’ according to the cover. She looked up as he shuffled over. Gave him a pained smile. Stood. ‘Inspector McRae! I didn’t know you were... Should you be up and about? You look like—’
‘Is he awake?’
The smile got even more pained. ‘Yeah, but maybe...’
Logan pushed through into the room anyway.
‘OK, then.’ She followed him inside.
It was a bigger room than his, sunlight streaming in through the open curtains, framing an even better view than the one from the corridor. The whole sweep of Aberdeen beach was on display, a crescent of gold and green, from the links all the way to Footdee and out to the hazy horizon.
Of course, Lee Docherty wasn’t in much of a position to enjoy it. He was slumped in his bed, skin as pale as boiled milk, with drips and tubes and wires connecting him up to machines and various pouches — both ingoing and outgoing. The latter hanging from the bedframe like horrible fruit.
He scowled at Logan, breathing in short jagged gasps. ‘Going to... sue... the arse... off you.’ Each word sounding as if it cost him a slice of his soul. And let’s face it, there couldn’t be much of it left.
‘Good luck with that.’ Logan leaned on the end of the bed, taking the weight off a bit. ‘Lee Jonathan Docherty; forty-five years old; currently residing at three Forest Crescent, Udny Station; form for criminal damage and assault.’
‘No... comment.’
‘You know we’re going to break your nasty wee paedophile ring into tiny pieces, don’t you, Lee? You and the rest of the kiddy fiddlers are all going to jail.’
Docherty’s chin came up an inch. ‘That’s slander. I... am not a... kiddy fiddler!.. My role is... strictly procurement.... inventory management.... and sales.’
‘That’s a shame, because fiddling with kiddies is exactly what we’re going to put you away for. And you know what they do to people like you in prison...?’
A small growl. Then he raised a wobbly hand, the middle finger barely making it upright. ‘No comment.’
‘Then there’s the murders of DS Lorna Chalmers and Angela Parks. And the attempted murder of Sally MacAuley. Oh, and trying to kill me too.’ Logan winked. ‘Let’s not forget that.’
Docherty’s hand fell back onto the covers and he panted for a bit. Then, ‘No... comment.’
‘Or you can make things easier on yourself and help us out? All those guys in the animal masks, do you think they’d take the fall to protect you?’
‘No comment.’
Logan poked one of Docherty’s legs through the blanket. ‘We’ve got one of your crew, Lee. Ian Stratmann, your “Number Five”. He’s looking at a looooong stretch, so what do you think he’s doing right now? Other than trying to grow his eyebrows back.’
More glowering.
‘I’ll give you a clue: it involves an interview room and telling us everything he can about you, your operation, your staff, and your customers.’ A grin. ‘Isn’t that fun?’
Docherty closed his eyes and sank into his pillows, voice barely audible in the sunny room. ‘No... bastarding... comment.’
‘Thought so.’ Logan turned and shuffled from the room, whistling a happy tune.
Outside the window, the sky was a swathe of dark violet with a thin smear of light blue at the bottom, fringed with gold as twilight turned into night.
Sally MacAuley shifted in the big visitor’s chair, staring down at her hands clasped in her lap. ‘I’m sorry we didn’t come earlier.’
‘It’s OK.’ Logan shook his head. ‘I get out soon anyway. Which is nice. Ten days of hospital food is worse than being stabbed.’
Aiden sat in the other chair, next to his mother. Not fidgeting. Not moving at all. Staring off into space, like a mannequin. Not even interested in the huge collection of kids’ drawings that plastered the room’s walls — everything from Rebecca Oliver’s violent fantasies and Ellie Morton’s vampire mice, to Jasmine and Naomi’s pirates and unicorns and zombies and dinosaurs.
Sally managed a moment’s eye contact, before concentrating on her hands again. ‘I... I wanted to tell you how grateful I am to you for saving Aiden.’
Aiden didn’t even react to the sound of his name.
‘How is he?’
‘He’s fine!’ Sounding brittle, but trying. ‘Aren’t you, Aiden?’
Still nothing.
She shrugged. ‘He’s just a bit... shy now.’ Sally cleared her throat. ‘That man in the grey mask, the Auctioneer, he would’ve killed me, wouldn’t he?’
Of course he would.
‘Best not to think about it.’
A nod. A long, uncomfortable pause. Then, ‘My lawyer says I’ll probably get community service. It was the stress made me do it. I only... borrowed Rebecca because I was so desperate to save Aiden. I wasn’t thinking straight.’ She wiped away a tear. ‘I’m sorry...’
Aiden just sat there.
49
Ten o’clock on a Friday morning and Divisional Headquarters should have been a buzzing hive of police work. Logan limped along the corridor without even the sound of a distant floor polisher for company.
Maybe everyone was out catching criminals for a change?
His crutch was one of those metal poles with a sticky-out handle and a plastic bit that your forearm fitted into. And it made an irritating clunk-scuff, clunk-scuff noise all the way down the grey terrazzo flooring.
Walking through the empty station was like something out of the Twilight Zone. Where the hell had everyone—
‘Logan! What are you doing here? Aren’t you still meant to be in hospital?’