Cthulhu washed her tummy in a barrage of shlurpy noises.
‘True... I don’t think I’d trust Lorna Chalmers either.’ Logan perched on the end of the bed and pulled on a pair of painty trainers. ‘Tara’s coming over later for pizza. That’ll be nice, won’t it?’
One last shlurp and Cthulhu stopped washing and stared at him.
‘What?’
More staring.
‘Oh come on, not this again. There’s nothing wrong with talking to your cat. People do it all the time.’ He leaned over and kissed her on her fuzzy little head. ‘And it’s not as if you’re actually answering back, is it? Only crazy people own talking cats.’ Another frown. ‘Which reminds me.’
Logan stood and wandered down the landing again, into the bathroom.
Still have to finish tiling those other two walls. Just because the shower was usable, didn’t mean the room was done.
Blah, blah, blah.
He opened the medicine cabinet, took out the box of Aripiprazole and popped two small orange tablets out of their blister pack and onto his hand.
Cthulhu appeared in the cabinet’s mirrored door as he shut it — following him into the bathroom and jumping up onto the toilet lid. More staring.
‘I know: I’m taking them, see?’
He popped the pills in his mouth, washing them down with a full glass of water before the taste hit. Then turned and opened his mouth wide for Cthulhu to see.
‘Look: all gone. So if Doctor Goulding asks, you can tell him I’m definitely taking my antipsychotics.’
She didn’t move.
‘Because I know you’re in cahoots with him, that’s why.’
A long slow blink of those big yellow-and-black eyes.
Logan sagged. ‘I know. I love you too.’ He blinked back at her. ‘Now, do you want to help Daddy wallpaper the living room?’
She jumped down from the toilet and padded off towards the bedroom.
‘Lazy sod!’
Ah well, she’d only make the wallpaper paste all hairy anyway.
Logan smoothed down the lining paper’s edges with his brush, making the seam disappear. Might even get this wall finished tonight. Which would be—
His phone launched into its generic ringtone.
‘Arrrgh! Leave me alone!’
But it kept on ringing.
He gave the lining paper one last flourish, then dumped the brush on the table and wiped his fingers clean on his painty T-shirt. ‘Pfff... Almost finished as well.’
When he picked his phone off the couch, the words ‘DS LORNA CHALMERS’ glowed in the middle of the screen.
Interesting.
He prodded the ‘ANSWER’ button then stuck the thing on speakerphone. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello?’
Lorna sagged back in her seat. Outside, the North Sea boomed and crashed against the beach, the spray a grey smear in the night. Lights flickered in the gloom, small and distant — huge supply boats anchored down to wait out the storm. If only it could be that simple...
The tower blocks of Seaton rose up on the left, windows shining as normal people went about their normal evenings as they did every single day of their normal little lives.
When did she forget what that felt like?
Most of her ached. And what didn’t ache, hurt. Stung. Burned.
‘Hello? DS Chalmers? Are you there?’
She dragged in a breath, ribs squealing in protest at the movement. Her voice came out muffled and lisping. Weak. Pathetic. ‘All I ever wanted to do was help.’
A sigh came from her phone’s speaker. ‘Then come in tomorrow and help. Ellie Morton might still be out there, alive.’
She wiped her other hand across her eyes. Do not give him the satisfaction of hearing you cry! ‘Why does it always have to be so hard?’
Headlights swept around the corner, getting closer, making her squint.
The woman in the rear-view mirror was a disaster: her face covered in scrapes and fledgling bruises. A black eye. Shirt collar ripped. Jacket too. Blood smeared around her nose and mouth.
Then the car was past and she was in darkness again.
‘Because it’s about people. Nothing about people is easy.’ McRae put on one of those fake, gentle voices — pretending he cared about her. When he didn’t. No one did. ‘Come in, Lorna. We can find her. Together. We can save a wee girl’s life.’
Lorna swallowed. Blew out a breath. Blinked at the car’s roof. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Lorna? Lorna, it’s—’
She hung up. Put her phone on the passenger seat.
Fumbled a half-dozen painkillers into her palm, swallowing them with a mouthful of Ribena. Grimacing as they clawed their way down her throat. Chased them with another mouthful.
Lorna curled forward, till her forehead rested on the steering wheel, and let the tears come. Why did everyone hate her? Why did everything go wrong? Why wasn’t—
Her phone burst into ‘The Bends’ and there was his name on the screen again: ‘BRIAN’.
She stared at it. Snarled. Picked the thing up.
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!’ Then hurled it into the passenger footwell.
Enough!
She turned the key in the ignition, scrubbed a hand across her eyes, turned on the headlights, and pulled away from the kerb.
There was going to be a reckoning, and it was going to happen right now.
‘Sure you don’t want any wine?’ Tara waggled the half-empty bottle again, making the tips of her long, dark-orange hair jiggle.
Logan gave her a pained smile. ‘Sorry the kitchen’s kind of a tip.’
That was gilding the jobbie a bit. The walls hadn’t even made it as far as the chicken pox stage — instead seventies brown-and-green wallpaper lined the room, faded so much that the pattern looked more like mould than anything else. Dark shapes lurked around the edges where he’d ripped out all the kitchen units. Sockets and switches dangled from their wiring. All the skirting removed to reveal holes in the lathe and plaster. The whole thing topped off by the decorative sculptural presence of an electric cooker straight out of the Flintstones and a battered stainless-steel sink.
Tara settled back in one of the six nonmatching chairs arranged around the rickety kitchen table and looked at him over the top of her glass. Piercing blue eyes, a bit like a wolf’s, surrounded by smokey make-up and freckles. Heart-shaped face with a strong jaw. And, let’s face it, slightly out of his league. The unattainable goddess vibe was only undermined by the big red blob of sauce on her fitted white shirt.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Am I boring you?’
‘No. No. Not at all.’ He took another slice of pizza from his box. Shrugged. ‘It’s just... my day’s been all errant cops and a missing child. It’s not really... you know.’
Cthulhu jumped up onto the table and plonked herself down between Logan’s ham-and-mushroom and Tara’s vegan Giardiniera with prosciutto. Stuck a leg in the air and started washing her tail.
Tara took a sip of wine. ‘Mine’s been all lockups stuffed to the rafters with counterfeit vodka and cigarettes. So I think you probably win.’
He took a bite. ‘Can’t help wondering what happened to Ellie Morton. Maybe it’s better if she isn’t still alive.’ He followed it with a mouthful of fizzy water. Stifled a burp. ‘You ever heard of something called the “Livestock Mart”?’
‘What, Thainstone?’
‘No, not Thainstone. This one’s highly illegaclass="underline" supposed to be a place where you can buy and sell abducted children. Moves about the countryside so no one can find it unless they know where to look.’