you’ve been hunting mouses? Good girl! Did you catch any?’
She thumped her head into his thigh and purred.
‘Well, that is exciting.’ He scooped her up with a grunt, holding her upside down and rubbing her tummy as he wandered back through to the hall.
More purring.
‘What? No, not really. It was a horrible day.’
Up the stairs and along the landing. More chicken pox. Probably have to replace a few of the floorboards here too.
‘Someone abducted a little girl. Four days and there’s still no ransom note.’
At least the master bedroom was finished: nice thick carpet, cheerful yellow walls, some framed photos above the double bed.
‘I know, I know: if they didn’t snatch her for ransom, then it’s probably sexual, isn’t it?’ He lowered Cthulhu onto the bed and stripped off his Police Scotland T-shirt. The scar tissue crisscrossing his stomach shiny and pink. Might be an idea to invest in some of those warm-white lightbulbs instead? Something a bit less intense and guard-towery.
Cthulhu treadled on the duvet cover, making delighted noises.
‘That’s what I was thinking.’ He changed out of his boots and police-issue trousers. ‘Oh, you think she’s been abducted to order? Could be. Amounts to the same thing, I suppose.’
A pair of paint-spattered jeans came out of the wardrobe.
‘Or maybe someone abducted her to sell on? A little girl’s got to be worth a fair bit on the open market. If you had somewhere to sell her.’ He did up the buttons. Fastened his belt. Frowned. ‘That’s a very good point. Maybe it is the fabled northeast Livestock Mart…’
Cthulhu started in on a wash.
‘Or maybe it’s the obvious answer? The stepfather abused her, killed her, and hid the body somewhere.’ An equally painty T-shirt joined the jeans. ‘I knew you’d say that, but Chalmers interviewed him. His alibi’s sound.’
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