Chalmers’ remains as possible without letting go. ‘Gawd… Soon as you like, Shirley. She reeks of booze!’
A click and the body dropped, but didn’t sag.
So still in the throes of rigor mortis, then.
Snips – Shirley – jumped down from the chair and helped her colleague wrestle Chalmers into a body bag. She zipped it up and backed off, waving a hand in front of her face. ‘Pfff… You weren’t kidding.’
Logan shook his head and turned away.
Shirley shouted after him. ‘Hoy! You SIO then?’
‘Nope.’
‘You’re Senior, you’re an Officer, and you’re Investigating. Sounds like SIO to me.’
Logan kept going. ‘Yeah, nice try. But the answer’s still no.’
Logan leaned his forehead against the bedroom window, breath making a foggy crescent on the glass.
Outside, the duty undertakers wheeled their shiny grey coffin down the driveway, then lifted it into the back of their shiny grey van. The name of the firm was picked out in discreet white letters, ‘CORMACK & CALMAN ~ FUNERAL DIRECTORS’ above the words ‘PRIVATE AMBULANCE’, but other than that there was nothing to indicate that Lorna Chalmers’ remains were on the way to the mortuary.
What a bloody waste…
‘Guv?’
‘Mmm?’ Logan turned, and there was Rennie waving at him from the bedroom doorway.
‘I know you don’t want to be SIO, but do you think … maybe…?’ He raised his eyebrows and mugged it up a bit.
‘You want to be SIO?’
‘Come on, Guv, got to be good practice, right?’ Rennie shrugged. ‘For the old CV? Even if it’s only a suicide.’
‘You know it’s mostly paperwork, right?’
‘And maybe people would say, “You remember that police officer who hanged herself? DS Rennie was the SIO on that. Did a bang-up job. Let’s give him something exciting to be in charge of next time!”’
Logan puffed out a breath. ‘I suppose I can ask. But no promises.’
Swear to God, the little sod did a wee jig. ‘Cool biscuits!’ Then stopped and pointed over his shoulder. ‘Oh, and you might want to come see this.’ He led the way across the hall and into a bathroom barely big enough for the bath, sink, and toilet that had been squeezed into it. Nearly every flat surface was littered with assorted shampoos and conditioners and body butter and talc and moisturisers. A small mountain of empty toilet-roll middles lay slumped against the loo brush.
Rennie opened the medicine cabinet above the sink, exposing a huge stash of pill tubs, boxes, and blister packs that all seemed to have Lorna Chalmers’ name on them. He pulled out a white box with a pharmacist’s label stuck to the front. ‘Tranylcypromine sulphate: Emma was on this stuff after Donna was born, they’re antidepressants. And so are these: Venlafaxine hydrochloride, and Nortriptyline, and Moclobemide too. And yes, you should be impressed that I managed to pronounce all that.’ He returned the first box to the cabinet, then pulled out another one and frowned at it. ‘Not sure what Aripiprazole is though.’
Good old Aripiprazole, banishing visions of dead girlfriends and other assorted hallucinations for nearly two years now.
Logan took the packet off him. ‘It’s a second generation – or atypical – antipsychotic. Possible side effects include anxiety and suicidal thoughts.’
‘Really?’ Rennie raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh. Right. Wow.’
Logan replaced the box and shut the mirrored door. Stepped out onto the landing again.
Rennie followed him. ‘Her husband says there was a “sort of fight” yesterday. She stormed off, he didn’t hear her come back. Look at this.’ A smartphone appeared from Rennie’s pocket and he held it out. A text message sat in the middle of the screen. ‘Had his phone on to charge, so he didn’t get her text till an hour ago. Came down and found her.’
Logan accepted the phone, reading the message out loud. ‘“I’m sorry. I just can’t take it any more. I can’t.” Sent at ten thirty last night.’ He scrolled down to the earlier text messages. ‘Long time to be left hanging there.’
‘I had a snoop round.’ Rennie hooked a thumb over his shoulder at another small bedroom. ‘Someone’s definitely sleeping in this one: got loads of women’s things in it. Lipsticks and jars of stuff. Women’s underwear in the chest of drawers. Women’s clothes in the wardrobe. No man things.’
A chain of yesterday’s texts swept up onto the screen.
BRIAN:
I can’t wait to see you today!
STEPH:
I miss the touch of your strong hands on my body! Searching and probing my most intimate secret places.
BRIAN:
I miss the warmth of your tongue on my neck. The hot swell of your bosom against my bare chest.
STEPH:
I miss your hardness deep inside me. Thrusting. Thrusting!
There was more of the same, each one more flowery than the last.
‘God, it’s like a bargain-basement Mills and Boon.’ Logan stepped back into the master bedroom again. Slid the door to the fitted wardrobe all the way across.
It was full of men’s clothes: no dresses, skirts, or high heels. Nothing feminine at all.
He pointed at the bedside cabinet. ‘Have a squint in there.’
Rennie did. ‘Man socks, man pants, man hankies. No lady things.’
Logan nodded. Slid the wardrobe door closed. ‘Then I think it’s time we had a word with the grieving husband.’
A tiny conservatory clung to the side of the tiny living room – its doors closed, trapping inside a small herd of clothes horses draped with washing.
Brian had moved himself to the couch, sitting there as if someone had rammed their hand down his throat and ripped out everything inside him. He kept his eyes on his knees, as Logan handed him a mug of tea.
‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
He didn’t look up. ‘It’s… I never…’
Logan put a bit of steel in his voice. ‘Mr Chalmers, someone assaulted your wife yesterday. Twice. I want to know who.’
‘I don’t… I didn’t see her. She went out before I got up and—’
‘Would you say Lorna was happy at home?’
Oh, he looked up at that. ‘What? I…’ Pulled his chin in. ‘Hey, no, wait – I didn’t do that! I would never do that!’
‘And yet Lorna texted you a suicide note at half ten last night, but you didn’t call the police till after seven this morning.’
‘No!’ Looking from Logan to Rennie. Bottom lip trembling. ‘I told your constable—’
‘Constable?’ Rennie folded his arms. ‘I’m a detective sergeant.’
Brian blinked at the pair of them, getting smaller. ‘Sorry. It… I was recharging my phone. I didn’t check it till I got up!’
The central heating gurgled.
Rain pattered on the conservatory roof.
‘I didn’t!’
‘Really?’ Logan loomed over him. ‘Are you expecting us to believe your wife was hanging there for nine hours and you didn’t notice?’
Rennie