tops herself.’ He tried on a casual, innocent voice: ‘You were investigating her for something, weren’t you?’
‘DS Rennie, make sure one of those mugs has extra spit in it.’
‘All right, all right. Easy, big man. Me and Debbie got all we need from Babs already. Was only hanging about to be nice to the poor dear. Keep her company and that.’ Miller pushed himself upright. ‘She’s all yours.’
Logan settled back on the couch as Rennie laid out four mugs of milky tea on the coffee table.
The thump of a closing door came from the hall and Family Liaison Officer McCraterface stepped into the room again. ‘That’s them gone now.’
Logan smiled at Mrs Bell. ‘Barbara, you didn’t have to speak to them.’
She flexed her hands into fists. ‘He lied to me.’
‘Of course he did, he’s a journalist.’
‘He left a bloody suicide note!’ Mrs Bell bared her teeth at the electric fire. ‘I memorised it. I thought I’d done something. Two bloody years and I thought… I thought if only I’d done something. If only I’d noticed how depressed he was. If only I’d got him some help!’ She picked up one of the mugs and hurled it at DI Bell’s photo. Knocking it flying, the mug shattering. Tea exploded across the wall. ‘And he wasn’t even dead! He was living it up in the sunshine, drinking sangria and shagging some Spanish tart!’
Logan shook his head. ‘Barbara, we don’t know that.’
‘Oh, we bloody well do! Mr Miller got someone to track down Duncan’s new family in Villaferrueña.’
Wonderful. The wee sod never mentioned that.
Mrs Bell ground her fists into her lap. ‘Duncan and his Spanish tart have a one-year-old son. I thought he was dead and he’s been making bloody babies!’ She snatched up another mug and hurled it to join the first. Another sharp-edged shattering and beige tea sprayed the wall.
Rennie grabbed his tea before it went flying too.
Logan took out his notebook. ‘We need to ask you some questions about what happened two years ago.’
She was still scowling at the tea-drenched wallpaper. ‘I boxed up all his crap. Did it last night, soon as they told me he hadn’t really killed himself.’ A sniff. She wiped at her eyes. Voice brittle. ‘I’ve been keeping this house like some sort of bloody shrine. Like he’d magically come back from the dead and everything would be fine again. I’m such a bloody idiot.’ Her whole face crumpled.
‘Can you remember him talking about a case he was working on at the time? Maybe something that was preying on his mind?’
‘Well, you know what? I’m happy he’s dead. I’m glad someone stabbed him. I hope they get away with it!’
Logan was last in line, barely able to see over the top of his large cardboard box. At least it wasn’t that heavy. He followed the FLO and Rennie out through the front door and into a lightning storm of camera flashes.
‘Inspector? Anne Darlington, BBC.’ Her blonde curls bounced as she fell into step, dragging a cameraman after her. ‘Inspector: is it true you’ve uncovered the identity of the individual who died in that caravan two years ago?’
Logan shifted his box, turning it into a cardboard shield between himself and the rampaging hordes of the media. ‘Please get out of the way.’
The Ewok man – Patterson? – jogged alongside as they hurried towards the pool car. ‘Is this case linked to the recent suicide of Detective Sergeant Lorna Chalmers?’
The thin androgynous one hadn’t gone away either. ‘Angela Parks, Scottish Daily Post. Will there be a public inquiry into the handling of DI Bell’s alleged suicide? Were you involved in the investigation?’
Rennie plipped the locks and they stuffed their boxes in the back of the car.
Anne Darlington tried to block Logan’s way. ‘Why won’t Police Scotland respond to any of our questions, Inspector? What are you trying to hide?’
The teuchtery one shoved himself to the front of the scrum. ‘Yer DS Chalmers was working on the Ellie Morton case – fit did she discover that led her to kill hersel’?’
The Family Liaison Officer put a hand against the teuchter’s chest. ‘Come on, back up please.’
Logan pushed around to the passenger side, Angela Parks close on his tail.
‘Is the Ellie Morton case connected to the disappearance of Stephen MacGuire this morning?’
Anne Darlington grabbed at his arm, but he blocked her with the passenger door. ‘Inspector, do you have an ID for the body, or don’t you? It’s a perfectly simple question: yes, or no?’
‘It’s an ongoing investigation.’ And inside.
The Parks woman wasn’t giving up. ‘There’s been a string of child abductions in the last two weeks, hasn’t there? Are they linked to Ellie Morton?’
He hauled the door shut with a thump and snibbed the lock.
Rennie clambered in behind the wheel and started the engine. ‘Gah… It’s like something off The Walking Dead!’
Anne Darlington knocked on the window. Voice muffled by the glass. ‘Yes, or no, Inspector?’
Logan fastened his seatbelt, talking to Rennie out the side of his mouth, so they couldn’t film it. ‘Drive. And if you accidentally run over three or four of the bastards on the way, that’s fine with me.’
‘Done.’ But as soon as he put the car in gear, the horde backed away, cameras filming, flashguns flashing, recording Rennie’s three-point turn for posterity. Then Darlington primped her hair and launched into a piece to camera.
Rennie grimaced, accelerating down the road. ‘Well, that was fun.’
‘Bloody Colin Bloody Miller!’ Logan pulled out his phone and poked at the screen. Listened to it ring. ‘Pick up, you rancid little…’ A click. ‘Colin? Why the hell didn’t you tell me you’d tracked down DI Bell’s Spanish family?’
Miller tutted a couple of times, then, ‘You used to be a lot more polite on the phone.’
‘You should’ve told me he had another family in Villafff…weren…’
‘Villaferrueña. It’s a middle-of-nowhere teeny-wee village. Population about a hundred and fifty? Boring. You’d love it.’
‘This is an ongoing investigation!’
‘Aye, and you can read all about it in tomorrow’s Aberdeen Examiner. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’m away to that nice butcher in Rosemount to pick up some steaks for tea. You know how Isobel loves a good slab of meat when she’s been post-morteming all day, but.’
‘Colin!’
A laugh rattled down the phone. ‘I know stuff you don’t. If you want to play quid pro quo at some point, you know where to find us.’ Then the connection went dead. He’d hung up.
‘Damn it.’ Logan lowered his phone.
Rennie looked across the car at him. ‘We could get a warrant?’
‘Yes, because we’ve done such a great job of that recently.’ Logan shook his head. ‘You know what? Not my case: not my problem. DCI Hardie can deal with it.’
The identikit houses and identikit streets drifted past the car windows as Rennie made for the dual carriageway again.