Cold Granite (14 page)

The inspector held up a hand for silence, leaning closer so he could read what was being written. Final y he sighed with disappointment and turned his attention to Logan. An eyebrow shot up as he saw the state of his detective sergeant. 'Go for a swim did you?'

'No, sir,' said Logan, feeling water trickling down the back of his neck into his already sodden col ar. 'It's raining.'

Insch shrugged. 'That's Aberdeen for you. Could you not have dried yourself off before coming in here, dripping al over my lovely clean incident room?'

Logan closed his eyes and tried not to rise to the bait. 'The desk sergeant said it was urgent, sir.'

'We've lost another kid.'

The car was steaming up too quickly for the blowers to deal with. Logan had cranked them, and the heating, up to full pelt, but the outside world remained obscured behind misty windows. DI Insch sat in the passenger seat, chewing away thoughtful y as Logan squinted through the windscreen at the dark, rain-soaked streets, trying to get them through town to Hazlehead and the place where the latest child had gone missing.

'You know,' said Insch, 'since you came back to work we've had two abductions, found a dead girl, a dead boy and dragged a corpse with no knees out the harbour. Al in the space of three days. That's a record for Aberdeen.' He poked about in his packet of fizzy, jel y shapes, coming out with what looked like an amoeba. 'I'm beginning to think you're some sort of jinx.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'It's playing merry hel with my crime statistics,' said Insch. 'Nearly every bloody officer I've got is either out there searching for missing children or trying to find out who the little girl in the bin-bag was. How am I supposed to get the burglaries and the frauds and the indecent exposures sorted out if I don't have any bloody uniforms left?' He sighed and offered the bag to Logan.

'No thank you, sir.'

'I tel you, rank has fewer privileges than you think.'

Logan looked across at the inspector. Insch was not the sort of officer who normal y indulged in self-pity. At least not as far as Logan knew. 'Like supervising uniforms, you mean?' he asked.

At this a smile broke over DI Insch's large features. 'Did you like Roadkil 's little col ection?'

So he had known al about the steadings ful of rotting animal corpses. He had done it on purpose.

'I don't think I've been sick so many times in my life before.'

'How was Constable Jacobs?'

Logan was about to ask who Constable Jacobs was, when he realized the inspector was talking about PC Steve: the naked drunkard. 'I don't think he'l forget this morning in a hurry.'

Insch nodded. 'Good.'

Logan thought the large man was going to say something more, but Insch just stuffed another sweetie in his mouth and smiled evil y to himself.

Hazlehead was right on the edge of city, just a stone's throw from the countryside proper. On the other side of Hazlehead Academy only the crematorium stood between civilization and the rol ing fields. The Academy had a reputation for drugs and violent pupils, but it wasn't a patch on places like Powis and Sandilands, so things could have been worse.

Logan pulled the car up in front of one of the tower blocks near the main road. It wasn't as big as the ones in town, being a mere seven storeys, and was surrounded by mature, cadaverous trees. The leaves had come off late this year, coating the ground in slimy black clots that clogged the drains and made them overflow.

'You got an umbrel a?' asked the inspector, taking a good long look at the horrible weather.

Logan admitted that he had, in the boot, so Insch made him get out of the car and fetch it, not stepping out into the downpour until Logan had the brol y open and was standing right next to the car door.

'Now that's what I cal service,' said Insch with a grin. 'Come on then, let's go see the family.'

Mr and Mrs Lumley had a corner apartment near the top of the tower block. To Logan's surprise the lifts didn't reek of piss, nor were they scrawled al over with badly-spel ed graffiti.

The lift doors opened onto a wel -lit corridor and halfway down they found a uniform rummaging about in his nose.

'Sir!' he said, snapping upright and abandoning his excavations as soon as he saw the inspector.

'How long you been here?' asked Insch, sneaking a peek over the PC's shoulder at the Lumley home.

'Twenty minutes, sir.' There was a tiny station-house less than two hundred yards from the tower blocks. Little more than a couple of rooms real y, but it did the job.

'You got someone going door-to-door?'

The PC nodded. 'Two PCs and a WPC, sir. The area car's off broadcasting a description.'

'When did he go missing?'

The constable dragged a notebook out of his pocket, flicking it open at the right page.

'The mother cal ed at ten-thirteen. The child had been playing outside--'

Logan was shocked. 'In this weather?'

'Mother says he likes the rain. Dresses up like Paddington Bear.'

'Aye, wel ...' said Insch, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets. 'Takes al sorts. Friends?'

'Al at school.'

'I'm glad someone is. Have you checked with the school, just in case our little friend has decided to go learn something?'

The PC nodded. 'We called them straight after the friends. They've not seen him for almost a week and a half.'

'Lovely,' said Insch with a sigh. 'Right, come on then, out the way. We'd better see the parents.'

Inside, the flat was al done up in bright colours, just like the house at Kingswel s, where David Reid used to live before he was taken, strangled, abused and mutilated. There were pictures on the wal s, like the Erskine's house in Torry, but the kid was a scruffy-looking boy of about five, with a mop of red hair and a face ful of freckles.

'That was taken two months ago, at his birthday party.'

Logan turned his attention from the wal to the woman standing in the lounge doorway.

She was quite simply stunning: long, curly red hair hanging loose on her shoulders, a smal upturned nose and wide green eyes. She'd been crying. Logan did his best not to stare at her considerable bosom as she showed them into the living room.

'Have you found him?' This from a tattered-looking man in blue overal s and socks.

'Give them time, Jim, they've only just got here,' said the woman, patting him on the arm.

'Are you the father?' asked Insch, perching himself on the edge of a bright blue sofa.

'Stepfather,' said the man, sitting back down again. 'His father was a bastard--'

'Jim!'

'Sorry. His dad and me don't get on.'

Logan started a slow inspection of the cheerful room, making a show of examining the photos and the ornaments, al the time watching Jim the stepfather. It wouldn't be the first time a stepson had fal en foul of mum's new husband. Some people took to their partner's kids as if they were their own, others looked at them as a constant reminder that they weren't first. That someone else had shagged the one they loved. Jealousy was a terrible thing. Especial y when vented on a five-year-old child.

OK, every photo on the wal showed the three of them looking as if they were having a great time, but people didn't tend to put up pictures of the bruises, cigarette burns and broken bones in the living room.

Logan was particularly taken with a scene on a beach somewhere hot, in which everyone was in their swimming gear, grinning at the camera. The mother's figure was breathtaking, especial y in a bottle-green bikini. Even with the scar where she must have had a Caesarean section.

'Corfu,' said Mrs Lumley. 'Jim takes us away somewhere nice every year. Last year it was Corfu, this year it was Malta. Next year we're taking Peter to Florida to see Mickey Mouse...' She bit her bottom lip. 'Peter loves Mickey Mouse...he...Oh God, please find him!' And with that she dissolved into her husband's arms.

Insch cast Logan a meaningful glance. Logan nodded and said, 'Why don't I make us al a nice cup of tea? Mr Lumley, can you show me where the things are?'

Half an hour later Logan and Inspector Insch were standing at the bottom of the tower block's stairwel , looking out at the driving rain.

'What do you think?' asked Insch, ferreting out his bag of fizzy sweeties.

'The stepfather?'

Insch nodded.

'He seems genuinely fond of the kid. You should have heard him banging on about how Peter's going to play for the Dons when he grows up. I don't see him as the wicked stepdad.'

The inspector nodded again. While Logan had been making the tea and questioning the dad, Insch had been gently pumping the mother for information.

'Me neither. The kid's not had any history of accidents, or mysterious il nesses, or trips to the doctor.'

'How come he wasn't in school today?' asked Logan, helping himself to one of Insch's sweets.

'Bul ying. Some big fat kid's been beating the crap out of him 'cos he's ginger. Mother's keeping him off until the school do something about it. She's not told the stepfather though. She thinks he'd go nuts if he knew someone was picking on Peter.'

Insch stuffed a fizzy thing into his mouth and sighed. 'Two kids missing in two days,' he said, not bothering to disguise the sadness in his voice. 'Christ, I hope he's just run away. I real y don't want to see another dead kid in the morgue.' Insch sighed again, his large frame deflating slightly.

'We'l find them,' said Logan with a conviction he didn't feel.

'Aye, we'l find them.' The inspector stepped out into the rain, without waiting for Logan to open the brol y. 'We'l find them, but they'l be dead.'

12

Logan and Insch drove back to Force Headquarters in silence. The sky had darkened overhead, storm clouds spreading from one horizon to the other, blotting out the daylight, turning the city dark at two in the afternoon. As they drove the streetlights flickered on, their yel ow light making the day seem even darker.

Insch was right of course: they wouldn't find the missing children alive. Not if it was the same man who'd snatched them. According to Isobel the sexual abuse had al happened post mortem.

Logan slid the car across Anderson Drive on autopilot.

At least Peter Lumley had lived a bit first. Poor bloody Richard Erskine had nothing but an over-protective mother. Somehow Logan couldn't see her taking Richard to Corfu and Malta and Florida. Far too dangerous for her little darling. Peter was lucky he had a nice stepdad to take care of him...

'You been seen by the Spanish Inquisition yet?' asked Insch as Logan negotiated the roundabout at the end of Queen Street. A large statue of Queen Victoria sat in the middle on a huge granite plinth. Someone had stuck a traffic cone on her head.

'Professional Standards? No, not yet.' He stil had that little treat to look forward to.

Insch sighed. 'I had them in this morning. Some jumped-up prick in a smart new uniform, never done a damned day's policing in his life, tel ing me how important it is to find out who leaked the story to the press. Like I couldn't work that one out for myself. I tel you, I get whoever--'

A dirty Ford van shot out in front of them, causing Logan to slam on the brakes and swear.

'Let's pul them over!' cried Insch with glee. Making someone else's day miserable might make them both feel better.

They gave the driver a stern talking to and ordered her to turn up at nine the fol owing morning with al her documentation. It wasn't much, but it was something.

Back at Force HQ the incident room was in turmoil. The phones were ringing non-stop, fol owing an announcement on Northsound Radio and the lunchtime TV news. Al the major channels were carrying the story. Aberdeen was becoming a media hot-spot. The whole force was under the spotlight. And if Insch didn't get this thing solved soon, he'd get his head to play with.

They spent a while going over the various sightings of the two missing boys. Most of them would be a waste of time, but they al had to be investigated, just in case. One of the force's technical experts was busy col ating al the reports into the computer, taking every sighting and interview, location, time and date and sticking it into HOLMES, the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System, setting the massive cross-referencing program running, churning out reams and reams of automatical y generated actions. It was a pain in the arse, but you never knew when something might prove to be important.

But Logan knew it was al a waste of time, because Peter Lumley was already dead.

Didn't matter how many old ladies saw him wandering the streets of Peterhead or Stonehaven.

The kid was lying in a ditch somewhere, half-naked and violated.

The admin officer, a woman far too clever to be that thin, handed a stack of paper to Insch: the actions generated by HOLMES while he and Logan had been out. The inspector took them with good grace and skimmed through them. 'Shite, shite, shite,' he said, throwing unwanted sheets over his shoulder as he came to them.

Every time it came across a person's name in a statement, HOLMES produced an action to have that person interviewed. Even if it was just some old woman saying she'd been feeding her cat Mr Tibbles at the time the kid went missing: HOLMES wanted Mr Tibbles interviewed.

'Not doing that, or that.' Another couple of sheets went fluttering to the floor. When he'd finished the pile had been reduced to a mere handful. 'Get the rest underway,' he said, handing it back to the admin officer.

She gave him a long-suffering salute and left them to it.

'You know,' said Insch, casting a critical eye over Logan, 'you look worse than I feel.'

'I'm not doing anything here, sir.'

Insch parked himself on the edge of a desk and riffled through a stack of reports. 'Tel you what,' he said and handed over the pile of paper. 'If you want to make yourself useful, go through that lot. It's from the door-to-doors in Rosemount this morning. Norman bloody Chalmers gets his appearance in court this afternoon. See if you can find out who that little girl was before they let the bastard out on bail.'

Logan found himself an empty office as far away from the noise and chaos of the incident room as possible. Uniform had been thorough, the times on the statements making it clear that they'd gone back to some buildings more than once to be sure they spoke to everyone.