Part 38 (2/2)

She watched the front door bang shut before heading back into the lounge to sit in front of mindless drivel and drink her tea.

It was hard to believe just how many buildings were either maintained or owned by Aberdeen City Council's Parks Department. The list had been faxed through by a grumpy-sounding man, not happy at being called back into the office at a quarter to seven. Each and every building would have to be visited and searched. Dr Bushel was adamant that Strichen would have taken the child to one of them.

Logan didn't bother to point out just how b.l.o.o.d.y obvious that was.

The chances of picking the correct building to search, from the extensive list, were slim. They weren't going to find him in time. Little Jamie McCreath wasn't going to live to see his fourth birthday.

Trying to whittle it down a bit, Logan had got the grumpy man at the Parks Department to search their records for every place where Strichen had done community service. That list was almost as long as the first. Martin Strichen had been in and out of trouble since he was eleven. Since Gerald Cleaver got his grubby hands on him. Strichen had done his time raking up leaves, pruning bushes, spraying weeds and unblocking toilets in most of the city's parkland.

Working in reverse chronological order, Logan got the search teams going, starting with the places Strichen had worked in recently. After that they'd work their way backwards through the list. With any luck they'd find the kid before he was violated. But a sinking feeling told Logan that wasn't going to be the case. They'd pick Strichen up in a couple of days, somewhere like Stonehaven, or Dundee. There was no way he was going to hang around Aberdeen. Not with his face on the front page of all the papers, on the television, his name and description on the radio. They'd pick him up and he would, eventually, lead them to the murdered child's body.

'How's it going?'

Logan looked up to see Insch standing in the doorway of his little incident room. The main room had too many clinical psychologists in it for Logan's liking and the peace and quiet had helped him get the search teams organized.

'Search is underway.'

Insch nodded and handed Logan a chipped mug of strong coffee. 'You're not sounding hopeful,' he said, settling onto the edge of Logan's desk and examining the list of possible venues.

Logan admitted that he wasn't. 'There's nothing more to do: the search teams have their orders, everyone knows what buildings they're to do next. That's it. Now they either find him or they don't.'

'You want to be out there?'

'Don't you?'

The inspector gave him a sad smile. 'Aye. But I'm babysitting the big boys... One of those privileges of rank.' Insch pulled himself off the edge of the desk and patted Logan on the shoulder. 'But you're just a lowly DS.' He winked. 'Get your a.r.s.e out there.'

Logan checked a rusty blue Vauxhall out of the car park. It was dark, going on for seven. The Wednesday night traffic was light, most people going straight home after work. The terrible weather had kept them there. Only the most foolhardy were bustling from pub to pub beneath the Christmas lights.

As the traffic grew scarcer the snow gained a hold on the roads. The black glistening tarmac of the city centre giving way to grey and finally white as Logan worked his way out from Force Headquarters. He didn't have any real destination in mind: he was driving for the sake of doing something. Just another pair of eyes looking for Martin Strichen's car.

He drove up Rosemount and did a tour of Victoria Park and the surrounding streets, never once getting out of the vehicle. With the snow driving in at ninety miles an hour and the temperature sub-zero, there was no way Martin Strichen was going to park miles from where he was going. Not when he had a kidnapped child in tow.

There was no sign of Martin's leprous Ford Fiesta anywhere near Victoria Park, so Logan tried Westburn Park, across the road. It was much bigger, crisscrossed with snow-covered, single-track roads. Logan slowly crunched his car through the blizzard, looking for any nook or cranny Strichen might have hidden his vehicle.

Nothing.

It was going to be a long night.

WPC Watson stared out of the kitchen window, watching the snow whip back and forth on the furious wind. PC Rennie had been gone for fifteen minutes and since then her bored resentment had changed to nervous antic.i.p.ation. It wasn't that she was worried about Martin Strichen coming back after all, as the b.a.s.t.a.r.d Simon Rennie had said, she could easily kick the s.h.i.+t out of him. All modesty aside, she could kick the s.h.i.+t out of most people. Her nickname had been hard won. No, what worried her was... To be honest: she wasn't sure what was worrying her.

Maybe it was being taken out of the investigation to sit on a long shot? She should have been out there. Doing something. Not stuck here, watching soap operas and drinking tea. Sighing, she clicked off the kitchen light and watched the snow.

The sound, when it came, made her jump. A clicking at the front door.

All the hairs on the back of her head leapt up. He'd come back! The silly b.u.g.g.e.r had come back home like nothing had happened! A grim smile pulled at her face as she crept out of the kitchen and into the darkened hall.

The door handle creaked down and she tensed. It swung open and she grabbed the figure, pulling him off balance, throwing him down against the plastic carpet protector. Leaping on top of him, her right hand balled into a fist.

The figure screamed and threw his hands over his face. 'Aaaaaaaaaaaaa!'

It was the b.a.s.t.a.r.d Simon Rennie.

'Oh,' she said, dropping the fist and settling back on her haunches. 'Sorry about that.'

'Jesus, Jackie!' He peered out at her from between his fingers. 'If you wanted to jump my bones you only had to ask!'

'Thought you were someone else.' She climbed off Rennie and helped him to his feet. 'You OK?'

'Might have to see if there's a clean pair of boxer shorts upstairs, but other than that I'm fine.'

She apologized again and helped him through into the kitchen with the shopping.

'Got some Pot Noodles as well,' he said, emptying the bags onto the counter top. 'You want chicken and mushroom, beef and tomato, or spicy curry?'

Watson grabbed the chicken, Rennie the curry: the sour-faced Mrs Strichen could have what was left. While the noodles were soaking up a kettle of hot water, PC Rennie filled her in on his trip to the shops. One of Insch's cars was parked down at the entrance to the street opposite the shops and he'd spent a couple of minutes speaking to the occupants. They were from Bucksburn, just down the road and didn't think much of their a.s.signment. It was a complete waste of time! Strichen wasn't coming back. But if he did, they were going to kick seven bells out of him for making them sit out there in the freezing cold.

'Did they say how the search was going?' she asked, stirring absently at the rehydrating noodles.

'b.u.g.g.e.r all. Lots of buildings and no idea which one he's going to be in.'

Watson sighed, staring out the back window again, watching the snow. 'It's going to be a long night.'

'Never mind,' Rennie grinned, 'she's got EastEnders on tape.'

Watson groaned. As if the day could get any worse!

There was no sign of Martin Strichen's Ford Fiesta in Westburn Park. Not for the first time Logan wondered if Strichen wouldn't just hit the main road out of Aberdeen. He had to know they were after him by now. Since leaving the station Logan had heard at least a dozen appeals for information on local radio. If he was Martin Strichen he'd be halfway to Dundee by now. Gradually he let the car drift further out.

Now and then a patrol car would pa.s.s in the opposite direction, trawling the streets, just as he was. Maybe Hazlehead would be worth a try? Or Mastrick? In the end he knew it didn't really matter where he went. Little Jamie McCreath was surely already dead. Sighing, he turned the car onto North Anderson Drive.

His mobile phone blared out its offensive ring tone and Logan pulled into the side of the road, the car b.u.mping up onto a ridge of icy snow that hid the kerb.

'Logan.'

'Laz, my man! How's it going?'

b.l.o.o.d.y Colin Miller.

'What can I do for you, Colin?' he said with a weary sigh.

'Been listenin' to the news, been readin' the press releases. What's goin' on?'

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