Part 17 (2/2)

'So,' he said, turning the eight-by-ten face down, 'why me?'

Insch grumbled something and pulled out a big bag of tiny gummy bears. 'I'd take Watson, but she had to go shoot her b.l.o.o.d.y mouth off to the papers. Now if I have her anywhere near the investigation everyone will say it's a witch hunt.'

Logan watched a handful of little jelly figures disappear, trying not to imagine them screaming as the inspector chewed. 'You're convinced it's Macintyre.'

'Course it's b.l.o.o.d.y Macintyre.' The words barely audible through all the dying bears.

Logan nodded. Insch was just like Jackie: unable to see past his own obsession. It didn't matter what the inspector said: it was still a witch hunt. He kept his mouth shut and went back to the case file.

Dundee's Ninewells Hospital was huge, a labyrinth of corridors and interconnected buildings, the familiar smell of disinfectant and the buzz of fluorescent lighting depressing the h.e.l.l out of Logan as he marched behind Insch down the stairs and along the corridor to the neurology ward. A middle-aged woman in white and green sat at the nurses station, peering over her specs at a clipboard festooned with forms, a huge box of chocolates lying open beside her. Insch helped himself to one, then said, 'Nikki Bruce?'

The ward sister looked up. 'You relatives?' her voice going up at the end in a cla.s.sic Fife lilt.

The inspector showed her his warrant card. 'Police, we-'

'Aye, I know. Nikki's expecting you.' She stood, only coming up to the middle of Insch's enormous barrel chest, and led them down the corridor to a small, private room. 'She's had a tough time of it a lot of pain. Don't tire her out.'

Helium balloons bobbed gently in the air-conditioning: glittering metallic things with teddy bears and kittens on them, GET WELL SOON cards pinned to the cork board over the bed, but no flowers. Nikki was propped up with crunchy white NHS pillows, her features hidden in the shadows, an intravenous drip in her arm and a pair of white iPod headphones in her ears.

Insch cleared his throat and sank himself into the high-backed chair by the bed the one for patients leaving Logan to fetch a creaky plastic seat from the corner. There was a flicker of movement, as if Nikki had only just realized they were there. Then she sighed and clicked off her music with a trembling, bandaged hand.

The inspector asked her how she was doing, in a voice so full of sympathy Logan almost didn't recognize it. 'I'm really sorry,' the big man said, 'but we need to ask you some questions. Are you still OK with that?'

A nod. As Logan's eyes adjusted to the darkened room, he could see the difference a couple of days had made. Nikki's bruises had blossomed until her whole face was puffy and dark, fresh surgical padding covering the wounds he'd read about on the way down, a faint tinge of yellow and tiny red dots leaking through the white gauze, marking the path of her attacker's knife. When she spoke her voice was small and painful, crying as she answered the inspector. Telling him about the birthday party at the nightclub, drinking too much. Not remembering anything till she was being sick in the taxi rank. Trying to walk home. The knife. His body. The blood... Her words made Logan feel ill all over again how the h.e.l.l could someone do this to another human being?

When it was over Insch apologized again, placed a hand on her shoulder and promised he'd do everything he could to catch the man responsible. Then they left her alone with her pain and her grief.

There was a man in a suit waiting for them at the reception desk: rough features and hands like shovels. He had CID written all over him. 'Well?'

Insch helped himself to another chocolate from the nurse's box. 'Nothing conclusive. But it sounds identical to Macintyre's MO, everything fits.'

'We knew that we told you that!' The man's Dundee accent coming out loud and proud. 'We didn't ask you down here to tell us what we already b.l.o.o.d.y know.'

'Listen up, Suns.h.i.+ne,' said Insch, stepping up close, using his bulk to force the man back a step, voice low and menacing, 'I've got six women in Aberdeen who've been attacked by this b.a.s.t.a.r.d. This is not a game, or a p.i.s.sing contest. Understand?'

'Who the h.e.l.l are you calling ”Suns.h.i.+ne”?' The man bristled, shoulders back, chest out. 'It's Detective Chief Superintendent Campbell to you, or ”sir”, one of the two. Do you understand?'

Insch was starting to go scarlet, but he managed to say, 'Yes ... sir. Sorry, sir.'

'That's better.' DCS Campbell turned to Logan, 'That the case file?' sticking out his hand.

Logan looked at Insch, got the nod, and pa.s.sed it over. 'From the victim photographs it looks like he's escalating. Won't be long until he kills someone.'

'Brilliant,' said the DCS, skimming through the folder, 'you Teuchter b.a.s.t.a.r.ds train him then let him loose down here. Thanks a f.u.c.kin' heap...'

'You know,' Logan was probably going to regret this, but someone had to say it, 'it might not be Rob Macintyre. It could still be a copycat.'

Campbell turned a cold eye on him. 'Really, Sergeant? Any other startling insights you'd like to share with us?' Logan could think of a few involving the DCS, his mother and a horse's a.r.s.e, but he kept his mouth shut. 'Aye,' said Campbell, slapping the Macintyre file shut and stuffing it under his arm, 'thought not. Well, we'll take it from here, and if we need anyone to state the b.l.o.o.d.y obvious I'll give you a call. Meantime, try and keep your raping wee s.h.i.+tes to yourselves. Understand?'

Insch looked as if his head was ready to pop as he said, 'We'll do our best.'

The road back to Aberdeen was one long stretch of dark, winding dual carriageway and it flashed past at the same speed as before twenty miles over the legal limit as PC Stirling Moss put his foot to the floor. 'I'm sorry,' said Logan as they roared past an eighteen-wheeler on its way north to Asda, 'I was just trying to be objective.'

Silence. Then, 'I don't need you undermining me in front of craggy-faced d.i.c.kheads like Campbell!'

'I wasn't trying to-'

'It was Macintyre, OK? You saw what he did to that girl. She's twenty-three and he's scarred her for life. Not just on the outside. What he did to her will never heal.'

Logan couldn't think of an answer to that, but then Insch didn't seem to want one. The inspector folded his ma.s.sive arms over his chest and closed his eyes. Up front, the driver clicked on the radio and seventies rock and roll sounded through the car as it ate up the road and the miles from Dundee.

Jackie didn't appear back at the flat until nearly quarter to eight. She stomped her feet in the hallway, muttering curses under her breath, clambering out of her huge padded jacket then draping herself over the radiator, complaining about the weather. 'Not supposed to snow till the weekend...' Her nose was AFC-red. 'Make us a cup of coffee, will you?'

'Where have you been? It's nearly eight!' Logan followed her through into the lounge where she kicked off her shoes and stood with her back to the electric fire, holding one foot inches from the glowing bars. 'You'll get chilblains.'

Jackie didn't seem to care. 'Steel was looking for you. Something about a PF review for the Morrison case tomorrow?'

'Wonderful.' So much for a day off. 'Anyway, come on, you need to get a s.h.i.+ft on if you want a shower before we go: taxi's booked for eight.' He picked up her discarded boots and carried them through to the hall, calling back over his shoulder, 'Got a card and a sort of elephant wind-chime thing.'

'Oh Christ, that's not tonight, is it?' There was a pause and then some swearing. 'Why the h.e.l.l does it have to be tonight?'

'Because it's her birthday. Let's not do this again, OK?'

'I was only saying.'

Shaking his head, Logan left her to it and went to get ready.

Twelve minutes past eight and a car horn brayed from the street outside. Logan peered through the curtains: there was a taxi sitting in the middle of the road. 'About b.l.o.o.d.y time. Jackie, you ready?' No reply. He picked up the parcel and birthday card, then stuck his head out into the hall. Empty, but he could hear her in the bedroom, talking to herself. 'No, I can't. Got to go to this stupid b.l.o.o.d.y birthday thing... no...' Logan's hand froze over the doork.n.o.b, listening. 'Yes... Look I was at it all last night, and the night before. I'm knackered, OK?' A longer pause, then, 'Nah, he doesn't suspect a thing. Look, it'll have to be tomorrow... Yeah, me too.' The phone beeped as she hung up.

Logan backed away, staring at the half-open bedroom door.

Another honk on the taxi horn and Jackie emerged into the hall, pulling on her coat. She froze for a moment, seeing him standing there. Then said, 'Well, come on then, thought we were in a hurry.'

The birthday party wasn't as horrible as Logan had been expecting: it was much, much worse. Jackie kept checking her watch, as if she had somewhere better to be, and Logan watched her grumbling her way through the party like a spoiled child.

How long had it been going on her and the man on the phone? How long had she been lying to him? Sneaking around behind his back. Janette's fictional break-up, the rehearsal on Sunday that wasn't: lies.

What was it Ronald Berwick champion housebreaker had said? 'Never trust a woman, they'll f.u.c.k you over every time.'

LIES.

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