Stuart MacBride - The Missing and the Dead

Logan jogged to a halt. This was it, there was nothing between Charles Anderson and the raging sea. The fishing boat’s bow reared in the swell as it lined up to exit the harbour. Last chance to jump on board and arrest him.

OK. Can do this. Bit of a run-up …

‘Don’t be an idiot. You’ll miss: you’ll get crushed between the hull and the harbour wall. Or you’ll drown.’

Dragged down by a stone of stabproof vest and equipment belt.

‘GIVE IT UP. I’LL CALL THE COASTGUARD AND THEY’LL CATCH YOU AND BRING YOU BACK ANYWAY.’

‘No they won’t. You said it: the sea’s too rough.’

‘THEN DON’T BE A BLOODY FOOL!’

‘I’ve got work to do.’

God’s sake.

Wind slammed a massive fist into him, and Logan lurched a pace to the left.

‘PLEASE: CALL THE NUMBER!’

But the engine changed tone again, deepened to a dark diesel growl, and Peerie Wullie’s Rant surged out into the crushing embrace of the North Sea. The bow bucked and reared through a twisted corkscrew path, propellers hammering the boat forward into the waves.

More sirens.

Logan turned.

A patrol car sped along Shore Street, its blue-and-whites making the hotels and shops flicker as it sped past.

At least Tufty would be-

Logan’s phone rang in his pocket. He dragged it out. ‘Hello?’

Charles Anderson. ‘You’re the only one knows I’m alive.’

‘Turn the boat around and come back.’

‘If they come looking for me, I can’t do what I need to do.’

‘What you need to do is come back here before you kill yourself.’

‘So you can stick me in prison for the rest of my life? Don’t think so.’

Logan clambered up a set of steps, to the parapet running around the top of the sea wall. Peerie Wullie’s Rant was getting smaller, surging up the face of the waves, then crashing down the other side in a plume of spray. ‘You killed Neil Wood and Liam Barden.’

‘This why you joined the police? To let child molesters walk free?’

‘Of course I didn’t. It-’

‘Child killers?’

‘Charles … Craggie, we’re not allowed to play God, OK? We’ve got laws and rules and-’

‘Some people don’t deserve the law. I find one of them, and I make sure he tells me everything I need to know. Then I move on to the next one.’

‘That’s not justice, it’s a witch hunt. You need to come back.’

A wave boomed against the sea wall, sending up a stinging explosion of salt water.

Logan hunched his shoulders, turned his face away as it crashed down around him.

‘Is your friend OK? I’m sorry I had to hit him, I really am.’

He wiped the sea from his eyes. ‘You have to stop this.’

‘Sorry I had to hit you too. Didn’t really leave me any choice though, did you? Can’t do what I need to from a prison cell.’

‘You didn’t have to burn the house down.’

‘I’m dead, I don’t need a house. I died a long time ago.’

Peerie Wullie’s Rant grew dimmer, the growl of its engines torn away by the wind. Its shape swallowed by the night.

‘They snatched Andrew, because he was there. Wasn’t planned. Liam Barden saw him playing in the field by the cliff and told Neil Wood to stop the car. They got out. And abducted my son.’

Cold spray whipped across the wall, rocking Logan back on his feet. ‘I’m sorry.’

The only sign of the boat now was its running lights, fading away into the storm.

‘They used him for two days, then they strangled him so he wouldn’t tell anyone. He was four. Nicest wee boy you could ever meet, and they killed him so no one would find out what they’d done. ’

‘You can’t just go around murdering paedophiles. An eye-for-an-eye is not how this works.’

‘And if I don’t do it, who will? You can’t even question them without their lawyer sitting there, telling them to lie. The whole system’s rigged so the guilty get every chance their victims didn’t.’

Couldn’t really argue with that. Not after what happened with Graham Stirling.

Logan puffed out a breath. ‘What was her name? The little girl they bought?’

‘Wood didn’t know. Neither did Barden. They said Gilcomston called her “Cherry”, don’t know if it was shorrrrrrrrtttt … ing … Maybe it … be … better place if … innnnnnn … never.’

‘Hello?’

‘… if you tellllllll … won’t … too imporrrrrrrtant … ffffff … shhhhhhhhh …’

Then static.

Then silence.

The boat was out of range of the masts.

Couldn’t even see its lights now. There was nothing but darkness and waves.

Logan turned his back and picked his way down the stairs. Wiped his mobile on the leg of his trousers and slipped it in his pocket.

Penny’s voice clattered out of the Airwave. ‘Shire Uniform Seven. Sarge? We’ve got Constable Quirrel. Where are you?’

‘How’s Tufty?’

‘Think he might have a touch of concussion, but he’s fine otherwise. They’re playing it safe and taking him in for an X-ray, though.’

‘Good. I’m out by the harbour exit and I’m soaked. Do me a favour: come get me?’

Logan dripped on the Inspector’s carpet. The drops made little patting noises when they hit. ‘The hospital rushed through an X-ray of his head, and apparently there is a brain in there.’

‘Hmm …’ Inspector Fettes swivelled in the chair for a bit, setting his mop of ginger hair shoogling like a badly fitted wig. He’d cleared some space on the desk for a framed photo of a spaniel. Other than that, it was just the way Inspector McGregor left it when she headed off at the end of the dayshift. Well, except for the nippy smell of menthol coming from Fettes every time he opened his mouth. The words sounded as if they were squeezing themselves individually down his red nose. ‘And do we have any idea who did it?’

Right …

Logan stared at the wet patch, seeping into the carpet. What was he supposed to do, let Charles Anderson get away with two murders, assaulting two police officers, and the possible theft of a boat? Let him run free to punish child molesters? To get justice when the courts let them walk?

All those years, Liam Barden was doing the most horrific things to children, and the police never got anywhere near him. And if it wasn’t for Charles Anderson, he’d still be doing it.

‘Logan?’

Blink.

‘Sorry, Guv. It was dark. Whoever it was hit Tufty from behind then ran off. I went after them, but …’ It wasn’t too late to pull this back. Stop this right here. Cover for Anderson, and it’d be perverting the course of justice, and culpability in any other murders he committed.

Was that really such a great idea?

Of course it wasn’t. He shrugged and dripped some more. ‘It was Charles Anderson.’

The Inspector frowned. ‘But he’s dead .’

‘Not so much. I think the body they found in the boat is what’s left of Neil Wood.’

‘Wonderful.’ A sigh. ‘At least that would mean we could stop looking for Wood. Doubt there’s enough left to run DNA on, but we can give it a try. And get the IB up — let’s see if they can get some fingerprints off the chandler’s warehouse.’

‘I’ll set up a lookout request on the boat he was using.’

‘Might get lucky. Still-’

Logan’s Airwave gave its point-to-point bleeps. ‘Shire Uniform Seven, safe to talk?’

He pointed at it. ‘Is it OK if I …?’

The Inspector waved a hand. ‘No skin off mine.’