Stuart MacBride - The Missing and the Dead

He stopped on the threshold. ‘Ma’am?’

‘Try to keep out of McInnes’s way for a bit. Three or four years should do it.’

Syd was leaning back against his Dog Unit Transit van. Basking in a wedge of golden light. The sky was swaddled in thick purple clouds, overlaid by wisps of battleship grey, but right now the sun was shining on Klingon’s house. Syd lowered his face, held a hand above his eyes in a makeshift visor. ‘We good?’

‘Difficult to tell.’ Logan clunked open the passenger door and climbed into a solid block of Labrador stink. ‘Back to the station, young man, where we shall be fêted with tea and biscuits. If I can find any planked in the canteen.’ He belted himself in and pulled out his Airwave. ‘Shire Uniform Seven, safe to talk?’

Nicholson’s voice came through the speaker. ‘Go ahead, Sarge.’

‘That’s us finished up at Klingon’s. How are you getting on with those names?’

Syd pulled away from the kerb, did a quick three-point turn, and headed back towards the centre of town.

‘Mark Brussels. Serial sex offender, assaulted at least twenty-three boys and girls over a decade, not one of them older than eight. Spent sixteen years in various prisons up and down the country. Kept getting targeted, so they kept moving him on. Someone in Shotts pinned him down and carved the names of every one of Brussels’s victims into his skin with a sharpened spoon. Brussels’s skin, not his own. Apparently it took three hours. Nearly died from shock and blood loss.’

‘Supervision?’

‘On the register for life, but he’s been scoring consistently low on the ACUTE-2007 guide for a couple of years, so they’ve cut back his supervision.’

‘No hint of anything?’

‘His case officer says they wouldn’t have cut it back if there was.’

Fair enough. ‘What about Gilcomston?’

‘Dr William Harris Gilcomston, no longer allowed to practise medicine, or come within three hundred yards of a school. Did eight years in Peterhead for assaulting wee girls in his surgery. Lots of very detailed, very unnecessary examinations. Youngest was four, oldest was nine. That one jumped off the Union Terrace Bridge on the eve of her tenth birthday. He’d been molesting her for five years by then.’

Houses drifted by the van’s windows.

A rainbow reached from the bridge over the Deveron, up past Macduff and disappeared into the bruise-coloured clouds.

‘Hello? Calamity, you still there?’

‘Sorry, Sarge. It’s just … people like Gilcomston and Brussels, you know?’

‘What about his supervision?’

‘Every week. He’s still denying he did anything wrong, won’t take responsibility for his actions, he’s hostile to his case workers, claims he’s being victimized.’

‘You’d think he’d have learned to play the game by now.’

‘Some people think they’re untouchable.’

And then along comes Charles Anderson.

‘OK, thanks.’ He twisted his handset back into place.

Of course, in the good old days, they’d haul Gilcomston and Brussels in. Stick them in a couple of cells and grill them for a bit. See who cracked first. But that wasn’t exactly legal any more. Hard to burst someone with a lawyer sitting there advising them to no-comment everything.

Didn’t even have any grounds to arrest them.

Yes, Milord, we’d like a warrant. Why? Well, a man we thought was dead told me the accused had chipped in with two other paedophiles to buy a little girl they could share. Only those other paedophiles are now dead. What’s that: you’re calling security? I’m suspended? Oh dear …

‘… there all day?’

‘Hmm?’ Logan frowned.

Syd was looking at him, as if he was expecting an answer.

‘Er … In what way?’

‘What way do you think? We’re here. Now are you getting out or not?’

Ah, right. ‘We’re celebrating catching the Cashline Ram-Raiders and the guy who shot Constable Nasrallah tonight, you should tag along. We’ll add “uncovering Klingon and Gerbil’s weapons stash” to the list of B Division successes.’ He climbed out. ‘Inspector McGregor’s buying everyone chips.’

‘Wouldn’t want to miss that. Right, better get back to it, got some woods to search for a missing eighty-four-year-old. Two guesses how that’s going to turn out.’

Logan closed the door, and the van took a right, down past the car park, right again, and away towards Macduff.

Even with the threat of rain, a couple were walking their dog on the sands of the bay, throwing sticks and eliciting excited barks. A young man slouched past, cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth, tattoos up and down both arms, wheeling a pushchair full of screaming toddler. A thin young woman stood leaning against the sea wall, where Helen used to stand. Only she had shoulder-length black hair, instead of Helen’s knot of dirty blonde curls.

Don’t suppose he’d ever see those again.

He pulled out his phone. Fingers hovering over the contact list. Then put it away again and went inside. No way he was calling her first.

Banff station was quiet for once. Only the hum-and-click of the photocopier broke the silence.

Maggie looked up, caught in the act of feeding another sheet into the machine. ‘Sergeant McRae, I’ve got those Biros you wanted. And you’ve got a visitor in your office.’

Logan stayed where he was. Lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Who is it?’

DCI Steel’s smoke-roughened rasp filled the room. ‘Who the hell do you think it is? It’s your fairy bloody godmother with the “I’ll give you three wishes” routine.’

‘Maggie, we need a signal. Put a sock in the window if someone horrible’s in my office so I know to steer clear.’

‘I heard that!’

‘You were meant to.’ Logan thumped through to the Sergeants’ Office and peeled off his stabproof vest. ‘What do you want?’

‘I’m getting a visit from Finnie this afternoon. Apparently I’m no’ making enough progress on the Tarlair case.’

‘Oh.’ He sat in his chair. Frowned. ‘What about Mark Brussels and Dr Gilcomston? Have you hauled them in?’

She collapsed into the seat opposite. ‘Why, because you think you saw something in a burning house? Don’t be-’

‘Because of what Charles Anderson said last night. It was in the report.’

‘There was a report?’

‘I sent it to you. For goodness’ sake, can you never-’

‘Since when do I read reports? You want me to know something, sodding well tell me.’

Logan stared at the ceiling for a moment. ‘Every time …’ Back to Steel. ‘Charles Anderson says Gilcomston and Brussels were part of a paedophile ring who bought the little girl. They killed her.’

‘Is that it? That all you’ve got? A rumour from a dead man?’

‘More than you’ve got.’ He picked at a scar on the desk, right through the veneer to the chipboard below. ‘We should take another look at them. Them, Liam Barden, and Neil Wood too.’

Steel covered her face with her hands. ‘Neil Sharny Wood is the bane of my existence, second only to you.’

‘So go have a bit of a dig. Speak to friends and neighbours. At least it’ll look as if you’re doing something when Finnie gets here.’

Logan killed the engine and climbed out onto Firth Place. The rain had passed, leaving the road glistening. Small puddles clung to the gutter. Overhead, the sky was grey as a shroud.

Steel slammed the car door. ‘Still say this is a waste of time.’

Logan locked the Big Car and stepped across the road to Mark Brussels’s front door. He leaned on the bell. ‘Better than sitting about, moping.’