G. Moffat - Blindside

‘What if they ignore us? I mean, have you thought about that? Then you go to the press, is that it?’

Cahill smiled. ‘Not bad. I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘I was kind of kidding.’

‘No,’ he was excited now, ‘it’s a good idea. There’s nothing they hate more when they’re trying to keep something under the radar.’

‘Let’s see if we can get into the country without getting arrested first,’ Logan said, regretting even mentioning it now. ‘Take it from there.’

Sam Cahill came into the room and held up Logan’s mobile.

‘This was ringing. I think it was Becky.’

Logan stood and took the phone from her, walking past her to go out of the study. Sam looked at her husband.

‘You look after him over there,’ she told him.

‘Is everything okay?’ Logan asked Irvine. ‘I mean, it’s getting late now.’

‘I’m fine. It’s nothing.’

‘What’s nothing?’

Irvine sighed.

‘I had a bit of a confrontation tonight. This case I’m working on.’

Logan wanted to ask more but let it go for now.

‘Are you at home?’

‘Yes. But you don’t need to come over tonight if you don’t want to. I know you’ve got a long trip tomorrow.’

‘I’m coming over.’

‘Good.’

Logan parked a little way along the street from Irvine’s house and walked back. When she opened the door he stared at the discoloration on her face, her eye half closed from the swelling.

‘Jesus, what happened?’

She lifted a hand self-consciously, trying to cover it.

‘I thought you said it was nothing.’

She stepped back and told him to come inside. He followed her down the hall, through the dining room and into the kitchen where she sat at the table.

She poured herself a cup of tea while Logan went to the fridge and poured himself a glass of orange juice. He sat next to Irvine and pushed her hair back to look closely at the damaged side of her face. He saw now that she had three stitches in a cut beside her eye, which was heavily bloodshot.

‘Some confrontation,’ he said. ‘Did you get in a fight?’

‘Sort of. Somebody I wanted to talk to on my case wasn’t quite so keen to speak to me.’

‘Don’t you work these things with a partner?’

She looked sideways at him. ‘Yeah, usually. This time I went on my own. Turned out not to be such a good idea after all.’

Irvine put her mug down and turned in her seat to face him. Her lip trembled.

‘Logan…’

She moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, crying quietly. Then not so quietly.

‘I was so scared. He was much bigger and stronger. If I didn’t have the pepper spray-’

She didn’t finish the thought.

He held her and stroked her hair. After a moment she pulled away and took a tissue from her pocket, dabbing at her eyes.

Her phone rang, shrill in the quiet of the room. Irvine grabbed it and answered.

‘DC Irvine?’ a male voice asked.

‘Yes.’

‘It’s DS Jim Murphy. Listen, sorry to disturb you at night, but I thought you might like to know what we found.’

‘You got something new, Jim?’

‘Well, we think it’s the clothes from your victim. Lewski.’

‘What do you mean, think?’

‘There’s not much left of them. They were found in a skip outside a building site about a half-mile from the locus. Someone set fire to them.’

‘Is there enough left to do us any good?’

‘Don’t know till the forensics people go over it. It’ll be tomorrow now before they make a start.’

‘Thanks, Jim.’

She finished the call and held Logan’s hand.

‘How do I look?’ She straightened her back and sniffed, lifting her chin.

Logan tilted his head to one side.

‘You really want me to answer that?’

‘Yes, actually.’

He leaned towards her and kissed her gently on the lips, moving up the injured side of her face and kissing her eyes as she closed them.

‘How’s that for an answer?’

‘Pretty good. You practise that?’

‘Only on you.’

They moved through to the living room and sat together on an oversized couch. Logan put his arm around her and pulled her to him.

‘What is this case anyway that causes you to get beaten up?’

‘It’s a drug squad thing that I got pulled into because there’ve been some deaths.’

‘What, like gang hits or something?’

‘No. Not like that. Overdoses.’

‘Why is CID interested in overdoses?’

‘They think there’s a new strain of drug going around. A heroin derivative. If the suppliers know that it’s potentially lethal we might be able to charge them in relation to the deaths, not just the supply.’

‘I hadn’t thought about it that way.’

‘Can we not talk about it any more? When do you leave tomorrow?’

‘Alex is picking me up at seven.’

‘How’s Ellie taking it?’

‘Better than I thought. Sam said you can go over there any time. If you want.’

‘I will, if I get the time. This case feels like it’ll keep me busy.’

They sat for a while without talking, watching the fire crackle in the hearth and enjoying the quiet.

Irvine turned her face and kissed his neck, small and soft. Her hand slid across his chest and inside his shirt. Logan kissed her.

‘You have to get up early,’ she said, bringing her hand up to his face.

‘Not that early.’

The place looked smaller than Seth Raines remembered. He got out of his pick-up truck and walked up the steps to the front door of the single-storey house. He rapped his knuckles on the door and waited. He looked back at his truck sitting in the dirt driveway behind the crumbling front wall.

‘That you, Seth?’ a voice sounded from inside.

‘Yeah.’

‘Come on in. It’s open.’

Raines looked down at his boots and wiped them on the welcome mat before pushing the door open and stepping into the narrow hallway. It led to a small kitchen at the back of the house with a couple of rooms off to either side.

‘Through here,’ the voice shouted from Raines’s right.

He pushed open the first door on his right and walked into the room, looking back to see if he was trailing any dirt. The man he had come to see was sitting by the fireplace. It was warm outside but the fire was roaring. The man turned to look at Raines. The pain never seemed to leave his eyes. Raines knew why.

Raines lay on the ground beside the dirt track watching blood soak through his combat trousers. Andy Johnson kneeled beside him and tore at his trousers until the wound was exposed. Raines put his head back against the dirt and ground his teeth against the pain as it burned through his leg.

‘It’s okay,’ Johnson said. ‘You’ll be okay, man.’

His voice was high and difficult to hear over the noise.

Raines felt sweat run back off his face and into his ears.

A British Chinook helicopter came in to land using the cover of the three Land Rovers to shield it from the enemy position. It settled on the ground quickly and heavily and a medical team rushed forward. One of the team came to treat Raines, but he shouted at them to get Horn first.

‘Keep him alive,’ he screamed at the medics as they fitted an oxygen mask over Horn’s face and lifted him on to a stretcher.

The rotor blades of the Chinook continued to spin, blowing dust and grit into Raines’s eyes. He closed them and held his hand up as a shield.

When he got back to the base, Horn was already in surgery. Raines leaned against a wall in the operating theatre while the British medics worked on Horn, oblivious to the blood soaking the field dressing on his own wound.