Logan shook his head. “No,” he said. “Pretty sure, they only cover well-known politicians in that, don’t they? I don’t imagine they’ll be troubling you anytime soon.”
“Ha!” Oberon pointed at the detective. “Quite the satirist yourself, I see. I’ll have to keep an eye on you.”
Logan’s gaze went to the extended finger and lingered there until the digit was retracted. “Funny,” he said. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“What was your relationship with Bernie?” Sinead asked.
“Relationship? I didn’t have a relationship. He was just some tra… He was just a homeless.”
“‘A homeless’? A homeless what?” Logan asked. “You can’t just say ‘a homeless.’”
“Man. A homeless man, I meant,” Oberon said. He was still smiling, but it was clear from the rest of his face that he was finding Logan less amusing by the moment.
“And?” Logan pressed. “You can still have a relationship with a homeless man.”
The smile died away completely. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I like what you’re implying.”
“What am I implying?” Logan asked.
“That I was having some sort of gay relationship with Bernie.”
Had ‘synchronised shock’ been an Olympic event, the looks on Logan and Sinead’s faces would have bagged them the gold. Logan half-turned to the DC beside him.
“I wasn’t implying that. Were you implying that, Detective Constable?”
“I wasn’t implying that, sir,” Sinead replied. “I just meant were they friends, enemies, casual acquaintances? That sort of thing.”
“That’s how I took it, aye,” Logan said. “I didn’t read anything into that about them being gay lovers.”
“If you had, you would’ve been mistaken, sir,” Sinead continued. “Because that was never my intention. I think Mr Finley-Lennox is inferring something that wasn’t there.”
Logan nodded. “Aye. Aye, that’s just what I was thinking.” He turned back to Oberon, who he’d kept half an eye on throughout the previous exchange. “I’m not sure if you heard our conversation there.”
The MSP tutted. “Of course I heard. I’m three feet away.” He held both hands up and brought the smile back out of retirement. It was a smug, slightly lopsided thing that somehow made the world seem like a less happy place. “I apologise for the misunderstanding. It’s just that in politics, with the tabloids, you get used to them projecting all sorts of scandal onto you.”
“What, even you?” asked Logan.
“Haha. Yes. Quite. Even me.”
“Detective Constable, remind me to check up on past tabloid scandals involving Mr Finley-Lennox when we’re back in the office, will you?” Logan instructed, not breaking eye contact with the MSP. “Might make for some interesting reading.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Well, you won’t find much,” Oberon admitted. “There hasn’t been a lot about me, per se. But it happens all the time. In general. One must be on one’s guard.”
“Aye, I suppose one must,” said Logan. “Anyway, getting back to the real world, why do you think Bernie was spying on you?”
“I have absolutely no idea!”
“You seem shocked.”
“Yes, well. What can I say? It’s been a shocking morning. With the news, and everything.” He lowered his head and clasped his hands in front of him, like he was paying his respects at the Cenotaph. “Poor Bernie. Such a sad loss to the community.”
“Not to you, though,” Logan said.
Oberon raised his head. “I’m sorry?”
“Must be a relief for you,” Logan continued. “Given the number of complaints you’d made about him. The restraining order you had against him.”
“Oh, that!” Oberon said, trying to dismiss the whole thing with a laugh and a wave of a hand. “That was… I was being silly. Overreacting. That’s all I was doing. I can see that now.”
“Seemed reasonable to me,” said Sinead. “I read the reports. Sounds like he was making a nuisance of himself.”
“Yes. Well, yes. Yes, you’re right. He was a bit. Thank you. He even approached when I was out with the kids, would you believe? Margaux and Welly were both very alarmed. Welly had to sleep in with us that night.”
Logan frowned. “Welly?”
“Yes. Our youngest. Orwellia. We call her Welly.”
“I can see why you’d want to shorten it,” Logan said.
“I told him at the time. I said… I told him that it wasn’t on. Harassing me was one thing, but not when I was out with the children. That’s too far.” He looked to Sinead for backup. “You’d agree, right?”
“Absolutely,” Sinead said. “Bang out of order, that.”
“Thank you! Yes. Thank you. Exactly. Hence my complaints, and the… injunction, or whatever it’s called. It’s one thing to come ranting and raving at me, but not Margaux and Welly. Not the kids.”
He checked his watch, and was about to point out that he really had to leave before Logan beat him to the punch.
“What was he ranting and raving about?”
Oberon winced and gave his watch a tap. “I really do have important political business to attend to. I must…” He realised this wasn’t carrying any water with the detectives, and sighed. “Just the usual ramblings. Lizard men. People like me. How it was all our fault. How I had blood on my hands. That sort of thing.”
“How what was all your fault?” Sinead asked.
Oberon frowned, like he’d never given this any thought before. “Hmm. Do you know, I’m not really sure? It was all just a jumble of nonsense, and very hard to follow.”
“Was it something about the world in general, or something specific that had happened to him, do you think?” Logan asked.
“As I say, I don’t know.”
“I didn’t ask what you knew, I asked what you thought. What was your impression?”
The MSP blew out his cheeks, then retrieved his suit jacket and hanger from the back of the study door. “I honestly can’t say. Something personal, I suppose, given his passion. But that is a guess, nothing more.” He slipped the jacket on, then picked up a lint roller from an antique writing bureau and ran it down his front. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to—”
“When did you last see Bernie?” Logan asked.
The sticky lint roller caught the end of Oberon’s tie, and the downward stroke almost throttled him.
“Wait,” he said, setting the roller down again. “You’re not… You don’t think I had anything to do with it? With Bernie’s death? You don’t think I killed him?”
“The thought hadn’t crossed my mind,” Logan said. “It has now, mind you. I mean, makes sense, when you think of it. Aye. Aye, I could see why you might want him out of the picture. Pain in the arse like that? Scaring your kids? You must’ve been raging.”
“I don’t think Mr Finley-Lennox would’ve killed Bernie, sir,” Sinead said.
Oberon clasped his hands together like he was about to drop to his knees in prayer. He shook them in Sinead’s direction, so the tips of his fingers were all pointing her way. “Yes! Thank you! Precisely!”
“More likely he’d have paid someone,” Sinead concluded.