“So, he’s saying that having a random nutter ranting and raving at his gate didn’t affect business, but she’s saying that it did?” Ben said, checking he had it all straight.
“Aye. He told us Bernie’s protests had no impact. The neighbour disagreed,” Logan confirmed. “I asked him about it today and he doubled down. Admitted that attendance wasn’t what it was, but denied it was anything to do with Bernie. He reckons it was just the bloody… I don’t know. The whims of the Universe, or some shite.”
“You think Bernie was costing him money?”
“I do. When I pressed him on it, he said he and Bernie had kissed and made up,” Logan said, then he remembered that Tyler was sitting at the table. “No’ literally. Metaphorically. He said Bernie phoned him up two or three weeks back and asked for his help.”
“His help? After going out of his way to badmouth him and screw him over?” Sinead asked. “Doesn’t sound likely. What sort of help was he looking for?”
“Some magic ghost nonsense,” Logan said. “He’s claiming that Bernie wanted him to contact someone who’d died. Wouldn’t say who.”
“And did he?” asked Ben. “Contact them, I mean.”
Logan tutted. “Of course he bloody didn’t! He might look like Jesus, but there the similarities end. He’s a conman selling woo-woo to the gullible. He’s no more in touch with the dead than I am.”
“Are we treating André as a suspect?” Sinead asked.
“I don’t see how we couldn’t,” Logan replied. “He’s certainly got the motive. Stronger than the MSP, even. Though, I’m not ruling that bastard out, either.”
The starters arrived before Logan could explain further. They all leaned back from the table as their plates were placed in front of them, and all oohed and aahed at the sights and smells being presented.
Taggart emerged from under the table, already working on the puppy dog eyes and the tilt of the head that he hoped would earn him a share of everyone’s grub.
“This looks lovely,” Ben told the waitress—a young lassie who couldn’t have been long out of school, but who had developed a quite astonishing knack for balancing plates all the way up her forearms.
“Well, I hope you enjoy it,” she said, addressing the table at large once she’d given them all their food. “If you need anything else, just give me a wave.”
Ben raised a hand. “Eh. Sorry. Is Gary around?”
Logan looked across the table at the DI. “Gary?” he asked, but Ben waved him into silence.
“Not yet. He should be here soon, though. Want me to get him to come over when he’s in?”
“Please. That would be great,” Ben said, then he picked up his knife and fork, and the waitress took her cue to leave.
“Who’s Gary?” Logan asked.
“Apparently, he’s got the full back catalogue of Bernie’s newsletter,” Ben explained. “Thought it might be worth us having a look through. See if there are any patterns, or what have you. Help build a picture.”
“Makes sense,” Logan agreed. He pronged a garlic mushroom with his fork, and dipped it into the accompanying garlic mayo. “I want us digging into that MSP, too. There’s something no’ right there.”
“In what way, boss?” Tyler asked through a mouthful of food.
“He tried to hide the fact that he had the restraining order on Bernie. Played dumb about Bernie spying on him, until I reminded him of the multiple complaints he’d made.”
“Plus,” Sinead added, “he just doesn’t like him.”
Logan chewed thoughtfully, then shrugged. “Plus, I just don’t like him,” he admitted. “I mean, who calls their child ‘Orwellia,’ for Christ’s sake? And, aye, he’s the sort that gets on my tits, right enough. He’s got a big flash car, a big flash house, big angry dog, and—”
Sinead frowned. “Dog? I didn’t see a dog?”
“Aye, but come on, you know they’ve got one,” Logan said. “A big scary thing for scaring off the riff-raff. It was probably away getting its bloody nails done when we were there, but they’ve got one. Mark my words.”
There was a clank as Hamza dropped his fork. “Dog. A big scary dog,” he said, staring straight ahead.
Tyler stopped chewing, his mouth crammed to the brim. His eyes shifted in the direction that Hamza was looking. “Where?”
“What? No. Not here. Up the road. That house we went to a few months back. The decapitation case. The dog that chased you.”
Tyler forced down a swallow, started to choke, and took a swig of Irn Bru to clear the blockage. “Oh. That. Aye. I still have nightmares about that big bastard. Bit my arse. What about it?”
“That was it. That was the place.”
“What place?” Logan asked. “What are you on about, son?”
“That’s where I know him from,” Hamza said, a little breathlessly. “That’s where I know the old guy at the caravan from! He was in the house with Dinky, the loan shark guy.”
“The dwarf!” Tyler said.
“Aye. Shite. What did he call himself?” Hamza muttered, setting down his knife. “It wasn’t a real name, it was something…” He clicked his fingers. “Ally Bally! That was it.”
“Like the song?” asked Ben.
“Exactly. He sang it.”
“I remember you telling us about him,” Logan said. “Did you no’ say he was an absolute wreck of a human being?”
“Oh, he was, sir, aye,” Hamza confirmed. “Absolute state.”
“And yet,” Logan intoned, eyeballing him and Tyler across the table. “He managed to outrun you both.”
“Eh…” Hamza began, but there was nothing else forthcoming.
“Still, at least we’ve got a lead on him now,” Ben said, stepping into the firing line. “We can arrange to go and pay him a visit.
“Yeah! We can go pull him in!” Tyler said. He pointed down at his plate. “But… after lunch though, right?”
“Oh aye, after lunch,” Ben confirmed. “And we’ve still to decide on that pudding…”
The front door was thrown open so suddenly that it banged against the wall, drawing the attention of everyone in the pub. A man in his forties stumbled in, red-faced and breathless.
“Help! I need help!” he cried.
Hamza and Sinead were first on their feet. “You OK, sir?” Sinead asked. “What’s the problem?”
“We’re with the police,” Hamza said, and the newcomer’s face lit up with relief.
“Seriously? The police? Oh, brilliant! Brilliant! Quick. Come quick.”
He hurried out of the bar again. At the table, the other detectives reluctantly set down their cutlery, got to their feet, and joined Hamza and Sinead in following the man outside.
They all stopped when they saw the road. Or, more accurately, when they saw what was on the road.
“Sheep,” Tyler muttered. “That’s a lot of sheep.”
And it was. Dozens of them. Hundreds, perhaps, cluttering the whole area and blocking the road.
“They’re everywhere,” the man who’d come running in announced, just in case the detectives were unable to see that for themselves. “My dog got off the lead and chased them down the hill. I don’t know what to do!”