“DS Khaled. DC Neish. Now’s your chance to make amends for past failures,” Logan said, patting both men on their shoulders. “Get those sheep off the road and back onto the hill. Though, maybe try and no’ set them on fire, eh?”
He ushered Ben and Sinead back into the pub, leaving the other two detectives to deal with the wayward flock. He was feeling quite pleased with himself, too, though that passed quickly when he saw the table, and the small dog standing on it, his face buried in a plate of black pudding.
“Oh,” Logan spat. “You dirty, thieving wee bastard!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Once the sheep situation was resolved, and the dog had been repeatedly informed that he was an arsehole, the team returned to the Strontian station to divvy up the workload.
After some debate, a couple of complaints, and a bit of reorganisation, they finally came up with a plan that everyone was happy with.
They were taking two cars—Hamza and Ben in one, Logan and Tyler in the other. The first car would go to the station in Fort William, where the detectives would access HOLMES 2, the secure computer system that, theoretically at least, gave them full access to past and ongoing police investigations across the UK.
Considering that DI Forde’s experience with the software was both minimal and disastrous, it was an odd choice to send him to accompany Hamza on this particular mission, but he’d insisted, and Logan didn’t have the inclination nor the energy to overrule him.
The second car would continue up the road past Letterfinlay, where Logan and Tyler would pay a visit to the house owned by the loan shark, Dinky. If they were lucky, the man known as Ally Bally would be there.
Sinead, for her part, was staying behind in Strontian and would be roping in the two local Uniforms to help her go through the seventy-odd issues of The Beacon newsletter, which Gary at the pub had begrudgingly provided them with after some persuasion.
It was, of course, highly unlikely that the newsletters would turn up anything relevant to the case, but there was always a possibility that something of interest might turn up in the stack of fading, photocopied pages.
There had been some debate over who would assume responsibility for Taggart. Despite the multiple tellings-off the dog had received, he’d looked pretty pleased with himself since he’d wolfed down everyone’s starters, and Sinead eventually decided that, for the animal’s safety, it was better that he stayed behind with her.
After everyone had said their goodbyes, she and the dog stood watching the rest of the team make their way to their respective cars. Logan was taking the BMW, naturally, and had sent Tyler to the village shop to grab some plastic carrier bags and cleaning supplies so any vomit-based emergencies could be quickly attended to.
Ben was content to let Hamza drive, so he could sit back and take in the scenery. In fact, they were going to take a longer route around, heading up past the Corran Ferry terminal, until they met the Mallaig road half an hour or so further on. He packed a flask of tea and some biscuits for the trip, and was already talking about stopping to get some photos up at the head of the loch.
“Aye, well, you pair just enjoy your wee day out,” Logan told them, as he pulled open the door to his SUV. “I’ll be sat here listening to this arsehole the whole way.”
“How come we’ve not got biscuits, boss?” asked Tyler, opening the passenger door.
“Who says I don’t?” Logan replied, sliding into his seat. “But good luck finding them.”
Sinead waved, and Taggart wagged his tail as they watched the cars pull away. Tyler blew her a kiss and she smiled back at him, but then the BMW and Hamza’s Audi turned onto the main road and she lost sight of them as they headed off east on their separate quests.
“Looks like it’s just you and me, pup,” she said, looking down at the dog. Taggart tilted his head, and one of his ears perked up. “What do you think, get to work or go for a walk first?”
Taggart leapt up onto his hind legs so his front paws were on one of Sinead’s knees. His tail swished furiously from side to side, like a windscreen wiper trying to fend off a downpour.
Sinead patted his head and laughed. “Aye, it’s funny,” she told him. “I thought you might say that.”
It was an hour and a half later, and Tyler had still not been sick. He’d come close on the short ferry trip, and had got out of the car to go hang over the side for the duration of the three-minute crossing.
The boot of the BMW—a sizeable space—was crammed so full that Logan could barely see out of the back window. He still couldn’t quite believe what it had been crammed with, but Tyler had practically begged to bring the item in question along, and Logan hadn’t had the energy to argue.
Nor had he complained about the brief, blessed silence that had been afforded to him while Tyler was out on the deck of the ferry. He had taken the opportunity to check his messages, which had come through in a succession of rapid-fire pings when his phone had picked up a signal again.
There were a few from Shona, mostly asking if he was around and whether he had a signal yet, plus one where she’d sent a link to a new rumoured Katsu Curry-flavoured Pot Noodle. That one had included five exclamation marks and an emoji of someone’s head exploding.
He’d been reading through them when another batch of messages came through. These were mostly voicemail notifications, but there was one in there that made his heart soar.
‘She’s nice. I like her. x’
That one was from Maddie. It didn’t say much, but it said everything. It said there was a route, however long and winding it may be, to forgiveness. That there was a chance for them. For him. Even after everything.
He hurriedly tapped out a reply.
‘Sorry, had no signal. Aye, yours seems alright, too. For a guy with two last names.’
He sent it, and was just going back in to reply to the latest message from Shona, when the passenger door had opened and Tyler had clambered back in and the ferry approached the jetty.
That had been an hour ago. There had been no more messages received since. Or none that could have been heard over DC Neish’s constant wittering, anyway.
“Pretty sure it’s up this way, boss,” Tyler said, with a degree of confidence that felt misplaced, given that he’d made the same statement three other times already. “I recognise that hill.”
“You recognised those trees last time, and then you recognised that big rock, and you were wrong both those times,” Logan reminded him.
“Aye, but this is different,” Tyler insisted. “The track takes a right just up this hill.”
He sat in silence while Logan steered the BMW up the rugged, rocky incline.
“Yeah, I meant left,” he said. “It goes left, and then it goes right. Or left again. I can’t remember. I’m sure it’s up this way, though.”
“How sure are we talking?”