“I was thinking we might solve this bloody murder,” Logan replied. “You in?”
“I’m well up for that, boss, aye. You know me when it comes to solving murders.”
“Well-meaning but largely ineffectual?” Logan guessed, earning a laugh from the other man.
“That’s me to a tee, boss. Bumbling along, cheering everyone else on!”
Logan’s eyebrows twitched downwards. Something about the DC’s reply had struck a nerve.
“That’s not you, son,” he said. “Don’t sell yourself short. Selling yourself short is my job. Yesterday, when we left Dinky’s, you gave me some backchat. You became a lippy wee bastard.”
Tyler adjusted his seatbelt and wriggled in his seat. “Aye. Sorry about that, boss, I was just having a bit of—”
“Shut up, Tyler, I’m not finished,” Logan snapped.
“Sorry, boss.”
Logan sighed. “What I’m trying to say—ironically, I suppose, given that I just told you to shut up—is that you need to do that more.”
Tyler frowned. “Do what?”
“Put me in my place. Tell me to shut the fuck up occasionally.”
Tyler laughed, then it quickly crumbled away into a look of sheer terror. “What? I can’t say that, boss.”
“Aye, you can.”
“But… you’d kill me.”
“I wouldn’t. Well, I might. But take the chance every once in a while. I said you’re well-meaning but largely ineffectual. And that’s fine. I’m going to keep doing that,” Logan said. He tore his eyes from the road long enough to shoot the DC a warning look. “But don’t you ever agree with me, because it’s not true. You are a damn good officer, Tyler. A bit… unconventional sometimes, and a massive pain in the arse, but a damn good officer. If I had to build the team from scratch all over again—if I had to start with an empty Incident Room and fill it with people I wanted working alongside me—you’d be right there on the list.”
Tyler cleared his throat for the second time in as many minutes. “Oh,” he said. “Eh… cheers, boss.”
“Or, you know, on the back-up list, anyway,” Logan said, his supply of sincerity all-but depleted. “In case any of the main ones dropped out.”
“Still, that’s pretty good!” Tyler said. “And you’d probably be on my list, too, boss, if I was in charge. You know, for making tea, and that?”
Logan smirked. “I’d be honoured, son. Although, I would gob in it.”
“That’s fair,” Tyler said. “Am I right in thinking that if I try and tell anyone about this conversation, you’ll deny it?”
“No. God, no, I wouldn’t deny it,” Logan said. “But I would have you fired and maybe, depending on my mood at the time, crucified.”
“That sounds reasonable enough, boss,” Tyler agreed. He watched the sunlight dappling the waves of Loch Ness, then looked out at the road ahead of them. “So, are me and you going to go solve this murder or what?”
“Aye, let’s me and you do that,” Logan confirmed, pushing his foot down on the accelerator as they rounded a bend onto a long straight. “Just, you know, mostly me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The station was a hub of activity when Logan and Tyler returned to it. Or as much a hub of activity as a building that size could really be. There was just the one landline, so Hamza had been left in charge of that, and had been making calls all morning, asking questions and following up leads, which Sinead then pulled together on her homemade Big Board.
Ben had spent the morning interviewing and then subsequently charging Oberon Finley-Lennox for driving while under the influence. They left the assaulting a police officer charge hanging over him for the moment, making it clear that it wasn’t off the table. People tended to be more willing to cooperate if they thought their situation could take a sudden turn for the worse.
Following the interview, and with space at a premium, Oberon was told to go and sit in the store cupboard at the back of the station while they decided what to do with him. Many moons ago, the cupboard had been a holding cell for prisoners, but storage space had been a far more necessary resource, and so it had been hastily converted. It still served its purpose in its former role, though, if and when the need arose.
Like last night, for example, when the MSP had been detained, given a thin rollaway mattress to sleep on, and a bucket in the corner in case he needed a late-night trip to the toilet after the detectives had left for the night.
He had been back in there for an hour now, and had spent approximately half of that with his arms folded in indignation, and the other half sobbing quietly into his hands.
When the door finally opened, he raised his head and physically flinched at the sight of DCI Logan looming there in silhouette, like some kind of fairytale giant.
“You,” Logan said, beckoning him with a crooked finger. “Out. Now.”
Oberon hesitated, but only for a moment. Everything about the detective’s demeanour told him that it was not in his best interests to disobey, and he emerged from the cupboard looking suitably cowed and crestfallen.
“Look, I just… I want to explain,” he began, but Logan silenced him with a look. At least, Oberon thought it was a look, yet it landed with the impact of a punch to the face.
“You are free to go, Mr Finley-Lennox.”
Oberon’s gaze flitted to the front door of the station. From the look of him, he could barely believe his luck. “I can… I can go? I’m free?”
“Yes,” Logan confirmed. He let the smile spread across the bastard’s face just far enough. “You’ll be contacted about a court date soon. And we’re keeping your car.”
Oberon’s face seemed to change texture, like the fat below his skin had all melted at the same time. “You’re what? You can’t do that.”
“We can. And we are,” Logan said. “We’ll hold it until you can arrange for someone else to pick it up.”
“That’s… fine. My wife will come get it.”
Logan sucked air in through his teeth. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. See, we spoke to your wife. Told her everything. She wants us to send her the photos.”
“Because she doesn’t believe you! She has faith in me,” Oberon said, although it wasn’t quite clear who he was trying to kid.
“Because she wants to give them to the press, I believe,” Logan corrected. “She did not sound like a happy woman, Mr Finley-Lennox. She did not sound happy at all.”
Oberon swallowed and smoothed down the front of his crumpled shirt. “Fine. I’ll… I’ll… I can call a taxi.”
“If you’ve got a signal, aye,” Logan said. “Our phone is in use. Important polis business.”
“Well… no. Of course, I don’t have a signal. Nobody has a signal!” Oberon protested.
“Ah well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I hear it’s a lovely walk,” Logan said. He opened the front door and stood aside, clearing the way for the MSP to leave.
“It’s miles! I can’t be expected to—”