There was one other car in the car park. A woman in her thirties was playing down at a rock pool with two kids under five. They all looked up when the Peugeot came screeching to a halt, then turned their attention back to the pool they were prodding around in.
“Tyler, get that lot out of here,” Logan instructed. “I want them in their car and on the road in the next two minutes.”
“On it, boss,” Tyler said, throwing open the door and all-but falling out of the vehicle.
He wasted a moment savouring the feeling of standing still, then he set off on a lumbering, shaky-legged run down towards the rocks.
“You alright getting into the cafe there?” Logan asked Dave, who responded with a nod. “Good. Check in with them, see if they’ve seen anyone going in or out of the lighthouse since it was shut.”
“What about you? Where are you going?” Dave asked.
Logan reached into the back and took the shotgun from where Tyler had propped it up in one of the rear footwells. His gaze went to the tower of the lighthouse, standing proud against the sky.
“There,” he said. “I’m going there.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Logan paced around the building at the base of the lighthouse, peeking in the windows and searching the gloom inside for any signs of movement.
Nothing.
The builders were using the room for storage, it seemed, and while it was possible that Bernie and the girl were tucked away in there somewhere, it would’ve been a big risk. There were a lot of windows, and not a lot of hiding places, so staying hidden would’ve taken effort.
Much better to keep her somewhere that nobody could just wander up to and have a peek inside.
His gaze, once again, crept upwards to the tower of the lighthouse itself.
The door at the base was locked. Logan put a shoulder to it, but it was a half-hearted attempt. The door was thick and heavy. No way that bloody thing was shifting without a battering ram, or…
He considered the shotgun he was carrying, shrugged, and took aim at the lock. Jamming the butt of the gun against his shoulder, he gritted his teeth, screwed his eyes half-shut, and—
“Boss!” Tyler’s voice called to him from across the car park. The DC ran ahead of Dave Davidson, holding up something that glinted in the midday sun. “Keys, boss! I’ve got keys!”
Once he was close enough, he tossed the bunch to Logan, who snatched them from the air. There were a dozen or more keys on the ring, of all shapes, sizes, and makes. Logan picked the most likely candidate, then thrust the shotgun into Tyler’s arms just as the DC stumbled to a stop.
“What am I meant to do with this?” Tyler asked, fumbling with the weapon.
“Just hang onto it,” Logan instructed, trying the first key. It didn’t fit, so he moved on to the next.
“Why’d you even take it, boss?”
“I don’t know,” Logan admitted. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”
He tried another key that didn’t fit the lock, and pressed on again. The sound of an engine drew his attention for a moment, and he gave a satisfied little grunt when the woman and her kids pulled out of the car park.
“Maybe I should go put it back in the car,” Tyler suggested. He was holding the gun like it was a deadly snake that might wrap itself around his throat at any moment. “I don’t want to accidentally shoot anyone.”
“Well, then don’t point it at anyone, or pull the trigger,” Logan suggested, then a triumphant, “Aha!” followed the click of the key turning in the lock. “Right, wait here. Eyes and ears peeled. If I shout, you come running.”
“With or without the gun?”
“With.”
Tyler bit his lip. “Should I be running with a gun? Is that not asking for trouble?”
“Just bloody…” Logan sighed, shook his head, then tried again. “Just come if I shout,” he said, then he edged open the door and stepped into the base of the lighthouse.
Had he been going for stealth, then that was right out the window, thanks to the shrill creaking of the door’s hinges, aged by the rain and the salty sea air.
It was a long way to the top, but anyone up there would know someone was coming, so Logan decided it was best to get ahead of the situation and announce his presence.
“Mr Rigg. It’s Detective Chief Inspector Jack Logan of Police Scotland Major Investigations Team,” he shouted, his voice booming up the steps and echoing around inside the narrow stone tube. “I must warn you that I have armed officers standing by with me, ready to move in.”
He shot a look back over his shoulder to where Tyler was holding the shotgun like it was smeared in human excrement, and hoped that Bernie—if he was up there—didn’t call his bluff.
“I’m coming up, Mr Rigg. Stay calm, and do not be alarmed.”
“Be careful, boss,” Tyler whispered.
Logan eyed the gun once again, briefly considered taking it with him, then decided against it. “Aye, you too.”
The climb started well enough. The first few steps of the spiral staircase passed uneventfully. The next thirty to forty were harder going.
By the time he’d passed a hundred or so, Logan’s thighs and calves were burning, his breath squeaked in and out like a chronic asthmatic in the grip of a panic attack, and the sweat was coming off him in buckets.
“Christ Almighty,” he wheezed. Between the exertion and the spiral effect, his head was spinning, and there was still plenty of climb left to do.
He spent a few seconds getting his breathing under control, then called up again. “Mr Rigg? Bernie. Can you hear me? I need you to respond if you can hear me.”
Only the echo of his own voice answered him. He swore quietly but passionately, then set off again, his big feet slapping on each step as he heaved himself onwards and upwards.
A few steps from the top, the staircase became a steep ladder that led up to the lamp that crowned the tower’s top.
Logan could hear nothing but the wind swirling around outside, rattling the panes of glass in their frames.
Well, that and his own body fighting for oxygen and, if he listened closely enough, praying for a swift and merciful death.
Even before he’d popped his head up through the hatch, he knew there was nobody up there. And, sure enough, when he dragged his gasping, sweating carcass up those final few steps, he found the circular lamp area empty.
Well, almost. A small pile of empty beer cans, Coke bottles, sandwich wrappers, and crisp bags had been pushed to one side. A couple of the bottles were filled with an amber liquid. Piss, presumably. Someone had been here, and they’d dug in for the long haul.
He felt the bottle, and could detect just a lingering hint of warmth in the plastic. Recent, then. Within the last hour, maybe.
A door led out onto a circular balcony that ran around the top of the lighthouse. Logan stepped out and was accosted by the wind. He hadn’t noticed it down at ground level, but up here, fully exposed, it blew in off the water and rose up from the jagged shoreline below, dragging waves so they crashed against the rocks.
“Where are you, you bastard?” Logan said, but the words were snatched from his lips even as they formed in the air.