Читать книгу Logan McRae Crime Series Books 4-6: Flesh House, Blind Eye, Dark Blood - Stuart MacBride - Страница 40

An ambulance sat on the gravel outside Insch’s house, its blue lights flickering as a pair of paramedics helped the inspector’s wife into the back. As Logan marched up the drive he could hear them telling her that everything was going to be OK. She didn’t look as if she believed them.

He took a deep breath, thought about chickening out and leaving this to someone else, then walked into the granite house. The place was a mess – furniture upturned, mirrors and photos smashed, little dots of blood on the oatmeal-coloured carpet. The smell of human waste fighting against a large tub of orange potpourri. Insch was in the kitchen, kneeling in front of the dog basket.

‘Sir?’

‘Bastard kicked her. She’s fifteen, an old lady … but she went for him.’ He stroked the spaniel’s coat. ‘Poor old thing …’

‘Sir, I need to talk to you about—’

‘She’s broken inside …’ The inspector glanced up for a moment, puffy eyes glistening with tears in his bruised and battered face. ‘The vet’s on his way. And then she won’t be in pain any more … she’s not …’ He took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘Wiseman tried to make us think we were eating one of the girls. But it was just pork. Anna and Brigit were tied up in their bedroom the whole time.’

‘Sir, I’m—’

‘No.’ He wiped his eyes. ‘Don’t say it. I don’t want a death message. You can’t—’

‘I’m sorry. The paramedics did everything they could. But Sophie … she was so small and the crash … it …’

Insch bit his bottom lip, then turned silently and went back to stroking his spaniel. Shoulders trembling. Crying quietly.

Logan let himself out.

The drive back to FHQ took nearly an hour and a half as rush-hour got its claws into Aberdeen. He could have put on the pool car’s siren, but Logan wasn’t exactly looking forward to getting there. At least the nose-to-tail traffic put off the inevitable …

He pushed through into the noisy incident room and everything went silent. Then the Detective Chief Superintendent started a round of applause, uniform and CID standing to join in. The DCS clapped him on the shoulder and told the room how he was a credit to the force. How they’d never have caught Wiseman if it wasn’t for Logan. How everyone was proud of him.

But Logan didn’t feel very proud. Not when all he could think about was that little girl lying on the tarmac, face white, lips blue. The high-pitched whine of the defibrillator as the paramedics tried to restart her heart. The look on her mother’s face when he told her. Insch in tears. No, he didn’t feel very proud at all.

Midnight. Two steps to the right … lurch to the left … bang into the thing in the hall, stuff clattering to the floor … Logan fumbled for the light switch, missed, tried again, and finally light blossomed in the little hallway. ‘Honey, I’m home.’ It took three goes to get the key out of the lock. Jacket up on the hook by the door.

And stumble through to the kitchen…

‘Oh … bollocks.’ The place was a mess: flour and eggs all over the work surface and the floor. The bedroom was just as bad – drawers lying open, the contents spewed out over every available inch. The lounge was like a bombsite. CDs and cushions and junk mail strewn all over the carpet. Suddenly Logan felt a lot more sober.

But the TV and DVD player were still there, and so was his laptop. What sort of burglar, broke in and didn’t steal anything?

The only things missing were Jackie’s clothes and possessions: the industrial grey underwear; the stuffed and porcelain pigs; the hairdryer; the extensive collection of shampoos, conditioners, moisturisers, and other assorted unguents …

She’d come past, picked up her stuff and trashed the place. This was going to take forever to clean up.

Back in the bedroom Logan picked up one edge of the duvet and peered underneath, hoping Jackie wasn’t as vindictive as Alec’s ex. At least the bed was a jobbie-free zone. He sat on the mattress, looking at the devastation. Just to be on the safe side, he wasn’t going to brush his teeth tonight: Jackie might not lower herself to crapping on the fitted sheet, but he wouldn’t put cleaning the loo with his toothbrush past her.

‘What a brilliant, fucking day.’