Blue Vengenance: A Logan Thorne DCI Scottish Detective Thriller Read online

  Hello reader,

  If you enjoy my novels, please consider joining my email newsletter or following me author page on Amazon (UK), or Amazon (USA). Then you will get alerted when my next novel is released.

  Chapter 1

  It was a good batch of beer. I tilted the glass and breathed in the scent of bitter cherry and caramelised chocolate. The first sip tasted as creamy as a milkshake and just as rich. It was dense, and I felt like I could grow stronger with every mouthful. I congratulated my own skill. The recipe was almost perfect now. Almost. I could work on it that evening, compare the tasting notes to last month’s batch. But before I had time to put my feet up on the coffee table and drink another mouthful, the phone rang.

  I cursed as I spilled a few drops of the precious liquid. The ring sounded even more shrill than usual, and I cast a hateful gaze towards the annoying device. The phone rang again, and I looked at the fresh beer in front of me.

  It was Sunday which meant movies at home, a nap on the sofa, and a pizza for dinner, probably. More importantly, Sunday was my only day off in weeks. When was the last day I hadn’t stared at the four walls of my office, or that cactus on my desk that I had inherited with the office? I couldn’t even remember.

  For a brief moment, I considered ignoring the call. It would be work. It was always work. But, the call wouldn’t have been made unless it was truly important. Had the missing girl turned up dead? Or maybe the lunatic sending letters to the local MP had followed through on his threat? In the Serious Crimes Unit, anything was possible. I had learnt that a long time ago.

  The phone rang again, and I felt the usual tingle of curiosity at the prospect of a new case, and the hairs prickled pleasurably on my neck. I never could resist the thrill of the hunt, and so I set my glass on the table and answered the phone..

  “Sir?” It was DS Maddy Harding’s voice.

  She was the detective I had decided to mentor when I realised she worked as hard as I did. I heard her swallow nervously on the other end of the phone, and I knew it was a new case. I sighed as I put aside thoughts of a peaceful Sunday and waited for Maddy to explain why she had called.

  “I know, I know,” she said quickly. “I am sorry, if that’s helpful.”

  “It’s not,” I replied.

  She was quiet on the other end, and I could imagine her at her desk, the phone pressed tightly to her cheek. That shared office was like a fishbowl. You couldn’t hide from all those sets of eyes and ears, though if the case was important enough to interrupt my day off, I doubted anyone would be paying attention to Maddy at the moment

  “So, what is it?” I asked. “A body? An inconsiderate killer who doesn’t care it’s my day off?

  “Not quite...” She trailed off.

  “You’re not a game show host, Harding,” I teased. “Tell me.”

  “It’s Chief Constable Brown, sir.” she replied over a muffle of voices on her end. “Hang on, it’s a bit busy here.”

  I tapped my feet as I waited, but Harding must have set the phone down or such. I could still hear busy chatter in the background, but Harding had gone silent. I noticed the head on my beer was disappearing and sighed in disappointment. I’d almost forgotten about it, and I wondered if I would have enough time to drink it down before I had to drive to wherever the body, or almost body, had been found.

  “Sorry. I’m down in the stairwell,” she said a few moments later.

  “What’s Brown done now?” I asked. “Called everyone in for a pointless meeting?”

  “It’s more like what he hasn’t done,” she replied. “He hasn’t shown up to work, sir. His car has been found, but he’s not in it.”

  My palms began to sweat, and I cast another longing look at the pint. CC Brown, missing? The guy had been tied to his desk for years now, ever since his wife died. I couldn’t even imagine him leaving the station other than to go home to the same cold, silent house. I tried to contain my emotions but a sliver of pain slipped through, and something more.

  Fear.

  Something must be very wrong for Brown not to be at his desk at the appointed time, and I tried to come up with some logical reason for his absence. Sick? He would have made a point of calling the duty sergeant. Car trouble? Possible, but surely he would have called the station and requested that the nearest car be sent to collect him. Harding was quiet on the phone, as if she knew I needed a private moment to consider the possibilities..

  “Where is the car?” I finally asked

  “Lochend,” my DS replied. “Near the park.”

  “Who found it?” I pressed.

  “There were a couple of security guards patrolling the area,” she said. “They called it in, and discovered who the registered owner was. Dispatch informed us straight away.”

  Harding had answered quickly without having to check her notes. Once again, I was glad I made the decision to mentor her. She was as sharp a detective five years her senior and a hell of a lot smarter.

  “They want me on it?” I checked.

  “Yes, sir,” she replied. “Most of them do, anyway. There’s the usual lot who’d rather you were nowhere near the case. And, well, you know…”

  I looked out the window to the grey sky and shivered. The cold wind from the North Sea had started to blow, and I could see the trees bend against the force.

  “You don’t sound so sure,” I noted.

  “I don’t think it matters about yours and Brown’s, erm, past,” she replied. “They know they need you, and they’ll overlook what came before.”

  “I’m sure they hate that,” I laughed.

  “Clarke told me to mention one thing.” Harding lowered her voice. “Well, I’ll soften it for both our benefits. Don’t fucking hang about.”

  “That was softened?” I chuckled.

  “Afraid so,” she replied with a snigger.

  “Have you got any details for me?” I sighed as I tried to find my pen and notepad.

  “No,” she said. “The call just came in, and they just asked me to call you. Could be nothing, but, well, you know how Brown is. Everyone is convinced that the worst has happened, though no one seems to know what that is exactly.”

  “Didn't want to ring me themselves?” I noted as I gave up on pen and paper. “Very courageous of them.”

  “Sir, they 've just come to find me and--” Harding said quickly.

  “Understood,” I replied. “Say that I'm already on my way to the site. Meet you there.”

  I hung up before she could suggest we drive together, part of her ongoing campaign to save the planet. Not that I had anything against saving the planet, but I was not a fan of her car. It was small, uncomfortable, and not designed for someone of my height. I pictured her on the steps after I’d hung up, her brow furrowed into a disapproving stare as she quietly chastised my disregard for the planet in her cool British accent.

  I looked around the living room, which was perfectly arranged for an evening off, and mourned the loss of a perfect lazy Sunday. The curtains were already drawn and the television angled just right. I’d even queued a stack of movies on Netflix. At least I hadn’t ordered the pizza yet.

  As I walked upstairs to the bathroom, I thought back over my time under the CC’s rule. If my car had been abandoned, would Brown rush to find me? I highly doubted it. I'm sure he'd be relieved that the thorn in his side had been removed. But we had been friends, once, and I couldn’t let the current state of affairs between us keep me from my duty.

  I stepped inside the small bathroom and took a quick look in the mirror. I hadn’t bothered with much grooming, since
I’d planned to stay in, and my dark hair stood out in all directions. I didn’t look too bad, considering. Tired, maybe. The shadows under my eyes were black as bruises. But what else was new?

  I bypassed the solitary toothbrush in the holder and gulped a capful of stinging mouthwash. I threw water on my face, cold as the Edinburgh air, and ran a comb through my locks. I was closer to forty than thirty, but I was pleased to note I could still get away as a younger man if I wanted.

  I ran a hand over my stubble and debated if I should shave. The dark hairs were nearly a beard, and about the length that would make Stacey, my girlfriend, complain that it felt prickly on her face when we kissed. I heard the phone ring again, though, and I decided that the rest of the police would have to tolerate my stubble and longish hair for another day. I smiled at my reflection and decided I looked as Scottish as a modern man could be, without the kilt, of course.

  In my darkened bedroom, I took off my t-shirt and shorts and looked for more suitable work clothes. I found a clean shirt in the wardrobe, and realized it was the dark red one Stacey had bought me for my birthday. She said the color complimented my brown eyes, and the cut showed off my physique, both of which I’d lapped up. She’d also mentioned that I could actually look smart for once, but I had ignored that part. I tossed on the shirt and a pair of trousers, and then added the belt, and socks.

  I took another quick look into the bathroom mirror and decided I looked almost professional. I was on my way down the stairs again, when I stopped and uttered a word my mother would never approve.

  I’d almost forgotten my plans with Stacey. She had planned to come over that night and bring a bottle of wine she’d been saving all week. I didn’t love wine, but I never admitted that to her. I enjoyed her excitement as she uncorked a bottle with a soft pop, and how she closed her eyes to savour a sip. It was worth the horrible taste.

  I crossed my fingers she wouldn’t be too upset and called her. Her musical voice connected with mine, and I felt my body relax at the sound, like she was a drug.

  “Hi, it's me,” I said.

  “I know” she replied with a laugh. “Your name came up. You know, the magic of modern technology and such.”

  “So--” I began and then stopped.

  “Oh, no,” she sighed.

  “I know. I’m sorry, but--” I replied as I tried to put my shoes on and talk at the same time. I wedged the phone under my ear and tilted my head towards my shoulder to keep it from slipping away.

  “But-- you’re already leaving the house, aren’t you,” she said.

  “Have you developed psychic powers?” I asked jokingly.

  “You’d call me crazy if I said yes,” Stacey remarked.

  “True,” I laughed.

  As a detective, I dealt only in logic. I’ve never believed in ghosts or clairvoyance, nothing that I couldn’t see or touch myself.

  “Don’t worry, no psychic abilities,” Stacey assured me. “I just know you, that’s all.”

  “I’m pissed off, too,” I noted. “But it’s urgent apparently.”

  “You’re not pissed off,” she laughed quietly. “You love it.”

  I finally had my shoes on, and I moved towards the front door as I shifted the phone to my other ear. I grabbed my jacket and placed my hand on the door handle. The metal was freezing, a sure sign that the temperature was already near freezing outside.

  “Talk to you later, okay?” I asked as I buttoned my coat to the top.

  “Sure,” she teased. “Go clean up the streets of Edinburgh and save us all.”

  “Will do,” I promised.

  “Oh, Logan?” she added before I could disconnect the call. “It’s extremely cold out there today.”

  “This is just becoming uncanny now,” I chuckled.

  She laughed again and then disconnected. With a sigh, I tucked the phone into its pocket and then pulled the door open. The wind blew right through me, and I felt the cold like a hundred tiny knives. It was only just October yet it felt like the darkest depths of January. We were going to be in for a long winter if this kept up.

  I couldn’t help but smirk as I trudged to my car. Harding would complain bitterly about the ice and wind as soon as she stepped outside. She wasn’t a newcomer anymore, but she still hadn’t quite got used to the temperatures here. She was too spoiled from the mildness of Southern England, and it amused the locals to no end to see her wearing long-sleeved shirts and jeans in 15 degrees whilst the rest of us favoured shorts. The British thought there couldn’t be too much difference between them and us while only being separated by a border on a small island. How wrong they were.

  I made it to the car without freezing to death and slipped inside quickly. The wind whistled through the cracks and crevices, and I let the heater run for a moment once I had the engine on. The car radio played out the day’s news, but I switched it over to a favorite music station. I tapped my fingers on the wheel to the beat of Welcome to the Jungle, an old favourite that had always fired me up before a case.

  With the radio set and the car warmed up, I shifted gears and pulled into the road. My trip took me past the heart of old Edinburgh, where the streets were busy with tourists clutching stiff cardboard bags from the expensive gift shops nearby. I expected they’d bought the usual outsiders haul of overpriced shortbread and hand-blown whiskey decanters, with a few art prints of the castle thrown in for good measure.

  There were a few locals in the mix, distinguished by their lack of shopping bags and their unsteady walk. These were the folks who had needed to grasp the tail end of the weekend for one last bit of freedom before they returned to the grind on Monday. Brunch-goers, for whom one mimosa had turned into one too many, looked for their lost friends, and Sunday sports fans spilled from pubs onto the streets and gestured angrily at the tourists who blocked pavements to take a picture of the architecture.

  I waited patiently for a group of tourists and football fans to cross the street and realized that I was glad that it was no longer my job to deal with the rowdy public. I’d done my time on traffic duty and crowd control, and I hoped I would never have to go back. Three years in uniform, two as a sergeant, and most of it spent interviewing the drunk and disorderly about something they may or may not have seen.

  Once past the crowds, I turned into one of the quieter areas of the city, Elm Row. This area was famous for its tree-lined roadways, though the skeptic in me wondered if their real purpose was to keep people from looking too closely into the housing estates behind.

  I drove down Marionville road and watched shoppers duck their faces against the wind. Halloween decorations were already hung in shop windows, and a few of the more daring stores even had a few early Christmas decorations. I shook my head in dismay and then turned onto the road that led to the Lochend park gates.

  I pulled up at the entrance, but there were no police to be seen. I wondered if I’d misheard Harding, or if I was the victim of some sort of twisted practical joke. I pulled out my phone and checked Harding’s location, and the map put her at the industrial site next to the football stadium around the corner.

  What could Brown have been doing in that area? He loved rugby too much to tolerate football for even a minute. I couldn’t count the times the CC had complained about how tame footballers were, which was always followed by a question about when the hell were they going to fight? He could be bloodthirsty. We’d bonded over that, in the early days, and we’d even gone to a few matches together.

  I backed away from the gates and circled the park. I worked my way through traffic and pulled into the entrance of the estate. I knew I was in the right place when I saw the crowd of officers and the static blinking police lights. A detective investigator who recognized my car nodded as I drove slowly past. The rest ignored me, and I didn’t care much. Many on the force resented how quickly I could puzzle out a case and were suspicious that I didn’t want to brag into a news camera. So they tried to throw down obstacles to trip me up. Nothing had stuck so far.


  I noticed that many of the warehouses had been shut down and boarded up, a consequence of the locals being priced out of the area. A couple of garages had managed to survive, and the oil-stained mechanics stared at us with interest. Suspicion, too. The police had a bad reputation in this area, and more than one fan had a tale of coppers being overzealous with their crowd control tactics after a match.

  At the end of the road, DS Madeline Harding waved me down. I smiled when I saw the winter garb she’d dressed in. She must have had two thick layers on and a scarf wrapped around her slim neck, but even the thick winter clothes couldn’t quite disguise her lean body. She regularly worked out in the station’s poorly lit gym, much to the joy of a large percentage of our male co-workers. Even now, as she stood on her own with her hands tucked into her coat, several of the nearby uniforms watched her surreptitiously from their posts.

  Most cops looked like cops, even on their off days. They couldn’t help it really. They didn’t begin their careers looking so bad, but then the late nights and bad coffee got to them. Over the years, they’d develop bags under their eyes and fat where there was once muscle, and by the time they retired, they’d have a spare tire around the middle and a bad ticker that made anything more strenuous than a walk to the post box a real risk.

  See, only certain cases ever see any real action. Groups like Counter-Terrorism and Serious Crimes require their members to be in top shape, but if you were assigned to Fraud, you might as well take out your handcuffs and lock yourself to the chair. It was all endless paperwork fueled by vending machine fare like Kit Kats and artificially orange crisps.

  Maddy Harding had managed to avoid that trap, and I suspected she always would. She took care of herself, and it showed in the glow of her creamy skin, the sparkle in her almond-brown eyes, and the sheen in her dark hair. Besides, everyone knew she was too good for a desk job, so she had her pick of the prime positions, and Maddy would never opt for anything sedentary.

  I parked the car at the back of the pack of police vehicles and reached into the back seat for my badge, just in case some junior copper decided to give me a hard time. As I poked around, I noticed the Ardbeg branded flask I’d been given by a friend after a rugby match last weekend. I‘d found him a good solicitor with a discount and the flask had been his way of saying thanks. It was a nice flask, made of pewter steel and pleasingly heavy in my hands, though I didn’t like Ardbeg. Not something I could ever admit to a fellow Scot, so I had graciously accepted the flask and then tossed it into the back.