Blue Vengenance: A Logan Thorne DCI Scottish Detective Thriller Page 10

  “Exactly, but I wanted to ask you something first,” I said and swivelled my laptop around to face her. “This email. Tell me about it.”

  Harding looked at me questioningly.

  “I mean, why did I get it?” I asked again, in response to her confusion.

  “It’s called cookies,” she explained. “Netflix has stored whatever you’ve watched before, or want to watch, or even thought about watching, and they’re trying to predict your future activity based on your past.”

  She trailed off as she caught the smile on my face, and I finally had an idea of where we could start.

  “Exactly,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” my partner asked in confusion. “Do you want me to show you how to turn off the cookies?”

  “One day,” I chuckled. “But no, what I want to do is find the link between Brown and McLuckie. They both worked in CID at one point, and if memory serves, it was at the same time. I think that could be our link, and our answer is in the CID records.”

  “Wow, sir, technology is usually only a hindrance to you,” she noted.

  I waved away the suggestion and tried to look modest.

  “Please, I would have thought of it eventually,” I said. “Even without the Netflix email.”

  I walked over to the window, twisted the blinds, and looked into The Pit. Something must have happened, because the room was down to two people, who sat at their desks and stared at their computer screens.

  “And remember Harding, our lips are sealed,” I added. “To anyone and everyone. I don’t care who asks, you tell them nothing.”

  I turned around to see Harding nod solemnly.

  “So, we need every case that Brown and McLuckie worked on together,” I said. “However irrelevant it might seem to us. It could also help us narrow down the third possible victim.”

  Harding had finished her coke and looked at it with disappointment.

  “That will be a lot of cases, sir,” she noted.

  “I know, so why don’t you get down into the archives and--” I began.

  “The archives?” she snickered.

  “Yes, in the basement, there should be a filing system under--” I tried again.

  “Erm, sir, sorry to interrupt again,” she continued.

  I could tell by the grin on her face that I’d somehow revealed my less than stellar computer skills once again. I sighed and nodded at her to continue.

  “But this is an archive, too,” she said as she tapped my laptop. “A digital archive.”

  “Yeah, I knew that,” I clapped and clapped my hands. “Okay, bring your computer in here. And throw me a fizzy juice, will you?”

  Harding blinked. “A what?”

  “You know, if you want to fit in, you need to learn to talk like us.” I teased. “I meant a Coke.”

  “Could have just said that,” she muttered.

  Harding reached around the desk and somehow managed to pull a Coke out from the mini refrigerator. She tossed the cold can to me as she brushed by me, and a few minutes later, she returned with her laptop tucked under her arm. We returned to our seats, and after a quick tutorial from Harding, we delved into the electronic records of modern day policing.

  I wasn’t aware of time passing as Harding and I stared into our laptops, jotted down notes, and paused to compare findings. The sky outside the window was dark, black as treacle, and my eyes ached under the fluorescent office lights. Harding realised this and turned the lamp on instead.

  “Better?” she asked.

  “To be honest, I had no idea that lamp even existed,” I responded. “But yes, thanks.”

  Although I had known there would be lots of cases with both Brown and Mcluckie’s name on the paperwork, I had no idea of the extent. I scrolled down the list disbelievingly and shook my head at the amount of information we’d have to process and eliminate. After watching my partner hyperventilate with panic and gulp down a mug of peculiar-smelling tea, I had an idea.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said. “It’s going to take way too long, and we don’t have that kind of time to waste.”

  “I know, I can’t believe how many cases are here,” the brunette responded. “Did they even sleep?”

  I thought back to Brown, how he was often here before me in the mornings, and the last to leave at night.

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “What we need to remember is that widowed Brown was a very different detective. He gravitated towards certain cases with female victims, spree killings, singular murders, anything similar.”

  “Because he couldn’t save his--” Harding began.

  “Yes,” I cut in, not wanting her to finish. “So I’m thinking we should narrow down the caseload to the last three years they worked together. We can check the older stuff later, but I don’t think anyone would wait that long to exact their revenge. That’s gotta at least cut the list in half.”

  Harding typed into her laptop, and then waited for the computer to do its thing.

  “It cuts more than that, sir, we’ve got--” she said and looked closer at her screen. “Twenty-five cases left.”

  “That’s it?” I asked, shocked.

  “Seems as though the cases were more labour-intensive, lots of surveillance and longer investigations,” my partner said and looked slightly relieved at the slash in workload.

  “Twenty-five,” I replied “Okay. That’s a good start. What we should do is take half each, and focus on any third person who was as involved as Brown and McLuckie, and look for any similarities in the type of kill, or location of the victim, anything.”

  “Yeah, no problem, sir,” she said. “Only thing is--”

  “What is it?” I asked when she didn’t continue.

  “Well, we’re not actually robots,” she said. “I know life would be a lot easier if we were. But we do need a little bit of sleep tonight, and some food. To be honest, I’d now trade my paycheck for a long bath.”

  I lifted my head to read the clock. It was almost midnight. I looked longingly back at my laptop but realised Harding was right. I couldn’t solve this case with a tired brain, and that brain would actually quite like some sleep.

  “Okay, fine,” I conceded, “but take your laptop with you. Carry on searching these cases in the bath, if you have to.”

  “Sounds very relaxing,” she sighed.

  Harding stood up and collected her laptop. I watched her return to her own desk, where she gathered her bag and coat. One of the remaining detectives asked her something, but she just shrugged and bade good night to everyone in a loud voice.

  I quickly gathered my own belongings, turned off the various lights, and stepped into the hall. I shut the door, locked it and slipped the key safely into my pocket. My partner was heading for the lift, so I ran after her and caught up with her in front of the doors.

  “That reminds me, were you in my office earlier today?” I asked the British beauty.

  She furrowed her eyebrows in thought.

  “Yes,” she said. “When you were in Clarke’s office. Why?”

  “Just wondering,” I shook my head. “I’m getting paranoid.”

  The lift arrived and we rode to the lobby. The space was empty when we arrived, and we walked across the floor once again. The wet floor sign was gone, and somebody had mopped up the rainwater we’d left behind earlier. Although I had been in the building late at night many times, the silence had taken on a new meaning, and the sound of our footsteps tapping on the linoleum floor felt eerie and unnerving. Out in the carpark, I stood in a pool of jittery streetlamps.

  “Where are you parked?” I asked my young partner.

  “I took the bus,” she sighed.

  “Come on, jump in,” I said as I unlocked the door.

  “No, sir, it’s fine,” she protested. “I can wait for the next one.”

  “I really don’t think it’s a great time for a cop to walk the streets alone at midnight, do you?” I asked.

  I watched Harding uneasily scan the c
ar park.

  “I suppose not...” she replied.

  I slid into the driver’s seat and opened the passenger door.

  “Get in, then, it’s bloody freezing!” I exclaimed.

  Harding obeyed, and I cranked the heat to high as soon as the doors were closed. The engine roared to life, and it seemed like the only sound in the city as we drove through the quiet streets. The car radio hummed peacefully in the background and the green screen glowed in the darkness. Harding yawned loudly.

  “Tired?” I asked.

  “Very,” she responded. “But I know as soon as I lie in bed, my head will fill up with information, and I won’t be able to sleep.”

  “I know,” I said as I nodded in empathy. “Mine does that, too.”

  “It’s very annoying,” she sighed. “I wish I could switch it off.”

  “But it’s part of why you’ll be a great detective,” I offered. “Because you can’t ever turn it off.”

  “Do you really think so?” she asked.

  “I wouldn't work with you if I didn’t believe it.” I glanced over and saw her smile at me.

  We passed a McDonald’s, and even at this late hour, the bright yellow ‘M’ pulsed in the sky.

  “I could demolish a burger right now,” Harding groaned.

  “I thought you were a vegetarian?” I asked in surprise.

  “Why would you assume that?” she shot back. “Because I’m young?”

  “Just seem like the type,” I said as I shrugged.

  Even in the dimly lit car I saw her disapproval.

  “We shouldn’t assume anything, remember?” she snapped. “I can’t remember who told me that, was it--”

  “Alright, fine,” I sighed. “Point taken.”

  We arrived on Harding’s street. It was a pleasant, residential road in Old Town with wide pavements and willow trees hunched over the road. I had dropped off and picked her up a few times before, and I was always amazed by the obvious wealth of the street.

  “Tell me again, how exactly can you afford this?” I asked as I pulled in front of her detached, two-storey house complete with flowered front garden.

  The pavements were lined with parked cars. There were no lights on in the houses or stirring in the windows.The whole street appeared asleep for the night.

  “Once again, sir,” she said. “It’s none of your business.”

  I looked to check she was smiling. She was.

  “I will find out eventually,” I asserted. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I am a professional detective.”

  “We’ll see,” she snickered. “It’s called a secret identity for a reason.”

  “Alright, Jason Bourne,” I joked. “If you’re so clever, make sure to focus on any disgruntled family members in those cases, anyone who wasn’t pleased and showed it.”

  “Will do, sir,” she said as she got out of the car.

  I switched on my headlights again and scanned the street while Harding collected her armload of work. I saw a flicker of movement in the darkened car across the street, and then looked again, uncertain if I’d really seen anything. I squinted through the beam of my lights, and saw it shift again.

  “What is it?” Harding whispered through the window.

  I jerked a thumb towards the car, out of sight of the other driver. Harding nodded, but kept her eyes on me. It was possible someone was just sleeping in the car, or even waiting for someone. But in this neighborhood, at this hour, neither seemed very likely. I flicked off the lamps, and we were plunged into darkness. The person in the car stopped moving, as though knowing they had been seen, and I took the opportunity to slide quietly out of my car.

  The person suddenly shot up into view, and I realised they had been lying back in the driving seat, and had now eased the chair up. I couldn’t see the face clearly, and I tried to move closer before the driver knew what I was doing.

  It was a man, short-haired, and with fear on his face as he realised he’d been seen. I saw him scramble with the car keys and knew that I only had a narrow window of opportunity. I ran towards the car, with some vague idea of snatching the keys before he could start the car. Adrenaline coursed through my body, and my heart thumped painfully when I thought this could be him, the killer. But then his engine spluttered on and the car lurched forwards, and all I could do was stare blindly into the glare of his head lights as the car drove towards me.

  Chapter 6

  I lurched out of the car’s way and felt the wing mirror clip my elbow. As I spun around, I felt like I was falling through the night sky. I reached out instinctively as I saw the ground rush towards me, and my palms filled with gravel and cuts. I tasted stones, registered the sudden ache in my arm, and pain shot into my fingers when I moved them.

  I opened my eyes and saw the yellowed tips of grass, a discarded chocolate wrapper, and when I raised my head slightly, I could see the tail-light of the car disappearing around the corner.

  Shit. Someone had tried to run me over.

  I laid on the ground and let that knowledge wash over me, until I realised I was holding my breath, and when I exhaled it was in deep, desperate chokes. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and when I coughed, I winced with pain. I wondered if I’d broken a rib. I had a sudden, panicked idea that the man in the car had taken my partner, and I made a fumbled attempt to sit up.

  But then Harding appeared at my side and crouched on the ground.

  “Sir?” she asked in a voice thick with fear.

  I guessed she was holding back tears, and I wanted to reassure her.

  “I’m okay,” I said as I moved to sit up further.

  “Sir!” she exclaimed, holding me down. “You shouldn’t move, in case of--”

  “I’m fine, Harding,” I cut in.

  I flexed my limbs experimentally. Nothing felt broken. The pain in my ribs had dissipated, and I suspected it was only a bruise.

  “Just help me up,” I protested.

  Harding’s hands hovered nearby as I sat up. I instantly regretted the move as I saw stars. I concentrated on my breathing as I fought off a wave of dizziness.

  I rolled my bad arm. It was painful, sure, but I’d had worse injuries.

  “Shit,” I remarked “I can’t believe that happened.”

  “Was it--?” Harding began.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But it changes our list of suspects if one of us is the next target.”

  Harding nodded as she studied my face.

  “Did you get the plates?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Harding replied.

  “Did you--?” I asked.

  “Already called it in,” she cut in. “The Owls are on it.”

  The Owls were our nickname for the Dispatch night team. They slept all day, and only seemed to emerge from their homes long after the sun had set. Their nocturnal worlds were entirely reversed to ours.

  My partner’s phone vibrated, and she checked the number before tapping the screen.

  “DS Harding here,” she answered.

  I rubbed my hands together and winced. My palms needed to be cleaned, and I could already feel a large bump forming on the side of my head. I thought of the stinging alcohol gel I had at home and grimaced.

  “Right, thank you for telling me,” Harding said.“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s a trooper.”

  Harding nodded a couple more times and made a few mm-hmm sounds before she hung up.

  “A trooper?” I asked incredulously.

  “Well, you are,” she insisted. “You haven’t complained once.”

  “I might start,” I warned her as I tested my elbow again. “Any news on the car?”

  “There’s a city-wide alert on the registration plates, so he’ll turn up eventually,” Harding said grimly.

  “Good,” I muttered.

  I stood up carefully and felt myself wobble. I sighed as a new pain throbbed in my right foot.

  “Are you sure you’re okay, sir?” Harding asked anxiously.

  “Nev
er been better,” I responded. “Okay. We need a plan. First, you should stay at my house tonight.”

  “No way,” the dark-eyed woman said.

  “Harding,” I sighed. “Need I remind you a man was just waiting outside your house?”

  “Maybe he was looking for you,” she offered.

  “Even so,” I reasoned. “That means he must have followed us. So it doesn’t exactly look good.”

  “Sir,” Harding responded firmly. “Thank you for your concern, but I need to sleep in my own bed.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “So stubborn,” I said.

  I limped a little as I walked back to my car, and I felt Harding’s eyes drill into my back until I stood by the car. I leaned against it for a moment and then turned around to look at my partner.

  “Are you okay to drive?” she asked.

  “I’m absolutely fine. Oh--” I called after my partner as she walked towards her front door. “Don’t forget about those disgruntled family members.”

  “It never stops with you, does it?” she asked. “Not even getting hit by a car.”

  “Never,” I agreed as I fumbled with the key fob.

  Somehow, I managed to unlock the door, and I sank into the driver’s seat. Elbow, ribs, and ankle all protested, and I bit back the swear words that came to mind. I could feel Harding’s eyes on me again, so I closed the door and waved. I started the engine and then rolled down the window.

  “Goodnight!” I called out.

  Harding shook her head, but she rummaged for her keys in her purse and then unlocked her door. I sat and waited until the living room lights were switched on and the curtains closed. Only then did I feel comfortable to drive away.

  I hadn’t lied to Harding or tried to minimise the damage. I did feel relatively fine, although I suspected I would ache in the morning. I catalogued my injuries when I reached a stop sign. Bruised arm, cut up hands and knees, a possible ankle sprain. I shook my head. It could have been a lot worse.

  But if the driver was the killer, wouldn’t he have wanted me dead? Was I the intended third target? That didn’t make sense to me. I had no recollection of working any case with both Brown and McLuckie.

  I tried to replay the accident as though I was watching from above, and I mentally winced as I remembered the collision. The more I thought about it, the more certain I was that the man had panicked when I had spotted him. Hitting me was an accident. But why had he been on Harding’s street in the first place?