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

  The stranger curled his lip in disgust as she rolled his thumb in the black ink, and when she pressed the man’s finger down hard onto the card, he snorted in disapproval. I leaned against the wall, and I watched as all of his fingerprints were taken. By the end, the man had stopped watching Harding, and instead he merely stared at a poster detailing how to remove drugs and alcohol from addicts in custody.

  “You can wash your hands now,” she said. “I’m finished.”

  He turned to look at her, and his lips curled up.

  “There’s a sink there,” the brunette pointed.

  The man walked to the sink and washed his hands so thoroughly I thought his skin would crack. He scrubbed at his flesh as though he wanted to remove something deeply ingrained and not just the ink from the stamp pad. He looked at the stack of paper towels and then wiped his wet hands on his trousers.

  “Soon your identity will be unmasked,” I deadpanned, and I was sick of this man and his secrets already. He talked about not wasting time but it was all he’d done so far. The man looked right through me and gestured at the exit.

  “Shall we?” he asked.

  I exchanged a look with my partner. She chewed on her lip with unease, and I had to admit, I was apprehensive, too. I couldn’t predict the man’s behaviour, and that didn’t sit well with me. I was used to being able to pinpoint a person’s next move, right down to their body language. But this man was like a blank slate.

  I led him into the same soulless and windowless room where I’d questioned Grant. The man looked around the room in surprise, and clearly he’d expected one of those clean, high-tech rooms they always showed on television. Which was the whole point.

  “Go ahead and remand Grant into custody,” I hissed to Harding so that the man couldn’t hear. “But do it quickly, I don’t want these two bumping into each other.”

  “What should I charge him with?” she asked.

  “You don’t need to formally charge him, just caution him,” I said. “We can keep him for twenty-four hours. We’ll deal with him later.”

  She left to deal with Gibson, and I was alone with the man for the first time since he’d walked into the station. I took a moment to study him again and then gestured at the chair Gibson had sat in not long before. He sat down, willing as a child. I sat, too, and angled the chair so that we were face to face. I didn’t say a word, only watched him. I studied the deep creases around his eyes which were small and narrow behind unflattering glasses. He didn’t appear not to notice my examination, as he kept his eyes on his yellowed, stubby fingernails.

  I let the loud clock tick away the silence. The man caught my eye and raised his brow exasperatedly, as though dismayed by poor service.

  Harding came back quickly. She walked straight in without looking at the man and handed me a post-it note. The hand-writing on it was scrawled and rushed, and nothing like her usual, careful penmanship.

  Duncan Kennedy, father of Ralph Kennedy. No arrest record. IT manager.

  I leaned back in my chair as a tidal wave of emotions broke in my chest. Disbelief. Frustration. Red-hot anger. I felt it all at once, but I remained as motionless as a stone. I knew Kennedy’s eyes were on me as I read the words. He knew the charade was over for him. When I looked up, his eyes were as cold as the North Sea.

  Harding pulled the third chair away from the table and into the corner, then she sat down. I eyed her, and she looked resolutely back at me. She wasn’t leaving me alone this time. I resented her concern, and that she thought I’d ever actually cross the line.

  “I wouldn’t have guessed you were related to Ralph Kennedy,” I said finally. “Especially not father and son.”

  He chuckled as though remembering a private joke. But I had lied. I’d stared hard enough at his son’s arrest photo to recognise his features in front of me, only twenty years older. His son would have looked like him one day if he’d lived. I looked at Duncan for too long, and my vision blurred, as though father and son were both before me.

  “It must be difficult,” I said. “To have a killer as a son.”

  Kennedy’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond.

  “But then,” I continued. “I guess it runs in the family.”

  My pen rolled across the table as the air-conditioning switched on and blew cold currents of air towards us.

  “What about your wife?” I asked. “Is she in on it, too?”

  Duncan fingered a piece of flesh behind his eye. He turned his head a little, and I saw scar tissue. Was it a product of surgery or of violence? I couldn’t picture the man in a bar fight with a broken pint glass in his hand. But then again, I couldn’t see his hands around Brown’s throat, either. I stiffened as I remembered, once again, that this man had possibly murdered my old friend.

  “We’ll find out soon enough,” I said and checked the time. “She’s being arrested in her office right now.”

  She wasn’t, but he didn’t know that.

  “My wife is innocent,” he replied with the first trace of fear I had seen in him.

  “The Caledonian, isn’t it?” I asked as I feigned nonchalance. “Where your son works? Sorry, I mean, did work.”

  If he was surprised I knew such information, he didn’t show it. I leaned forward close enough to see the blemishes on his face, the dark bags from sleepless nights, and the bloated cheeks from years of bad food.

  “Your son’s death was a tragedy,” I said. “It shouldn’t have been allowed to happen.”

  The man placed his palms on the table.

  “And I don’t just mean his dying before justice was handed to him,” I said. “Or handed to his victims. Do you know even their names?”

  He shook his head a little. No, I guessed he’d tried to forget their names and faces.

  “He shouldn’t have died while in our custody,” I continued. “That wasn’t right.”

  “You’re wasting time, DCI Thorne,” Kennedy looked up at the clock. “And you haven’t got much of it left.”

  “I can tell you want to help us, Mr. Kennedy,” I said. “Help us, and I’ll help you.”

  He continued to watch the clock.

  “Why did you come here, Mr. Kennedy?” I asked. “Why did you come, unless you didn’t want other innocent people to die?”

  He was silent, but his mouth parted slightly, and I knew what he wanted to say. That they weren’t innocent at all.

  “Shall I tell you what I know about you, Mr. Kennedy?” I asked. “I know you were a quiet, thoughtful boy with a normal childhood. A little isolated, maybe, but happy. You probably had pets and went to a good school. Your parents are still together. I know that all you wanted was a family and a good job so you could provide for them.”

  “You don’t know that,” he replied sullenly after a few moments.

  I had taken a large leap of guesswork based on Kennedy’s lack of arrest record, family, job, and appearance. I wanted to unnerve him and pretend I had lots of information on him. It seemed my hunch was correct.

  “How does a man like that end up in this room?” I asked. “End up behind bars?”

  Kennedy’s eyebrows furrowed, as though that idea was a surprise to him, and it was like he hadn’t thought so far ahead.

  I could use that.

  “I don’t think you should go to prison for the rest of your life,” I lied. “A terrible thing happened to your family. Juries can be sympathetic to that, but only if they’re given the correct information.”

  Kennedy waited, and he exhaled little puffs of air which made his mustache flutter.

  “Or they could be told that your silence allowed more police officers to die,” I told him. “That’s the difference between say, six years, or life without parole. People don’t often look favourably on cop killers.”

  “DCI Thorne,” Kennedy stated again and pointed at the clock with his forefinger. “You’re doing it again.”

  I pursed my lips and let out an exasperated sigh.

  “I don’t know whose time
I’m wasting here,” I said and folded my arms. “Because you’re not talking.”

  Kennedy sighed, and his head twitched in exasperation.

  “The third victim, Mr. Thorne,” he said impatiently, like a teacher repeating instructions. “The third victim is still out there.”

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “I’ve already told you,” he laughed humorlessly. “I’ve told you twice.”

  “I’m not playing this game with you,” I warned. “We’re dealing in lives, not puzzle clues.”

  “It’s not my fault that you haven’t read the messages properly,” he said as he shrugged.

  “If you’re in our custody, how do you plan on murdering a third person?” I asked. “Do you have an accomplice? Your wife?”

  “I told you,” he repeated. “My wife has nothing to do with this.”

  “So, how can you kill someone while you’re here?” I asked again.

  “There has been a plan in place for a while now, Inspector,” Kennedy responded. “It’s not going to stop just because I’m locked up.”

  I heard Harding clear her throat quietly. I pushed back my chair, and it scraped on the floor.

  Kennedy winced at the sound.

  “We’ll be back,” I warned him.

  We stepped out from the interview room and held a huddled meeting in the hall. Harding looked scared, and I couldn’t blame her. We had no idea who the next target was, and Kennedy seemed convinced that he’d already told us.

  “Sir, this is getting ahead of us, we should tell Clarke, and bring other people in and--” Harding babbled with anxiety.

  I touched the brunette’s shoulder.

  “Remember what I said before?” I asked her. “We can’t fall apart on each other. Take a breath.”

  She did so, then nodded, her focus clear again.

  “We have two men sitting in there,” I said. “We have an angry, vengeful and grieving man, and a citizen with no arrest record. Who do we play off?”

  “The doubling theory,” Harding remarked. “I’d say the former. You tried to appeal to his civic duty already. What did he mean earlier about no note found on Madden’s body?”

  “I think he used that word specifically,” I said. “And that the absence of a note doesn’t mean there is no message or clue. So, go to Madden and find out if anyone has visited him in the hospital. Go through his belongings, or any clothes he has, and ring me if you find anything. Even if you think it’s irrelevant, I want to know.”

  Harding nodded and turned towards the stairwell.

  “Drive there as quickly as you can!” I called out to her. “Don’t stop.”

  I looked at my phone and then cursed when I realised I had no signal. The old police stations hadn’t quite stepped into the modern world yet, and they weren’t always compatible with modern technology.

  Down the hall I saw a DC from my department read a man his rights. The man was then led away by another officer, while the DC held an armful of paperwork and scratched his chin with a pen.

  “DC Carroway!” I called.

  He looked up in surprise and then turned towards me. I waved him over and he trotted towards me.

  “Yes, sir?” he asked.

  “I need you to guard this door while I make a phone call,” I said. “Just make sure nobody goes in and that he doesn’t leave.”

  The DC frowned, but he didn’t argue.

  “And I mean nobody goes in,” I warned. “Not even your superiors.”

  He gulped and clutched his papers tighter.

  I went into the men’s toilets. The bathroom was, strangely, always a reliable place for reception. I rang Dr. Liu.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “Anna, it’s me,” I replied.

  “What can I do for you?” she asked.

  The bathroom door opened an inch. I kicked it shut. “It’s being cleaned!” I shouted. “Use another.”

  “Where are you?” Dr. Liu asked in amusement.

  “Tell me you found something else on the notes,” I pleaded. “We have a suspect, and I know he’s capable of toying with us. I’m sure he’s hidden something else. Something we’ve missed.”

  The doctor was quiet, and I wondered how I sounded to her. Unstable? Illogical? I wished I could explain it all but there was just no time, as Kennedy kept telling me.

  “Logan, I’ve told you everything,” she said finally.

  I sighed.

  “Well, there is something else,” Liu began to say, then her voice trailed off.

  “Something?” I asked and crossed my fingers.

  “Do you want me to spend the next five minutes explaining it to you?” she asked. “Or should I get on with it?”

  “Call me immediately,” I said and hung up the phone.

  I left the toilets, and a fidgeting PC waited outside.

  I shrugged at him.“Go ahead,” I said. “They’re done now.”

  I walked back towards the interview rooms. Would Dr. Liu be able to find another clue? Kennedy was the type of man who’d enjoy feeling superior to a person like me, someone he often felt weaker than. It was very possible that he’d hidden more evidence in his victims’ bodies, purely for the pleasure that I might miss it. I held my phone tightly in my hand, and as I was about to head into the dead zone, it rang.

  “There’s nothing here, sir!” Harding wailed immediately. “The nurse said Madden hasn’t had any visitors, and the surgeons didn’t find anything out of sorts.”

  “What about his things?” I asked. “His clothes.”

  “Nothing,” my partner confirmed.

  I wanted to bang the wall with my fist.

  “You checked it all?” I asked in frustration.

  “Wait, his wallet is in his locker,” she said. “Hang on.”

  I heard a bustle of movement, then her voice re-appeared. “His wallet is empty,” she said.

  “Empty?” I asked in disbelief. “Nobody’s wallet is empty. That has to mean something.”

  “There’s just a train ticket tucked in a side zipper,” she replied.

  “Recent journey?” I asked.

  “Last week,” she replied. “To Picadilly station.”

  “Okay,” I exhaled in frustration. “Bag it, and bring it back here. Quick as you can.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, and then the line went dead.

  My phone rang again immediately.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Logan, it’s me,” Dr. Liu replied. “You need to get down here immediately.”

  I took the stairs two at a time, slid my hands down the metal bannister, and felt the comforting solidness of it. The floor shuddered loudly under my feet. I bumped into a few people in the stairwell, but their faces were a blur to me as I raced to Forensics. It was almost a relief to be greeted by the stench of cleaning fluids and sanitizer because it meant we were close to finding the next clue.

  I yanked open every door in my path, and they banged loudly behind me. I had just reached the pathologist’s office when Dr. Liu appeared.

  “I heard you coming,” she stated but didn’t smile.

  Even Dr. Liu seemed to sense the urgency of the moment, and she’d put aside her usual playful banter. I nodded and gave her a questioning glance when she didn’t move from the door.

  “Come on,” she said and ushered me inside.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, disturbed by her unusually severe composure.

  “We conducted more tests on the messages, and found a chemical that would…” Dr. Liu began to say, then she shook her head. “You don’t need to know the details.”

  “What do I need to know?” I asked in frustration.

  “The culprit made a mistake, Logan,” she said in a frantic voice. “A fatal mistake. He didn’t write his notes on just a table.”

  She snapped on a pair of gloves and lifted a piece of paper.

  “He wrote them on top of a newspaper article,” she told me. “We managed to retrieve the markings.”
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  She held up a large sheet of see-through, thin plastic. I stared as I tried to make out the engravings. The words floated in my vision and then began to take shape and sense.

  It was faint, but I read the small headline. Rising star prosecutor Matthew London set for another conviction.

  Matthew London. The train ticket to Piccadilly that Harding found. Piccadilly station in London.

  “That wasn’t a mistake, Anna,” I said as the realisation dawned on me in horror. “That’s a clue. The prosecutor is the third victim.”

  Chapter 13

  I took the lift up to CID this time. DCI Richards tried to get in at the last minute, but I pressed the floor number quickly so he couldn’t get in. I didn’t want to deal with his questions or his inane requests of me. Richards glared at me as the metal doors slid shut in his face.

  I didn’t see the two suited men in ACC Clarke’s office as I bursted into the room. She stood up immediately, registered the manic expression on my face, and straightened her skirt.

  “Sorry, gentlemen,” she said to the men as she smoothed her hair. “I have to deal with this. Can you excuse us?”

  She smiled, but anyone who knew her could see that it was strained.

  “Of course,” they murmured under their breaths as they eyed me in surprise.

  I tapped my feet impatiently as they left the room, then I shut the door hard.

  “Brown’s solicitors,” she told me as she pointed at the men.

  They stood awkwardly in the hallway and clutched their briefcases tightly as if they weren’t sure if they should leave just yet. Their eyes were on us as they huddled together and whispered to each other.

  “Solicitors,” I scoffed as I gave them my best Joker smile.

  “I’m still not sure why they’re here,” she said calmly.

  “Elizabeth…” I started to say.

  “They’re watching, so don’t yell,” the redhead warned me. “I think there’s more to Brown than we thought.”

  “Lizzy,” I snapped as I tried to focus her attention. “I know who the third victim is.”

  She started to protest the use of her nickname, but when she heard my announcement, her whole body went still. She studied me closely, as if she wasn’t sure she quite believed me, but she must have seen something in my face that satisfied her.