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

  I looked out into the dark evening and shuddered to think what we’d find at the end of the alleyway.

  Chapter 5

  I slammed the car door behind me and for once I didn’t care about any potential harm to the mechanics. I lifted my face up to the sky and felt rain drip down my cheeks. We ran to the side of the station nearest the alleyway, which was slightly sheltered under the leaking drain pipes.

  “I forgot my badge,” Harding said as she shivered in the cold air. “And my coat.”

  “I’ll wait, but be quick.” I warned as I handed her the keys.

  I wanted to see the scene before the rain washed everything away and the rest of the station came outside to investigate, but I couldn’t risk my partner coming down with a cold in the middle of this mess. She nodded as she grabbed the keys, and I watched her dash across the car park once again.

  The lights blinked as she reached the car, and a moment later, she pulled the door open. She leaned into the back seat, and I winced thinking of her clothes dripping onto my leather seats. I tapped my foot impatiently, and as rain ran down my back, I pressed myself against the bricks in an attempt to duck from the weather. Why was it taking her so long? Then I remembered I hadn’t moved the Ardbeg flask from back seat to boot. I had planned to, way back at the building site, but I had completely forgotten. Just as well, since we might need it after this drenching.

  Harding jogged back to me with her coat tucked tightly around her. Water dripped into her eyes from her hair, and she brushed it away before handing me the keys.

  “Don’t you think you should be more careful to hide your contraband, sir?” she joked. “Someone could think you have a drinking problem.”

  I bristled, even though I could tell Harding wasn’t serious.

  “Jesus,” I said. “You know I’d never drink on duty, especially during this case.”

  The brunette looked down, chastened.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I do know that.”

  “It’s okay,” I reassured her, “it just wasn’t a very good joke. Not right now.”

  She zipped up her thick, puffed coat, which seemed more suitable for mountain-climbing than police work in Edinburgh city centre. Typical Brit.

  “Ready,” she declared.

  I nodded, and we started off again. The alleyway in question was between our station and the cafe that I often ate in when I worked late. I knew it was a shared dumping ground for all local hospitality businesses which meant the alleyway would be a disgusting mess.

  But as I stood at the entrance to the narrow lane, I still wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming stink. The air was putrid with hundreds of congealed meals and the stale smell of bins which hadn’t been emptied for a long time. The road was narrow as a cave, almost as dark, and I looked up at the flickering street lamps with a groan of despair. It would be almost impossible to execute any helpful police work in that place.

  “This setup is all wrong,” I complained to Harding as I tried not to breathe in.

  “At least it’s dry down at the end, sir,” she said.

  “Is it?” I asked.

  I looked up and saw a half-roof had been built over the far end of the alleyway. I breathed a sigh of relief, although I knew the problems were far from solved.

  In the faint yellow light, I examined the industrial-sized bins lined up against the brick walls. What was a copper doing down here, anyway? Had he’d been lured here somehow? Or was he placed here, as Brown had been placed at the grave? I couldn’t be completely sure that the same killer had struck again, not at such an early stage. But I felt sure of it in my guts, a coldness in my skin like I’d been injected. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence.

  “I hate rats,” Harding moaned as something rustled nearby.

  “Not much of a fan myself,” I admitted.

  Two constables were on the scene and stood between us and the man I assumed to be Ross, who seemed to have edged as far as possible away from a large pile of bin bags. All three cops looked sick and pale, and I wondered bleakly what state the body was in to provoke that reaction in professional policemen.

  We flashed our badges, and the constables moved aside, but I beckoned them closer.

  “Do you have your radios?” I asked them.

  They nodded, and I wondered if they felt too sick to speak.

  “Good,” I said. “We’ll need the medical examiner here, and SOCOs, too, to start the Harvest.”

  I looked at the wet cobbles, and the ominous pile of rubbish where the body was.

  “Tell them it’s becoming more contaminated by the second,” I added. “This whole area needs to be cordoned off. We could have a crowd of people traipsing through here at any moment.”

  The taller man tilted his head towards his radio and called in the instructions. Voices on the other end began to respond, and I knew our chance for a first look was quickly fading. And then, in a wicked twist of fate, the street lamp above faded, and the darkness embraced us. Only two lights remained on, back towards the carpark and above Ross’ head. His figure was silhouetted like an alien, and his long shadow stretched across the dark walls.

  “It looks like a bloody movie set,” Harding commented as she shivered.

  I was about to agree when I heard footsteps skid on the damp stones behind us. I turned around and groaned as I saw three civilians congregate at the mouth of the alleyway, and we had no cordon.

  “Keep them back!” I barked.

  The two sergeants leapt into action and moved quickly towards the civilians, their arms outstretched to act as a barricade. I heard one of the men order everyone back, but it was a losing battle when everyone carried a mobile with a camera. I motioned for Harding to turn away so nobody would be able to see our faces at least, and I prayed none of them would take a picture of the body and post it before we’d had a chance to notify the family.

  “Are you okay, Ross?” Harding called out to the lone figure that still hugged the wall.

  I saw Ross nod his head in the affirmative. He didn’t seem to want to talk, and his gaze was fixed firmly on us rather than the dead body beside him.

  “Is he new?” I asked my partner under my breath.

  “New enough that he shouldn’t have to deal with this,” she replied in sorrow.

  “None of us should have to see this,” I murmured. I remembered my first body and felt sorrier for Ross that his first was also a cop.

  We walked further into the alleyway. I kicked aside a wet cardboard box which had collapsed into mulch. The smell of bins was stronger towards the end, and I felt desperate for a gust of fresh air to wipe away the stink.

  “No CCTV?” I asked as I glanced at the walls, though I could already guess the answer.

  “Doesn’t look like it, sir,” Harding replied. “But we could track the station cameras, and the businesses nearby. We might get a look at him.”

  I nodded grimly and turned my attention to the scene around us. The drains were full of cigarette butts and spliff ends, and burst bin bags spilled their contents across the road. Rat-sized shadows moved between the piles, and glowing eyes watched us from beneath a pile of broken boards.

  “Good place to leave a body if you want to get rid of the evidence,” Harding noted.

  I nodded and then turned to study Ross. He was definitely young, and his features appeared boyish under the dim light. He looked uncertain, but he pulled himself upright when he caught my eye. He licked his lips, and tried to smile at Harding, but it looked more sickly than happy.

  “You did good,” I assured him.

  He nodded and wiped a hand over his mouth. He pointed towards a nearby pile of rubbish bags, and I saw then what must have caught his attention.

  A pair of shoes stuck out from beneath the pile, as well as a bit of hairy skin between socks and trousers. I turned to Harding to ask for a SOCO update, when I saw that she was staring in horror at those pointed brown leather boots.

  “What is it?” I asked, shocked to see that the colour had
been wiped from her cheeks.

  “I recognise those shoes,” she choked.

  “Whose shoes do you think they are?” I asked.

  “Stuart's,” Harding replied. “DI McLuckie.”

  “McLuckie?” I asked as my heart sank again.

  I had known him, although not very well. He’d worked in CID before being relegated to Complaints because he’d messed up on a case. I’d never heard the details, and McLuckie had never talked about it.

  “I really hope that I’m wrong,” she replied.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Even more members of the public had appeared, and the sergeants were struggling to keep everyone back. Shit. A crowd of careless people running through my crime scene was the last thing we needed. I radioed for backup myself because Harding seemed to have lost her power of speech. I waited for confirmation from dispatch and then turned to study my partner.

  “Do you want to leave?” I asked. “You could start accessing the car park CCTV footage?”

  She shook her head, and as she did, her dark wet hair stuck to her cheeks.

  “How can you be so sure it’s him?” I asked again.

  “His shoes, for a start…” she replied as she pointed at the leather.

  “They seem fairly standard issue to me,” I noted.

  “It’s not just that, although he does wear those boots all the time,” the brunette explained. “But everyone knew he liked to smoke down here. He said it was quieter than the smoking area.”

  She then looked around at the grimey walls, the leaking bin bags, and shrugged as though she couldn’t understand McLuckie’s motivation.

  Then a sickening thought occurred to me.

  “Did you say that everyone knew he smoked here?” I asked.

  “Are you suggesting that...” Harding’s voice trailed away as she considered the possibilities. “Do you think McLuckie was targeted? That this wasn’t just a random cop killing?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied. “But we need to keep an open mind to any possibilities.”

  I heard Ross cough, looked up at him, and I felt a little guilty because I’d forgotten he was there. He held onto the wall with one hand, and I saw that his palm was flecked with dirt.

  “Are you okay there?” I asked him and then nodded to my partner.

  “Ross?” She asked, gentler than I had.

  He looked at both of us, and I saw his unfocused eyes, and then his head tilted back, the telltale signs of vomit, but I didn’t have time to push him away.

  Ross vomited. He’d had the good sense to turn away from the body at least, and had thrown up next to a large recycling bin.

  “Oh, Christ,” I groaned. “More contamination.”

  Harding looked at me, then bit her lip, and I eyeballed her with meaning. She jumped nimbly over the pool of vomit, and skidded to Ross’ side.

  “Sorry!” Ross moaned as he hung his head, and his wet hair dripped on his shoes. “That is embarrassing.”

  “It’s okay,” DS Harding said as she rubbed his back in comfort.

  “It happens to the best of us, lad,” I said, beyond glad that he hadn’t destroyed too much of the crime scene.

  “DS Harding, why don’t you take--” I began to ask, before I realised I didn’t know Ross’ rank.

  “What’s your name?” I asked him.

  Ross spat into the bin, and I noticed Harding shudder in disgust.

  “Bolton.” He whimpered. “PC Bolton.”

  “Harding, why don’t you escort PC Bolton back, and have someone take him up to CID?” I asked. “We need his statement, and you can have a sit down and a glass of water. Clean up a bit.”

  I pursed my lips at his pallid skin. I didn’t think Bolton would recover any time soon.

  “Absolutely, sir,” she replied.

  My partner tugged Bolton’s arm gently, then led Bolton towards the hastily fastened cordon, and to the extra officers who had responded to my radio. I noticed a DI from our department among them. I watched Harding lean towards him and speak into his ear. The DI nodded and led Bolton away.

  Harding walked back. “Well, that was unexpected,” she said and wrinkled her nose.

  The smell was worse then, and I cursed myself for not having Ross taken away sooner. I turned my face away from the body, and the sickness, and gulped down a mouthful of cleaner air.

  “Or it was entirely expected.” I said. “Didn’t you lose your lunch over your first body?”

  “No, sir.” Harding said and shook her head. “Well, I did. But nobody knows because I waited till I was alone.”

  “Good thinking,” I agreed.

  I saw my partner’s eyeline scan the large pile of bin bags, and then she frowned.

  “How do we even know for sure that this is related to--” Harding began to ask. Then our attention was diverted as a figure broke through the ranks and jogged towards us.

  I squinted in the darkness and saw that the person carried a large bag, and it banged against their hip with each step.

  “Hold on!” The voice called out, and I stood up straighter.

  The person splashed through a large puddle and water sprayed up his legs.

  I raised an eyebrow at Harding, and I saw her shrug.

  The new arrival stopped in the pool of light, and I saw it was a man with a gaunt and unhappy face and a hairline so receded he might as well have been bald.

  The man leaned over, clutched his side, and panted breathlessly.

  Harding and I shared a look over his head.

  “Sorry,” the man mumbled. His accent was a curious mix of British and Scottish, as though raised bang in the middle of the two countries. “I’m not very fit these days.”

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  “Police doctor.” He said, flashed a laminated badge at me, and I read the name Dr. Randall Jenkins.

  “Right.” I frowned. “I asked for the Medical Examiner.”

  “Did you?” He asked and sounded surprised. “Well, I overheard the call and offered to help, which means I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

  I groaned internally. I already missed the ME and his unflappable, reassuring professionalism.

  “So!” Jenkins exclaimed and clapped his hands together. “Have you seen the body yet?”

  “Not yet.” Harding explained. “We were waiting for some extra light.”

  Dr. Jenkins looked up, as though he hadn’t realised we were stuck in near darkness.

  “There were people behind me lugging some great big monstrosities,” he noted. “That’s probably them.”

  On cue, the crowd was cleared back and several officers walked into the alley with the spotlights. We waited silently as the lamps were erected, and Dr. Jenkins hummed peacefully to himself the whole time. The portable lights cast a gaudy white glow over the scene. Two men I recognised from SOCO joined us, too, dressed in their dazzlingly white jumpsuits. They nodded at me before they put their masks on, and then I heard my partner inhale deeply, because she knew the time had come to ID the body.

  I stood back as SOCO gently removed the bin bags. I noted how many there were and felt lucky that the body had been found so quickly. Did the killer not want it found? That didn’t make sense to me. A killer with an ideological motive did not usually spread his message quietly.

  The two men worked slowly enough that the body parts were revealed bit by bit, and I saw his golden belt buckle and a long skinny arm, before finally, his face.

  It was McLuckie. Harding moaned behind me. DI McLuckie had changed since I’d last seen him, shaved his beard off and looked younger, but I was still able to recognise him. I noted the wedding band on his finger with sadness. Why had he been targeted? He hadn’t worked in Serious Crimes for years.

  Dr. Jenkins knelt next to the head and checked the pulse. He then made a note in his little book, before he examined the head and then peered up and down the rest of McLuckie’s body.

  “Cause of death?” Harding asked, and I realised she struggled to keep he
r voice under control.

  “Hmm. I can’t tell without further examination.” Dr. Jenkins looked closer at the chest. “It’s very clean. My guess is a cardiac stab wound with a very thin needle, just there.”

  I followed the doc’s finger to McLuckie’s shirt button. I thought I could see a small puncture hole.

  “Ahh,” the doctor said as he made another note. “Here’s something you might be interested in, Inspector. There are fresh cuts on his right knuckle.”

  “Defensive wounds?” I asked as I looked closer.

  “Maybe,” Jenkins mused. “Impossible to tell right now. Maybe he fell.”

  “Maybe…” I replied, but I wasn’t quite convinced yet.

  “He’s still warm,” Jenkins warned. “I’d say the time of death was less than an hour ago.”

  “Maybe we’ll get lucky and the killer threw away the weapon,” I mused as I turned to my partner. “Can you set up a search?”

  She nodded shakily.

  “Tell them that it’s likely to be a small but very sharp blade,” Jenkins stated in his strange, mystical accent. “Similar to a needle, or a syringe perhaps.”

  I looked around us and guessed we’d find more than one syringe in that alleyway. Harding’s face suggested she thought the same.

  I radioed that the victim had been positively ID’d as DI McLuckie. Victim. McLuckie had only been dead less than an hour, and he was already a victim rather than a person. It was our job to remember him, I remembered. My job to find his killer.

  Dr. Jenkins sighed, pulled off his gloves, and stood up. His pants were soaked through, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “It’s a sad day, gentlemen,” the bald man acknowledged before he bowed his head towards Harding. “And lady.”

  I didn’t need to glance at my partner to know she was rolling her eyes.

  “I’ll sign off the paperwork so the body is in your care now,” Jenkins said to the forensic examiners.

  “Thanks,” one of the white-suited men replied.