What kind of person smoked weed in a pipe, like an auld mannie?
There was a lot of it too enough to get a coach-load of students off their faces for a week. Enough to count as possession with intent to supply.
Logan sat back on his haunches. Why would someone run away and leave that much pot behind? Maybe Agnes got into difficulties with her supplier, or another dealer, and needed to get out of town in a hurry?
Logan sat back on his haunches. Why would someone run away and leave that much pot behind? Maybe Agnes got into difficulties with her supplier, or another dealer, and needed to get out of town in a hurry?
Assuming she actually managed to leave Aberdeen before they caught up with her. .
Well, while he was here, might as well be thorough.
He unzipped the sleeping bag and turned it inside out: nothing. The mattress was old and saggy, soft enough that he could lift the corners up and over and poke at the floorboards underneath. More nothing. He let the corner fall back and a puff of fusty dust billowed out into the air.
Logan turned and struggled to haul the mattress up from the short end of the cupboard. Bloody thing was like manoeuvring a dead body. .
There: a plastic folder lay on the floorboards. He grabbed it and the mattress thumped back into place. More dust.
Inside the folder was a stack of press clippings about Witchfire being filmed in Aberdeen the actors burbling about what a great script it was; the author hedging his bets as to whether it would be any good or not; some toad from the local council banging on about job creation and tourism opportunities; a photo op with the actors doling out soup to homeless people; another with a troupe of little kids in school uniform on the movie set, all grinning and holding swords. But the biggest thing was a copy of the script, marked up with green and yellow highlighter pen:
Witchfire
A Golden Slater Production
Based on the book by William Hunter
Script V: 4.0.2
The name NICHOLE FYFE was written in red ink on the top-right corner. . Nichole Fyfe. . Nichole Fyfe. . Wasnt she the blonde woman? The one in that awful Disney romcom about undertakers last year? The one on the telly that morning with the red hair?
Logan pulled an evidence bag out of his pocket and stuck the weed and pills into it, sealed the sticky flap, and wrote down the details on the form printed onto the plastic.
. .I mean it isnt right, is it? Boy like that sniffing around our. . Mrs Garfields mouth clicked shut as Logan walked into the room.
The kitchen was warm, the units painted a terracotta colour, French doors lying wide open, as if they were in the middle of the Mediterranean and not a housing estate in Northfield, overlooking the backside of Middlefield Primary School.
Chalmers nodded towards a mug on the counter. Her mouth turned down at the edges. Milk and two.
Probably came with free spit.
Logan dumped the evidence bag next to it. I found this in your daughters room under the stairs.
Chalmers whistled. Thats a lot of marijuana.
Agness mum squared her shoulders, voice getting louder with every word: You planted that, didnt you? You planted it to deflect attention from the fact your lot are doing nothing to find my bloody daughter! You sick-
A mans voice blared out across the kitchen. For Gods sake, Doreen! Agness dad shuffled in: black goatee, long greying hair swept back from his high forehead with a black Alice band, wearing a T-shirt and torn jeans. Like a middle-aged skateboard dude. He even had a tattoo snaking down his left arm. Its hers, OK? They didnt plant anything.
Doreen Garfields mouth hung open. You knew about this?
Why do you think I kept buying all that incense? It covered the smell. The weed kept her. . level. Meant she didnt need the pills as much.
Doreen grabbed Logans mug and sent it hurling across the kitchen, tea spraying out behind it like a banner. HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME? It hit the wall by Agness dads head and exploded.
You wouldnt listen! Youre so busy controlling everything, you never stop to talk to her. He slapped a hand against his chest. I did, OK? While you were busy making rules and trying to control everything and everyone, I sat down and listened to what she had to say.
How could you?
He brought his chin up. Stared Logan in the eye. She was doing so much better: had a boyfriend, got good marks in her exams; she was going to Aberdeen University in September to do accountancy. .
Doreen dug her fingers into her hair. Its all that. . Chung boys fault. If hed left her alone, wed-
Oh, come off it, she dotes on him. You have no idea how depressed she was when you said she couldnt see him any more, have you? No sodding clue at all.
He was a bad influence on-
Youre the bad bloody influence! She didnt slit her wrists for fun, did she?
Silence.
She tried to kill herself? Logan closed his eyes. Gritted his teeth. Counted to five. Did you not think it would be important to actually tell us that when you reported her missing?
It was. . We didnt want it spread all over the papers. What would she think if she saw it? That we betrayed her? He looked away. Shes been doing so much better.
When did it happen?
Just after Christmas. I found her in the back garden with a bottle of tequila and a packet of razor blades. . A little shudder twitched at his shoulders.
Doreen took another mug from the dishwasher and put it on the working surface. The porcelain rattled against the terracotta tiles, shaking in time with her hand. But her voice was perfectly level as she plucked a teabag from the box. Thats why we read her diary every week. We have to be sure shes not. . having those kinds of thoughts. We have to be ready to help.
The kettle growled and rumbled back to the boil.
Logan pulled out his notebook. Does Agnes have a car?
Her mother shook her head. We dont allow her to drive. Not on her medication it wouldnt be safe.
Agness dad bent and picked up the bits of broken mug from the floor. What if shes hurt herself?
Logan slipped the evidence bag into his pocket. The fact that Anthony Chung is missing too means theyve probably run away together. Lets not get all worked up over nothing. He turned towards the door. Then stopped. Now before we go, is there anything else youre not telling us?
11
Chalmers pulled away from the kerb as Logan fastened his seatbelt. Her mouth was one thin line, tiny wrinkles standing out at the side of her eye. Face fixed dead front.
Logan turned his phone on. I take it theres a reason youre sulking?
Im not sulking, sir.
Come on then, out with it.
Her jaw twitched a couple of times, as if she was biting down on something bitter. With all due respect: you sent me off to make tea while you were searching the cupboard under the stairs. The little woman makes the tea while the big strong man does the actual police work. She wrenched the steering wheel left, taking them out the end of the road. Let me guess: you didnt think my pretty little head was up to it. Making the bloody teas all were good for.
I see. He scrolled through his list of contacts until the number for Control appeared. Feel better now?
Its sexist.
Seriously? A smile broke across his face, then bloomed into a grin. Ive lost count of the number of times Ive had to go make tea with the grieving relatives while Steels off rummaging through their stuff. Thats what happens when youre a DS: youre the distraction. He hit the button, listening to it click, then ring on the other end. And when you make DI, you can get your own back on whatever poor sod gets lumbered with you. .
A womans voice boomed in his ear. Control room.
Yeah, its DI McRae, have you picked up-
Hold on. . A pause. Some rustling. Then a muffled conversation. Yeah, its him again. Wants to know if weve got the big ugly bloke that works for Wee Hamish yet.
Hasnt he got nothing better to do?
Youd think, wouldnt you?
I can hear you, you know!
And she was back, full volume. Just checking now, sir.
Click. Then a creaky version of some waltz. He was on hold.
Chalmers took them out onto the main road, heading back past yet another building site. The whole place was a breeding ground for sandstone-clad little boxy homes with tiny gardens and garages too small to get an actual car in.
Logan reached into his jacket and pulled out the red leather notebook from the cupboard. Stuck it on the dashboard. Found that, hidden in one of the hollowed-out books.
She gave a small, one-shouldered shrug. What is it?
Some sort of witchcrafty journal thing. Got magic circles and things. . Hello?
The voice of Control was back. Yes.
Yes what?
Yes he was picked up an hour ago by Alpha Three Nine. Was in the Burning Buck, absolutely plastered. Theyre checking him every fifteen minutes to make sure he doesnt choke on his own vomit.
Chance would be a fine thing.
Give it a bit, then stick him in interview room three. Well be back in. . Five minutes to traverse Kintore, half an hour to mollify Anthony Chungs parents, call it another twenty minutes from there back into town. . Make it an hour.
Pause. Yeah, you better take that up with the desk sergeant. And she was gone.
Chalmers picked the book off the dashboard, weighing it in her hand as she drove. Agnes knows her mum and dad are checking up on her, so maybe she keeps a fake diary in the bedroom where they can find it, and a real one in the cupboard under the stairs.
Read it. And call the Procurator Fiscal: I want a GSM trace authorized on Agnes and Anthonys mobile phones. Then get on to every hospital in Scotland tell them to look out for attempted suicides.
Can you imagine someone watching you all the time like that, never giving you any privacy? Id have run away years ago.
The last-known address for Anthony Chung before he ran away to rescue his girlfriend from her demented overbearing mother occupied a corner plot in a swanky development on the southern edge of Kintore. Big houses with big gardens and big cars parked outside. The Chung residence even had a set of wrought-iron gates, mounted on sandstone pillars, but there was nothing behind them the driveway was empty.
Chalmers pulled up at the kerb. Left the motor running. Not looking good, is it?
Logan climbed out into the sunshine.