Logan shrugged. Hes OK, I suppose. Fancies himself a bit. I was expecting him to be more of an arse, pull rank the whole time... you know: your average Chief Constable.
You remember that Birmingham Bomber case? Well Faulds was the one who
You two asleep down there?
Logan sighed and started for the stairs. Our masters voice.
Flat six was on the top floor, the door painted dark red with a little brass plaque above the letterbox: JAMES MCLAUGHLIN PHD engraved at the top, CERBERUS, MEDUSA &MRS POO underneath. Logan rang the doorbell.
It was answered two minutes later by a young, bearded man in his pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers. Mid twenties. Cup of tea in one hand, slice of toast in the other. Glasses perched on the end of his nose. He took one look at the three of them standing in the hallway, saw Alecs camera, and said, Ten minutes. I get to plug the book twice. It stays in shot the whole time. Agreed? He stuck the toast in his mouth then offered his hand to seal the deal. There was jam on it.
Logan didnt shake it. Were not from the television, Mr McLaughlin. He dug out his warrant card. DS McRae: Grampian Police, this is Chief Constable Faulds: West Midlands. Were here to ask you a few questions about the night your parents disappeared.
It was twenty years ago! McLaughlin rolled his eyes. Look, read the book, OK? Its all in there. I cant remember anything else.
Well try not take up too much of your time, sir. It is important.
Sigh. OK, OK. You can come in. But watch where youre walking. Im pretty sure Medusas been sick, but I havent found out where yet...
James McLaughlins living room was littered with books. A computer desk sat in the bay window, covered in bits of paper and more books. A typists chair sat in front of it, a large, grey, furry cat watching them from the seat, master of all it surveyed.
McLaughlin shooed it off. Come on Cerberus, thats daddys chair.
Logan couldnt see anywhere to sit himself, so he moved a pile of paperbacks from the settee to the floor. Sorry if we got you out of bed.
The man shrugged. Nah, youre all right: I was working. He swept a hand down the front of his pyjamas. Standard writers uniform.
Faulds picked his way round the room, peering at the framed photographs on the wall. I read your book, he said at last. Very good. I especially liked the bit about all the fancy policemen coming up from down south.
McLaughlin beamed. Glad you liked it. It was... He frowned. Detective Superintendent! Thought I recognized you. Jesus, youve not changed much.
Chief Constable now. For my sins. Faulds picked up a little wooden plaque, read the inscription and put it back down again. Im really glad you did something with your life, Jamie. Some people would have curled up in a little ball and never come out again.
Yes, well, I was always good at English and my therapist thought writing the whole thing down would be... well... therapeutic. And now look. He smiled, indicating the four framed covers on the wall all bestselling childrens books. Aberdeens answer to J.K. Rowling, only nowhere near as famous. Or rich. But youre not here to talk about Simon and the Goblins, are you?
Youve seen the news?
McLaughlin shuddered and pointed at a copy of the Daily Mail sitting on a pile of encyclopaedias CANNIBAL KILLER STILL ATLARGE. Difficult to miss it. Been having nightmares ever since I heard about those body parts down the docks. Last night I dreamt Wiseman came back to finish me off... Took half a bottle of Macallan to make that one go away. He wrapped his dressing gown around himself, tying the chord tight.
Logan pulled out his notebook, flipping through the pages till he got to the bit about McLaughlins parents. Weve been reviewing the old case files. Theyre a bit vague about what happened before you got to the house.
Faulds nodded. And you dont say much about it in your book either.
McLaughlin opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind. He stood. Anyone fancy a drink? Ive got gin and Ive got whisky. Drank all the wine last night...
Faulds nodded. And you dont say much about it in your book either.
McLaughlin opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind. He stood. Anyone fancy a drink? Ive got gin and Ive got whisky. Drank all the wine last night...
Sorry, sir, but were on duty. Tea would be nice, though.
Right, tea it is then. And he was off into the kitchen.
The Chief Constable stopped on his tour of the living room, selecting a book from a low shelf: Smoak With Blood The Hunt For The Flesher. It had a photo on the front of someone dressed in a butchers apron and Margaret Thatcher fright mask. Not surprising there wasnt a framed version up on the wall who wanted to look at the man who killed their parents every day?
By the time McLaughlin returned with the drinks Faulds was reading aloud:
For some reason, its one of my earliest memories walking through the dark and rain-swept streets with my best friend. Heading back to my house. Hand in hand with a killer. Everything before that is lost to me, as if the first five years of my life never happened. As if I only came into being at that moment. Sparked into existence minutes before the death of my parents...
McLaughlin blushed. Yes, well... I was reading a lot of Dickens at the time. Cant believe I wrote anything so pretentious.
What happened to Catherine Davidson? She was supposed to be walking you home.
The young man handed over Logans tea, then poured himself a large measure of eighteen-year-old Highland Park. Wish I knew. When I was writing the book I tried everything: word association, hypnosis, the works. I know it sounds like a load of old wank, but everything before that walk home is a blank. Its like my childhood never happened. He took a deep drink from his whisky, holding it in his mouth for a thoughtful pause, before swallowing.
What about your friend: Richard Davidson?
Ah, yes... Richard. We dont talk these days. Last I heard he was in Craiginches doing three years for possession, perjury, and aggravated assault. Like you said, Superintendent: some people never come out again. Wiseman took my parents and my past, he took Richards mum and his future. Another mouthful of whisky. I dont know which is worse.
And then he made you both dinner.
Yeah. Findus Crispy Pancakes with fried onions, mashed potatoes and peas. I wanted fish fingers. A shallow laugh. Good isnt it? My mum and dad are being dismembered in the kitchen and Im whinging about Captain Sodding Birdseye... Id never seen so much blood... The last of McLaughlins whisky disappeared. Whos for another one?
Rushhour was in full swing as Logan drove them back to the station roads packed with nose-to-tail traffic beneath the yellow streetlight. Muttered swearing came from the back seat; Alec checking the messages on his mobile phone. Bloody hell, why can no one get anything right?... Delete... Dont care... Delete... Holy shit! The cameraman scooted forward, sticking his head between the front seats. Youre not going to believe this
Faulds mobile phone started playing Phil Collins: In The Air Tonight.
Hello?
Ive just got a call from the BBC News Department
Hello? The Chief Constable stuck one finger in his ear, Yes... No, well be right there! Wisemans been on the phone.
Logan took his eyes off the road for a second, then had to slam on the breaks to avoid rear-ending a Porsche. Youre kidding!
Wants to set up an interview, like that Ipswich guy.
Faulds hung up. Any chance you can put your foot down? Weve got a briefing to get to. Wisemans
Been on the phone to the BBC. Yes, sir, Alec was just telling me about it.
Faulds frowned. No. Hes grabbed someone else.
10
Right, settle down. There was a sudden stillness in the briefing room. The place was packed with uniformed officers, support staff, and CID. Alec and his mate with the very big camera had set up so one of them could film the crowd while the other one focused on DI Insch, standing at the front of the room, telling everyone about the latest disappearance.
Valerie Leith. Click and a womans face filled the projection screen: mid thirties, slightly overweight, brown hair cut in an unflattering bob, pretty green eyes. Approximately half four this morning her husband hears a noise downstairs. He goes to investigate and is attacked. By the time he regains consciousness, his wife is missing and the kitchens covered in blood.
Click the cover of James McLaughlins book appeared, Smoak With Blood written in white on a lurid red cover featuring the photo of someone dressed as the Flesher. This is who Leith says attacked him. Insch went for a big dramatic pause. This makes William Leith the first person ever to survive a confrontation with Wiseman.
DC Rennie leant over and whispered in Logans ear: What the hell does smoak mean when its at home?
No idea. Shut up.
Only asking...
Click and a battered mans face filled the screen, half his head hidden behind a swathe of bandages. Thirty-four stitches, said Insch, three units of blood. Leiths now under protective custody at Aberdeen Royal Infirmary I have no intention of Wiseman coming back and finishing the job.
Click Ken Wiseman scowled out from the projection screen. Time and HM Prison Peterhead hadnt been kind: what little hair he had left was close cropped and greying, his goatee more salt than pepper. Big ears, big hands, big all over; overweight, but still powerful with it. A long scar ran from the top left of his forehead, through his right eyebrow and down to the middle of his cheek, pulling the eyelid out of shape. Not a pretty face.
Hes been on the run since Tuesday morning, but this afternoon he called the BBC. Insch gave the nod and a uniformed PC set the tape running.
A womans voice, friendly: Hello, BBC Scotland, can I help you?;
Some crackling. A pause. Then a mans voice, deep, with just enough Aberdonian in it to be noticeable: I want to speak to someone about the Flesher.
Just a moment and Ill see if anyones free... the line went silent for a moment, then hold music, then another womans voice:
News desk can I help you?
Do you know who I am?
Another pause, probably filled with rolling eyes and theatrical sighs. Are you calling about anything in
Ken Wiseman. Theyre looking for me. Theyre lying about me.