Blind Eye (19 page)

The DCI nodded. 'Lookout request on Creepy?'

'Already in hand: nothing so far.'

'Warrants?'

'I called the PF: she's sorting them out with Sheriff McNab. Arrest for Colin McLeod, search for his house, his car, and what's left of the Turf 'n Track.'

Finnie's smile slipped a little. 'What about his brother and his mum's houses?'

'PF says McNab won't give us warrants for them without probable cause. Lucky to get what we did without corroboration.'

The DCI seemed to think about it for a minute. 'In that case, I'll give you a B plus. Now I think it's time to go see a man about a claw hammer, don't you?'

The pool car drifted to a halt at the kerb, headlights making the rain look like glowing nails, pounding themselves into the road. DS Pirie turned off the engine, and they sat there in the sudden darkness, listening to the downpour.

A faint glow oozed out between the curtains of number fourteen. Colin McLeod's house.

Three cars down, a new-ish Vauxhall flashed its lights at them.

'Right,' Finnie checked his watch and picked up the radio, clicking it to transmit. 'Pay attention, the lot of you. All teams are to go in on my mark: simultaneous, both properties. This is the best chance we've ever had to get Colin McLeod off the streets, let's pretend we're all professionals and
try
not to screw it up, shall we? You've got three minutes to get into position.' Then he sat back and waited.

'Er...' Logan leaned through from the back seat. 'Don't you think we should have a firearms team?'

'I've got enough idiots to supervise without--'

'But McPherson found that huge stash of guns yesterday: we could be walking right into the middle of a drug war.'

DS Pirie joined in: 'He's right, Chief. Creepy Colin could be armed with God knows what.'

'Colin McLeod is a hands-on thug - claw hammers, screwdrivers, pliers, maybe a blowtorch. But if you're
scared
, you can both stay in the car. I'll get someone to bring you out a nice glass of warm milk and some cookies when we're done. Would you
like
that?'

'No, sir.'

They clambered out into the rain, Pirie making a quick detour to pick up the bright-red mini battering ram from the car boot. They hurried up the path to the front door, then Finnie gave the word.

'Time for the big red door key.'

Pirie yelled, 'POLICE!' and swung the battering ram. BOOM. Nothing happened, so he did it again. And again. And again. 'Bloody UPVC double-locking bastards...' Again. Three more times, and finally the heavy-duty plastic started to crack, but by then the sergeant was puffing and panting, sweat mingling with the rain. 'Come on you son-of-a-bitch!'

BANG, and the door fell apart, leaving the locking mechanism intact. The harsh shriek of an alarm bit through the air, blue lights flashing on the box bolted high above the door.

They shouldered their way in, Finnie first, Logan second, Pirie hobbling along at the back, out of breath.

Team Two charged through from the kitchen. 'No one there.'

Finnie stood in the middle of the hall, shouting through the alarm's din, 'Colin McLeod, I have a warrant to search these premises: come out with your hands up!'

Logan checked the lounge. Expensive-looking leather couches, massive plasma TV bolted to the wall, framed Jack Vettriano prints on the walls, hand-carved oak coffee table...

Pirie stuck his head around the door. 'Wow. And they say crime doesn't pay.' He crossed to a fancy wall unit and opened the doors to reveal a vast array of spirits, glasses, and wine. 'Think we should take a couple bottles of malt into protective custody?'

Finnie was still bellowing away in the hall, 'SOMEBODY SHUT OFF THAT BLOODY ALARM!'

Pirie closed the door, shutting out most of the noise. 'Think McLeod's still here?'

'Not unless he sets the motion sensors before he goes to bed, no.'

'The guvnor's not going to be happy.'

'Shock horror - hold the front page.' Logan pulled on a pair of latex gloves and poked his way through Creepy's belongings. 'We should get the IB down here, have them take the dishwasher apart. If I had a blood-soaked hammer to clean up, that'd be a good start.'

'He's not as bad as you think.' Pirie settled down on the arm of a huge sofa and watched Logan search. 'Finnie's a pretty decent guy when you get to know him.'

'Yeah? That why everyone in the station hates him?' The lower part of the drinks cabinet was stuffed with shoeboxes. Logan dragged one out and opened it: hundreds of old photographs.

'You know I said he didn't like you? Well...' Shrug. 'I was yanking your chain. He thinks you've got a lot of potential.'

Logan riffled through the snapshots. A small, ugly child with a tall, ugly man. He had sideburns and a chunky-knit jumper on over a pair of blue shorts, the kid was in swimming trunks. Standing outside the open-air swimming pool at Stonehaven. 'T
ONY
A
ND
C
OLIN
~ S
UMMER
H
OLS
1975' was written on the back in perfect biro copperplate.

'Well, he's got a funny way of showing it...' The box was full of McLeod family snaps. Birthdays, Christmases, holidays, school sporting events, the colours slowly fading to an orangey-grey.

'Come on, why do you think he keeps dragging you along to things? Thinks if he keeps you under his wing you'll turn out OK. You'd have a really good track record, if you didn't keep screwing it up.'

'Thanks a heap.' The next shoebox was full of wedding photographs: Simon McLeod getting married to an attractive redhead who disappeared three years later, never to be seen again. The reception pictures were a who's who of Aberdeen's criminal underbelly, everyone wearing their best suits - the ones they saved for weddings, funerals, and court appearances.

Logan stuffed the photos back in their box and wandered over to the answering machine. 'Think I can do without Finnie as a mentor, if it's all the same to you.'

'You've just got to tune him out when he goes off on one. That's what I do if--'

DCI Finnie barged through the door and glowered at the open drinks cabinet. The alarm blared in from the hallway behind him and he had to shout to be heard: 'He's not home. So if you girls have
finished
your little cocktail party, do you think you could possibly do your jobs and help me find that bloody hammer?' He paused, watching Logan examine the answering machine. 'If it's not too much
trouble
, Sergeant.'

According to the display, Colin had three stored messages. Logan pressed play, then had to crank the volume up to full to make anything out over the burglar alarm.

'M
ESSAGE
O
NE
: Kssssssssh... Col, it's Dunk, yeah? I need you to give us a call, OK? Do it 'fore six though, me and Shaz is going out.'

Beeeeeeep.

Finnie slammed the door, cutting off the screaming alarm. 'Oh I'm
sorry
, Sergeant, I didn't realize you were hard of
hearing
: find - that - hammer!'

'M
ESSAGE
T
WO
: Fucker!'
A man's, voice the words slurred and blurry around the edges.
'I'm gonnae kill you ... you hear me? Creepy? You hear me? Nobody fucks with Harry Jordan! Not you, not ... not anyone!'

Beeeeeeep.

'
M
ESSAGE THREE
:
Colin, it's Mum. Are you still coming over for your tea tonight? The doctors say Simon's getting home tomorrow; going to have a party to cheer him up. We'll talk about it when you get here, OK? Bye.'

Beeeeeeep.

'E
ND OF MESSAGES
.'

'There you go,' said Logan as the machine fell silent, 'we've got a threatening call from Harry Jordan before the attack, and thanks to Colin's mum, we now know where he is.'

Finnie scowled at him, held up a single finger, said, 'That's one,' then turned and marched out of the room.

19

By the time they'd made it across town to Mrs McLeod's rose-encrusted bungalow in Garthdee it was just after midnight and the rain looked as if it was settling in for the duration. The pool car's radio chattered away to itself, playing the symphony of Aberdeen after the pubs shut: drunk and disorderly, assault, theft, vandalism, more assaults. And then the voice of Team Two came through with a report on what was left of the Turf 'n Track.

Finnie picked up the handset and said, 'Nothing, you're sure?'

'Aye, place is deid. No sign of oanybiddie, just a burnt oot shell, like.'

The DCI switched the thing off, then climbed out of the car and into the downpour.

'Actually,' said Pirie, following him, 'we don't have a warrant to search the mother's house, so--'

'I'm not searching the mother's house; I'm here to inform her that her son's home has been broken into. And if I just so
happen
to spot the little sod while I'm here, I'll arrest him.' He stopped at the gate, looking up and down the street for something. 'Pirie, you stay out front. McRae, you're round the back in case Creepy Colin does a runner.' And then Finnie marched right up to the front door and started banging on it with his fist.

Logan had to scrabble up the path, across the front of the house, and round the side... He stopped at a six-foot fence with a wrought iron gate set into it, secured with a dirty big chain and padlock - as if anyone would be daft enough to steal from the McLeods' saintly mother.

Logan stuck one foot in the trellis nailed to the wall, and used it to scrabble over the fence, coming down in the pitch black of the back garden.

He stood in silence for a minute letting his eyes adjust to the dark as the rain soaked through his jacket and trickled its way down his back and into his underwear. There was a shed off to one side; a clump of fruit trees, already groaning under the weight of plums; a climbing frame and a plastic chute for the grandchildren; and a couple of sinister gnomes, lurking in the gloom. Rumour had it that good old Tony McLeod used to buy his wife a new gnome every time he personally introduced someone to the Grim Reaper. Logan could see at least ten from where he was standing.

He could hear Finnie's voice booming out from the front of the house, calling for someone to come open the door. Like that wasn't going to make Colin do a runner if he was inside.

'Come on Mrs McLeod, let's not mess around, shall we?'

Logan snuck along the wall, ducking down as he passed beneath the black hole of the kitchen window.

Rain bounced off the patio's paving slabs, soaking into Logan's shoes as he crept into position between the kitchen and the conservatory. Creep, creep, creep, SQUEEEEK!

He froze, one foot on top of a small rubbery lump.

Something shifted in the shadows.

Oh fff... Logan raised his foot slowly and the thing he was standing on went,
WheeeeEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEK!

The something in the shadows started growling. It wasn't the kind of noise a little terrier in a tartan raincoat made, it was a full-on Great-Big-Sodding-Monster growl. Winchester - the huge Alsatian from the Turf 'n Track.

'Nice doggy?' No it wasn't, he'd seen the mangy, vicious thing before. It was like a rabid mincing machine on legs.

And then the kitchen door burst open, slammed into the house wall, and a figure exploded into the back garden. Two security lights cracked into life, giving Creepy Colin McLeod a perfect view of his escape route as he sprinted for the side fence.

Round the front, Finnie shouted, 'COME BACK HERE!' but Colin kept going. So Logan went after him, praying to God they kept the Alsatian chained up.

They didn't.

Winchester was even more scary in the light than he'd been in the dark, foam flying from his grey muzzle as he charged through the downpour. Barking, snapping.

Colin made it to the fence and threw himself over.

Logan ran for it. Vaulted the plastic slide, and scrambled up the fence.

Too slow.

He came to a sudden stop, one leg already over the top, the other weighed down by a half-ton of angry wet Alsatian.

'GET OFF ME!' He kicked out, but it barely moved.

Winchester shook his head back and forth, and then a miracle happened. Logan's trouser-leg gave with a loud ripping sound, and the dog fell back into a rosebush. Crackle, whimper, snarl. Logan dragged his leg over and dropped into the neighbour's garden before the dog could have another go.

Just in time to see Colin McLeod charging through a wall of dark leylandii on the other side.