“Deal,” he said. “I’m sure if anyone can charm the truth out of him, it’s you.”
“I am a charming individual,” Logan agreed.
“You want company, boss?” Tyler asked.
“Aye, but no’ yours,” Logan replied. “I’ve had quite enough of that for the moment. Stay here. Work the phones. Mind you, there’s only one, isn’t there? So, Hamza, you do that. Tyler, get out there and knock doors. Ask around. See if anyone else is missing. I want to know whose body it is we found.”
“Right you are, boss,” Tyler said. “I can do that.”
“So, who’s going with you, Jack?” Ben asked. “You’ve given us all jobs to do here, so who are you taking?”
Logan whistled softly. There was a flurry of movement from the reception area and Taggart came bounding in so quickly he wasn’t able to stop in time to avoid colliding with the legs of the easel that currently supported the Big Board. It was only some quick reactions from Sinead that saved the whole thing from toppling over.
“Thought I’d get this idiot out from under your feet,” Logan said. He sniffed. It was quite a complicated sniff. It was a sniff that said he really didn’t want to take the dog with him, but—out of the goodness of his heart—he was taking one for the team on this occasion.
At least, he thought that was what the sniff said. But Ben, who had known the DCI longer than most people, saw right through it.
“That’s very thoughtful of you, Jack,” the DI said, suppressing a grin. “You might want to take a ball.”
“I’m getting him out of your hair, that’s all. I won’t be playing with the bugger,” Logan said. He looked down at the dog, who stared adoringly back at him, his tail thumping against the floor. “But, I suppose, if there happens to be a ball handy…”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The seller of the van was one Leon Robinson, and he was, as Ben had predicted, a right wee dick.
He lived in a council house on Ballachulish’s Croft Road, his overgrown garden, rusted metal fence, and scabby front door all working hard to bring down the overall tone of an otherwise lovely residential street.
The curtains were shut in three of the four windows, with only the smallest—the bathroom, judging by the dimpled glass—remaining uncovered.
What may, judging by the state of it, have been the world’s oldest satellite dish sagged sadly from one wall, and Logan was sure he’d heard it rattling and creaking when he’d thumped on the front door.
It took several minutes of knocking and hammering to rouse the house’s occupant, so when an irate, semi-naked twenty-something eventually pulled the door open, he made it three whole words into his angry outburst before Logan barked at him to shut up.
Leon, not fancying his chances with the ogre-like figure on his front step, tried to close the door, but he was a scrawny wee runt of a lad, and Logan pushed it open again with the flat of one hand.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr Robinson,” the DCI warned. He produced his ID and let the other man peel open his eyelids far enough to let him read the details. As he read, Leon took on the appearance and demeanour of a startled rabbit, albeit without the ears.
“What do you want?” Leon asked. “I haven’t done nothing.”
“Mind if I come in, Mr Robinson?”
“No. Yes. I mean…” Leon swallowed. “What’s the right one? For you not coming in? It’s just…” He looked back over his shoulder. “It’s a mess.”
“You surprise me, son. From the outside, I expected it to be a palace in there,” Logan said. “I don’t mind a bit of mess, though.”
“No, I… it’s not… I don’t have to let you in,” Leon said. He stood tall, but only for a moment. “Or do I? I should have a solicitor. I’m allowed a phone call. Can I make a phone call?”
“You’re not under arrest, Mr Robinson,” Logan told him. “There’s a matter I think you might be able to help me out with. I just want to ask you a few questions, that’s all.”
“Oh! Right! So…” Leon stuck out his bottom lip and furrowed his brow, his brain working hard to process his options. “…no, then.”
The pause that followed was a half-second longer than was comfortable. Logan needed that extra moment to swallow down his rising temper.
“I’m sorry?” he asked. His tone was light—joking, almost—like he was assuming this was just some funny misunderstanding they’d laugh about in a minute.