“If you had, you would’ve been mistaken, sir,” Sinead continued. “Because that was never my intention. I think Mr Finley-Lennox is inferring something that wasn’t there.”
Logan nodded. “Aye. Aye, that’s just what I was thinking.” He turned back to Oberon, who he’d kept half an eye on throughout the previous exchange. “I’m not sure if you heard our conversation there.”
The MSP tutted. “Of course I heard. I’m three feet away.” He held both hands up and brought the smile back out of retirement. It was a smug, slightly lopsided thing that somehow made the world seem like a less happy place. “I apologise for the misunderstanding. It’s just that in politics, with the tabloids, you get used to them projecting all sorts of scandal onto you.”
“What, even you?” asked Logan.
“Haha. Yes. Quite. Even me.”
“Detective Constable, remind me to check up on past tabloid scandals involving Mr Finley-Lennox when we’re back in the office, will you?” Logan instructed, not breaking eye contact with the MSP. “Might make for some interesting reading.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Well, you won’t find much,” Oberon admitted. “There hasn’t been a lot about me, per se. But it happens all the time. In general. One must be on one’s guard.”
“Aye, I suppose one must,” said Logan. “Anyway, getting back to the real world, why do you think Bernie was spying on you?”
“I have absolutely no idea!”
“You seem shocked.”
“Yes, well. What can I say? It’s been a shocking morning. With the news, and everything.” He lowered his head and clasped his hands in front of him, like he was paying his respects at the Cenotaph. “Poor Bernie. Such a sad loss to the community.”
“Not to you, though,” Logan said.
Oberon raised his head. “I’m sorry?”
“Must be a relief for you,” Logan continued. “Given the number of complaints you’d made about him. The restraining order you had against him.”
“Oh, that!” Oberon said, trying to dismiss the whole thing with a laugh and a wave of a hand. “That was… I was being silly. Overreacting. That’s all I was doing. I can see that now.”
“Seemed reasonable to me,” said Sinead. “I read the reports. Sounds like he was making a nuisance of himself.”
“Yes. Well, yes. Yes, you’re right. He was a bit. Thank you. He even approached when I was out with the kids, would you believe? Margaux and Welly were both very alarmed. Welly had to sleep in with us that night.”
Logan frowned. “Welly?”
“Yes. Our youngest. Orwellia. We call her Welly.”
“I can see why you’d want to shorten it,” Logan said.
“I told him at the time. I said… I told him that it wasn’t on. Harassing me was one thing, but not when I was out with the children. That’s too far.” He looked to Sinead for backup. “You’d agree, right?”
“Absolutely,” Sinead said. “Bang out of order, that.”
“Thank you! Yes. Thank you. Exactly. Hence my complaints, and the… injunction, or whatever it’s called. It’s one thing to come ranting and raving at me, but not Margaux and Welly. Not the kids.”
He checked his watch, and was about to point out that he really had to leave before Logan beat him to the punch.
“What was he ranting and raving about?”
Oberon winced and gave his watch a tap. “I really do have important political business to attend to. I must…” He realised this wasn’t carrying any water with the detectives, and sighed. “Just the usual ramblings. Lizard men. People like me. How it was all our fault. How I had blood on my hands. That sort of thing.”
“How what was all your fault?” Sinead asked.
Oberon frowned, like he’d never given this any thought before. “Hmm. Do you know, I’m not really sure? It was all just a jumble of nonsense, and very hard to follow.”
“Was it something about the world in general, or something specific that had happened to him, do you think?” Logan asked.
“As I say, I don’t know.”
“I didn’t ask what you knew, I asked what you thought. What was your impression?”
The MSP blew out his cheeks, then retrieved his suit jacket and hanger from the back of the study door. “I honestly can’t say. Something personal, I suppose, given his passion. But that is a guess, nothing more.” He slipped the jacket on, then picked up a lint roller from an antique writing bureau and ran it down his front. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to—”