“That is incorrect.”
“My arse it’s incorrect,” Logan barked. “He was messing with your business. He was costing you money, and nothing you could do was going to make him stop. You couldn’t reason with a man like that. No one could. Not the police, not the community. Hell, probably not even himself. There’s only one way you stop someone like that. And that’s permanently.”
André’s smile became a chuckle, then a laugh that he tried and failed to conceal behind his beard. This did nothing to endear him to the detective towering over him.
“Something funny?”
“Non. Oui. It is… It is just the ludicrousness of this. Of accusing moi, me, of something like this.”
“And why’s that amusing?” Logan wondered.
“I detest violence in all its forms, Detective Chief Inspector. I have dedicated my life to healing others. Helping them. Even Bernie himself, in fact.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? In what way?”
“I mentioned the last time I had seen Bernie was a month ago. But I had heard from him just a few weeks back. Two, maybe three. He telephoned me.”
“He phoned you? Out here?” Logan said, looking highly doubtful. “How? There’s no bloody signal. And, from what we can gather, he didn’t have a phone.”
“I have satellite telephone for the retreat. Bernie was not calling from here. He was calling from a number in Glasgow. I assumed it was a new enquiry about attending the centre, but when I answered there was nothing. No reply. Nothing, so I hang up.”
“How did you know it was Bernie, then?”
“He called back. Three, perhaps four times. On the last time, that is when he spoke to me. He sounded different then. Smaller. Does that make sense? Sounding smaller? Not quieter, exactly, just like he had been shrunken down. Like he was a tiny person.”
“What, you mean like he was squeaky? Like a mouse?” Logan asked. “Had he been on the Helium or something?”
“Non. Non, not squeaky. Just… like he had no fight in him. Like his strength—like his soul was smaller, not his physical form. Like his energy had been compressed.”
“Oh, like his energy had been compressed. Gotcha. Why didn’t you say that to start with?” Logan replied. “What did he say?”
“He said sorry, would you believe?”
“Sorry? Bernie, the man who had been calling you a fraud and leading a relentless one-man campaign to shut you down, called you up to say sorry?”
“Oui. And he said he would no longer be bothering me. He was calling a truce between us.”
“That’s convenient for you. You making friends like that, right before someone murders him,” Logan said, not buying a word of it. “Well, I suppose that’s you in the clear then.”
“You do not believe me, I understand,” André said. “But I am telling the truth. He called me, apologised, and then he asked me for my help.”
“What sort of help? To do what?”
The man in the chair ran a hand down his beard, stroking it as he sized the detective up. “You are sceptical about the spirit realm, oui? About the possibilities to commune with those who have passed to the other side?”
“If by ‘sceptical’ you mean I think it’s a load of absolute horse shite, then aye, that’s a pretty accurate summing up.”
“Oui. Well, Bernie, for all his faults and prejudices, was more open-minded. He called me asking if anyone had a message for him. From beyond the veil, so to speak. I am a spiritual medium, you see?”
“Aye. You mentioned. You’re a magic telephone. Very good,” Logan said.
“You may not believe me, but Bernie did. And he was hoping to hear from someone.”
“Someone dead?”
“Oui.”
“Did he say who?”
André shook his head. “Non. He gave me nothing to work with. He merely asked if there was anyone from the other side who wished to talk to him. He said he wanted to know if what he was going to do was right.”
“What was he going to do?”
“He would not say. But the spirits believed—”
“I’m going to stop you there,” Logan said, cutting him short. “I’ve got zero interest in any bloody ghost gossip you claim to have heard. If Bernie didn’t say it, I don’t care.”
André got to his feet. The smile he put on was a patronising, infuriating thing that made Logan’s fingers curl into fists.