“Are you Dinky?” he asked.
“What’s that meant to mean?” the man in the doorway asked. “You taking the piss?”
Logan sighed. It was a long, drawn-out thing, designed to highlight the fact that he had no intentions of taking any shit. “Your name. Is it Dinky?”
Dinky appeared a bit disappointed by the lack of reaction, then shrugged and nodded. “Aye. Who’s asking?”
Logan produced his warrant card. “Detective Chief Inspector Jack Logan.”
“What, from the police?” Dinky asked. He looked from Logan to Tyler, who was standing several feet back, warily watching the still perfectly behaved dog. “Are you two both police?”
“We are,” Logan confirmed, returning the ID to his coat pocket.
“Why’s he dressed like a big squirrel?”
“He was worried the dog might attack him,” Logan explained.
Dinky looked from Logan to Tyler and back again. “And… what? He thought dressing as a fucking huge squirrel was going to somehow make that less likely?”
“I’ve given up trying to fathom how his mind works,” Logan said. “Mind if we ask you a few questions?”
Dinky rubbed his stubby fingers across his chin, then drummed them on his bottom teeth like he was playing the xylophone. “Why?” he asked, after some consideration. “What am I meant to have done?”
“We’re not here to accuse you of anything, sir,” Logan said. “We’re trying to find a friend of yours.”
“I’ve got loads of friends. Just head into town on a Friday or Saturday night and chuck a stone, and you’ll hit a friend of mine,” Dinky said, his chest puffing up with pride. “Except don’t, because I don’t want my pals being pelted with stones.”
“One specific friend,” Logan said. “We believe he goes by the name Ally Bally.”
“Ally Bally?” Dinky stuck out his bottom lip and shook his head. “Never heard of him.”
“Aye, you have,” Tyler said, chipping in from the back.
“How the fuck would you know?” Dinky spat, lunging his top half forward like he was angling for a fight. “How would you know who I know and who I don’t know? Eh? You big squirrely bastard.”
“I just…” Tyler tore his eyes from the dog just long enough to reply. “I know you know him. He was here a few months back.”
Dinky sniffed and backed down. “Well, he’s not here now. I’ve not seen him in months,” he claimed. “But, if I do ever see him, you’ll be the first to know. Alright? Now, off you fuck. This is private property.”
While Dinky was talking, the dog’s ears had pricked up. It turned its head to the right, and Tyler followed the direction of its gaze. There, fifty yards from the house, a wiry, grey-haired man was legging it through the trees.
“Boss!”
Logan turned and looked in the direction Tyler was now pointing. “Well, what are you bloody standing around here for?” he snapped. “Get after the bastard!”
“Right, boss! On it, boss!” Tyler cried.
An oversized squirrel mascot costume was not the ideal outfit with which to initiate an on-foot pursuit, but Tyler made the best of it. He launched himself across the overgrown garden, dodging the big dauds of dog shite, tried to vault the fence, but tumbled over it and did a clumsy forward roll on the other side.
“On it!” he cried again, then he clambered to his big furry feet, and set off in pursuit.
Back at the house, Logan, Dinky, and Dinky’s now docile dog all watched him go racing after the old man. As they disappeared into the trees, Logan turned and glowered down at the man inside the house.
“Oh,” Dinky said. “You mean that Ally Bally?”
Ben stood by the kettle in the staff canteen, waiting for the water to come to the boil. The magazine that Moira had given him sat on a table for two, face down so he wouldn’t be tempted to read the front-page headlines. That had become their ‘thing’。 He wasn’t sure how, exactly, but it had. It didn’t feel right to even skim them without her there.
Not that she’d appreciate him waiting, of course. She’d probably read the magazine cover to cover already, scouring it for some fresh tidbits of misery and misfortune to cackle over.
But, still. He was saving it. It was their thing.
The TV was on in the corner. A uniformed constable sat clutching a plastic tub, eyes glued to the screen as she blew on her spoon and slurped down what smelled like vegetable soup. The news was on, showing the wee lassie who’d gone missing down in the north of England.