22 Dead Little Bodies (8 page)

‘But you’re not hopeful, are…’ A sigh. Then Young leaned over and poked Steel hard in the ribs. ‘Breathe, you idiot.’

Air exploded out of her, then she grabbed the table and hauled in a deep shuddering breath. ‘Aaaaaa…’

‘I understand you could’ve arrested the pair of them last night, but didn’t.’

‘Oooh, the world’s gone all swimmy…’

Logan twisted the coffee cup in his hands. ‘We felt it was more appropriate to try and defuse the situation with a warning.’

‘But Mr Robson didn’t take it.’

‘Not so much.’ A shrug. ‘Mrs Black poured paint all over his car and carved “Drug Dealer” into the doors. Probably have to get it completely resprayed. Going to cost him, what – three, maybe four grand?’

Steel blinked. Shook her head. ‘Wow. That’s a hell of a lot cheaper than a bottle of chardonnay.’

‘And in light of this morning’s actions?’

Logan raised one hand and rocked it from side to side. ‘The aggravated assault and vandalism got no-crimed. I doubt the PF would let us go back and do the pair of them retrospectively.’

‘Going to try that again.’ Steel took another huge breath and scrunched her face up.

Young frowned at her for a while. ‘Has she always been this bad?’

‘No, she’s getting worse.’

He poked her again. ‘We’ve got twelve different news organizations camped outside the front door, do you think you could try acting a bit more like a grown-up?’

She scowled at him. ‘Doing everything we can, OK?’ She held up a hand, counting the points off on her fingers. ‘National appeal in the media. Whole team going through all Heidi and Toby’s friends. Posters up at every train station, bus station, airport, and ferry terminal. We did
three
complete door-to-doors where they live. And…’ Steel wiggled the one remaining finger. ‘Erm … This little piggy’s being held in reserve in case of emergency.’

‘Piggies are toes.’

‘Whatever.’ She put her hand away. ‘If you’ve got any helpful suggestions, I’ll take them under consideration.’

Young shifted in his seat.

‘Aye, didn’t think so.’

He stood, slid his chair back into place. Straightened his T-shirt. Stuck a huge, warm, scarred hand on Logan’s shoulder. ‘And make sure you’re getting every encounter with Mrs Black on video. I’ve got the nasty feeling this is going to blow up in our faces.’

DS Rennie popped his coiffured head around Logan’s door. His mouth stretched out and down, like someone had stolen his pony. ‘Guv, you got a minute?’

Logan shoved the keyboard to one side. ‘If it’s more interesting than budget projections for the next quarter, I’ve got dozens of them.’

‘Cool.’ He stepped into the office and sank into a visitor’s chair. Unbuttoned his suit jacket, then pulled out his notebook. ‘I spoke to the janitor at Heidi and Toby Skinner’s school, and—’

‘Going to stop you right there.’ Logan held up a hand. ‘Don’t tell me, tell Steel. She’s running the case.’

A shrug. ‘Yeah, but she’s doing a press conference, and this was sitting on her desk.’ He held up a sheet of A4 with, ‘
OFF BEING A MEDIA TART – ANYTHING COMES UP, TELL DI MCRAE.
’

Typical. Couldn’t have given the reins to one of her minions, could she? No, of course not. Not when she could make Logan’s life more difficult.

‘Anyway…’ Rennie went back to his notebook. ‘So I spoke to the janitor, the professor from Aberdeen Uni who runs the Saturday maths club, and a really camp Geordie who takes the ballet class. All say the same thing: John Skinner picked Heidi and Toby up at midday.’

‘Damn it.’ Logan frowned at the screen, ignoring the spreadsheet and its irritating little numbers. Skinner picked up the kids. Did he do it before, or after he killed their mother? Did he make them watch? ‘What about family and friends?’

Rennie flipped the page. ‘Teams been going through them all morning, but no one’s seen the kids.’

And John Skinner’s car was still missing.

‘OK: if you haven’t already done it, get a lookout request on Skinner’s BMW. Tell traffic and every patrol-car team it’s category one. I want it found. Might be something in there that’ll tell us what he’s done with Heidi and Toby. Make sure the SEB sample any dirt in the footwells – get it off for soil analysis.’ He tapped his fingertips along the edge of the desk, frowning at those horrible little numbers. ‘Maybe it’s parked on a side street somewhere near where he dropped the kids?’ After all, that’s how they’d found Emma Skinner. Not that it’d done her any good.

‘Yes, Guv.’ Rennie stood. ‘So … you in charge till Steel gets back?’

Logan folded over and banged his head on the desk a couple of times.

‘Guv?’

Of course he sodding was.

Because DCI Steel had struck again.

‘OK, thanks Denise.’ Rennie put the phone down.

Logan looked at him. ‘Well?’

‘Sod all.’

‘Pffff…’

The Major Inquiry Team room was a
lot
grander than the manky hole CID had to work out of. New carpet tiles that were all the same colour, swanky new computers that probably didn’t run on elastic bands and arthritic hamsters, electronic whiteboards, a colour printer, a fancy coffee machine that took little pods, and ceiling tiles that didn’t look as if they’d spent three months on the floor of a dysentery ward.

How the other half lived.

A handful of officers were on the phones, talking in hushed voices and scribbling down notes.

Logan picked up one of the interactive markers and drew a circle on the whiteboard. There was a small lag, then a red circle appeared on the map of Aberdeen that filled the screen, taking in a chunk of the city centre around the casino. ‘John Skinner didn’t park in the Chapel Street multistorey and walk the length of Union Street to kill himself. He was clarted in blood – someone would’ve noticed.’

DS Biohazard Bob crossed his arms and poked out his top lip, as if he was trying to sniff it. It wasn’t a good look: with his sticky-out ears, bald patch, and single thick hairy eyebrow, he bore more than a passing resemblance to a chimpanzee at the best of times. ‘What about the NCP on Virginia Street? It’s just round the corner.’

Rennie shook his head. ‘The one on Shiprow’s closer.’

‘Pair of twits. It’s the same car park.’ Logan drew a red ‘X’ on the screen. ‘Doesn’t matter – logbook says it’s been searched. No dark-blue BMW M5.’

Biohazard had a scratch. ‘There’s a council one on Mearns Street, that’s pretty close too. Or Union Square?’

‘Or…’ Rennie pointed at the map. ‘What if he had a long coat on? Like a mac, or something. Could cover up the bloodstains and no one would notice. Dump it when he gets onto the roof of the casino.’

‘Nah.’ Biohazard shook his head. ‘We would’ve found it on the roof.’

‘Not if the wind got hold of it. Could be in Norway by now.’

‘True.’

Logan took the pen and marked on all the public car parks within a fifteen-minute walk. ‘Rennie – get down to the CCTV room and tell them to go over the footage from Saturday. Any route to the casino from any of these car parks. See if they can find John Skinner.’

‘Guv.’

‘Biohazard – grab some bodies and work your way through the car parks, find that BMW. Start with the closest, work your way out.’

‘Guv.’

The pair of them turned and marched off, leaving nothing but a cloying eggy reek behind.

Logan gagged, wafted a hand in front of his face. ‘Biohazard!’

Giggling faded away down the corridor.

‘That’s us done Union Square. Got a dark-blue beamer, but it’s not his. I’m … Hold on.’
Biohazard Bob’s voice went all muffled, barely audible.
‘I don’t care. You should’ve gone before we left the station.’
Then he was back.
‘Sorry, Guv, logistical problems.’

Logan drew a red cross on the whiteboard, eliminating Union Square. ‘Might as well try College Street multistorey, while you’re there. Then hit the Trinity Centre.’

‘Guv.’

The MIT office was nearly deserted. A handful of plain-clothes officers were bent over phones, taking sightings from members of the public. A whiteboard by the fancy coffee machine bore a list of possible locations that now stretched from Lerwick to Naples. A woman with bouffant hair and pigeon toes put her phone down, shambled over, and added ‘
PORT ISAAC
’ to the roll.

She puffed out her cheeks, then turned to Logan. ‘I know they’re only trying to help, Guv, but why do they all have to be
nutters
? Oh, here we go.’ Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead and she pointed over Logan’s shoulder. ‘Showtime.’

He turned and there was Steel on one of the large flatscreen TVs. A media liaison officer sat on one side of her, fiddling with his notes and looking uncomfortable. On the other side were an elderly couple: a grey-haired woman and a bald man, both with dark circles beneath watery eyes. The lines in their faces had probably deepened an inch since Saturday.

Officer Bouffant scuffed over to Logan, staring up at the screen. ‘Both sets of grandparents wanted to do it, but the boss thought it’d be best to stick to the wife’s side of the family. Might be harder to get sympathy with the murdering wee sod’s mum and dad there.’

Logan grabbed the remote and turned the sound on.

‘… thank you.’
The media officer shuffled his papers again. Then held out a hand.
‘Detective Chief Inspector Roberta Steel.’

It looked as if she’d had a bash at combing her hair. And failed.
‘Heidi and Toby Skinner were picked up by their father from Balmoral Primary School at twelve o’clock on Saturday afternoon. At one forty-five, John Skinner jumped from the roof of the Grosvenor G Casino on Exchequer Row. At some point between twelve o’clock and one forty-five, Emma Skinner – Heidi and Toby’s mother – was subjected to a brutal and fatal attack, along with her friend, Brian Williams, at a house in Newburgh Road.’

At that, the elderly couple sitting next to Steel quivered and wiped away tears.

Officer Bouffant tilted her head. ‘We’re calling Williams her “friend”. Thought it’d be kinder.’

A copy of that morning’s
Daily Mail
sat on the desk beside her. ‘
MUM AND TOYBOY LOVER IN BLOODBATH HORROR
’.

‘How did that work out for you?’

She picked up the newspaper and dumped it in the bin. Shrugged. ‘Well, it was worth a go.’

‘… appealing for any information that will help us locate Heidi and Toby. Did you see John Skinner’s dark-blue BMW M5…’

Then a sigh. ‘Wasting our time, aren’t we? Fiver says that gets us nothing but more phone calls from nutters.’

‘Yup.’

‘… extremely concerned for their wellbeing…’

Officer Bouffant curled into herself a bit, shoulders rounding. ‘You know what? Being in the police would be a great job, if we didn’t have to deal with members of the sodding public.’

‘Thank you.’
The media officer had another shuffle.
‘And now Mr and Mrs Prichard would like to read a brief statement.’

The old man’s voice was cracked and raw, trembling with each breath.
‘We’ve already lost so much. Emma was the brightest, most wonderful human being you could ever meet. She lit up every room…’

‘Think they’ll get custody of the kids? You know, assuming we find them.’ She folded her arms. ‘I mean, the court won’t give Heidi and Toby to the dad’s parents, will they? Not after what
he
did.’

‘Haven’t you got phones to answer?’

Sigh. ‘Yes, Guv.’

‘… bring our grandchildren home, safe and sound. Please, if you know anything, if you saw … their father…’
The poor sod couldn’t even bring himself to say John Skinner’s name.
‘… if you know where our grandchildren are…’
He crumpled, both hands covering his face. His wife put her arm around him, tears shining on her cheeks.

Mr Media did some more shuffling.
‘Thank you. We will now take questions.’

A forest of hands shot up.

‘Yes?’

‘Carol Smith,
Aberdeen Examiner
. Why did John Skinner jump off the casino? Did he have a gambling problem?’

Steel shook her head.
‘No’ that we know of. The casino has no record of him ever being in the building before. As far as we—’

Logan killed the sound and left Steel chuntering away to herself in silence.

It was all just for show anyway. The illusion of progress. Yes, someone
might
spot John Skinner’s BMW, but it wasn’t likely. The only way they were going to get Heidi and Toby back was by working their way through every parking spot in the city, and hoping there was something in Skinner’s car that would point the way.

And hope even more that it didn’t point to a pair of tiny shallow graves.

His phone buzzed deep inside his pocket, then launched into ‘If I Only Had a Brain’. That would be Rennie.

Logan hit the button. ‘What have you got?’

‘Guv? Think we’ve found him.’

‘There.’ The CCTV tech leaned forward and poked the screen. A figure was frozen in the lower left-hand corner, shoulders hunched, long blue raincoat on over what looked like a grey suit. John Skinner.

Logan nodded. ‘It’s him.’

She spooled the footage backwards, and he reversed onto Union Street, disappearing around the corner of the Athenaeum pub. ‘Took a while, but we managed to—’

‘Hoy!’ The door thumped open and Steel stood on the threshold, with a mug in one hand and a rolled-up newspaper tucked under her arm. ‘Who said you sods could start without me?’

And everything had been going so well. ‘Thought you were off being a media tart.’

‘Did you see me on the telly? I was spectacular. Like a young Helen Mirren.’ She thumped the newspaper against his chest. ‘Page four.’

Logan opened the
Scottish Sun
to a spread on ‘
FATHER OF TWO IN MURDER-SUICIDE SPREE
’ complete with photos of John Skinner, his two victims, and his missing children.

She poked the article. ‘See? “The community has been stunned by Skinner’s terrible crimes, and now fears for Heidi – seven – and Toby – six – are growing.”’ A nod. ‘Told you: missing kids trumps dead tramp. Think they’re going to run a two-page spread on Gordy Taylor choking on his own vomit? Course they’re no’.’

He dumped the paper in the bin. ‘That doesn’t mean we don’t—’

‘Blah, blah, blah.’ Steel leaned on the desk, close enough to brush the tech’s hair with an errant boob. ‘What are we looking at?’

‘John Skinner.’ She shuffled an inch sideways, getting away from Steel’s chest. ‘So, we track him backwards from the casino…’ Her fingers clattered across the keyboard and the scene jumped to the security camera at the junction of Union Street and Market Street. John Skinner reversed across the corner of the image, clipping the edge of the box junction before disappearing again.

‘Can barely see the wee sod; can you no’ follow him properly?’

The CCTV tech shook her head, flinching as her ear made contact. ‘If someone does something and we’re there, we can follow him from camera to camera. But we can’t jump back in time and tilt and pan, can we? You’re lucky we got anything at all.’

Logan’s phone rang, deep in his pocket. Please don’t be Mrs Black, please don’t be Mrs Black. But when he checked the display it was only Marjory from Willkie and Oxford, useless solicitors and rubbish estate agents to the stars. Probably calling with another derisory offer from the Moores. Well, she could go to voicemail. Let it ring.

Steel glowered at him. ‘You answering that, or do I have to shove it up your bumhole. We’re working here.’

Right. He pressed the button to reject the call. ‘Sorry.’

‘Think so too.’ She eased a little closer to the CCTV tech. ‘Come on then – where now?’

Another rattle of keys.

‘Markies and the Saint Nicholas Centre probably got him on their cameras, but the next time he shows up is here…’ A view across School Hill at the traffic lights. Three cars and a bus stopped on one side, a motorcyclist and a transit van on the other. Skinner lurched backwards across the road and into a short granite canyon blocked off by metal bollards. He reversed past the bank and in through the line of glass doors leading into the Bon Accord Centre. Or more properly, out of it – given the way he’d been going in real life.

She poked the screen as the doors shut, swallowing him. ‘That’s it.’

‘That’s
it
?’

‘Doesn’t appear on foot on any of the other CCTV cameras in the area.’ A smile put dimples in her cheeks. ‘But I found this.’

The screen jumped to a view down Berry Street, where it made a T-junction with the Gallowgate. Bland granite flats on one side, and a bland granite office block on the other side. A dark-blue BMW M5 came down the Gallowgate and paused in the middle of the junction, indicating right. The opposing traffic dribbled away and it turned onto Berry Street.

She hit pause. ‘Number plate matches.’

Steel pressed in even closer. ‘So what are we saying?’

Logan poked her on the shoulder. ‘Get your boob out of the poor woman’s ear.’ He pointed. ‘Down there you’ve got John Lewis and the Loch Street Car Park. What about the CCTV camera at the corner of St Andrew Street and George Street?’

‘Nope. Far as I can tell, he dumps the car in the car park and walks through the Bon Accord Centre.’

Steel smacked her hand down on the desk. ‘Saddle the horses, Laz, we’ve got two wee kids to save!’