Logan McRae Crime Series Books 7 and 8: Shatter the Bones, Close to the Bone. Stuart MacBride

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ tartan, with a pale groove worn into it leading away into the gloomy interior. Wooden panelling lined the walls, peppered with water-colours of mountains in heavy golden frames. A stag’s head was stuffed and mounted above the reception desk, glaring out in mild surprise at Logan and the inspector.

      ‘Can I help you?’ A man in a charcoal-coloured suit appeared at the inspector’s elbow. He stood slightly hunched and knock-kneed, as if his underwear was doing horrible things to his undercarriage.

      Logan flashed his warrant card. ‘I called earlier about running some interviews?’

      ‘Ah, yes, of course: the Special Constables.’ The man clasped his hands together in front of his chest. ‘Your twelve rooms should be ready shortly, but I’ve taken the liberty of setting up a base of operations in the Crianlarich meeting room as well. There should be complimentary teas, coffees, and some pastries waiting for you.’

      Steel wrapped an arm around the concierge, smiling up at him. ‘Throw in a couple of steak pies and a bottle of Macallan, and I might never leave.’

       Frank Baker (24) – Indecent Exposure, Lewd and Libidinous Practices and Behaviour

      ‘I really don’t see how this concerns me, Mr …?’

      ‘Sergeant McRae.’

      ‘Ah …’ Frank Baker crossed his legs, made sure the crease in his tan chinos was perfectly straight, then did the same with the parting in his floppy brown hair. ‘Well, Sergeant, you see, I’ve never actually met—’

      ‘You live on the same street.’ Detective Constable Rennie crossed his legs, ran a hand through his own hair. Little flakes of skin were peeling off of his nose and forehead, glowing in the sun’s rays. ‘You have to see why we’d want to talk to you, Frank.’

      ‘Yes, well …’ He cleared his throat, then glanced at the little video camera mounted on a cheap tripod in the corner. ‘It’s really all just a silly mistake, you see, it was a misunderstanding, I really shouldn’t be on the register in the first place, I just—’

      ‘You just happened to expose yourself through the railings of a primary school?’ Logan checked the notes pinned to his clipboard. ‘Then did it again at the duck pond in Duthie Park.’

      ‘Well …’

      ‘And then you tried to get a little boy to come into the toilets with you in Hazlehead Park, didn’t you Mr Baker?’

      Frank Baker’s cheeks turned a fiery shade of pink. Then his chin came up. ‘I don’t see how that makes me a kidnapper!’

      Rennie leaned forward and patted Baker on the knee. ‘It’s OK, Frank, no one’s saying you kidnapped anyone, we—’

      ‘They dragged me out of work to come here, you know! Two hairy constables, where I work!’

      Logan checked his notes. ‘Says here you’re a welder?’

      ‘They came to my work.’ He uncrossed his legs, then crossed them the other way around. Went through the same routine with all his creases. ‘No one there knows about … my misunderstanding. And I’d like to keep it that way.’

      ‘A welder?’ Somehow it was difficult to imagine the prissy floppy-haired neat-freak sitting in front of them doing anything as messy as that.

      ‘They had no business bundling me into a patrol car like some sort of criminal.’ Baker brushed imaginary lint from his sleeve. ‘I know what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. I would never ever touch a little girl. They’re not …’ He shuddered slightly. ‘I never even spoke to her. Or her mother. I wouldn’t know them if I passed them on the street.’

      Rennie uncrossed his legs, then crossed them again. Brushed something from his trouser leg. ‘Not even when they got on the TV?’ He’d been doing this since the start of the interview: every time Baker did anything, Rennie copied it. Like a sunburnt reflection.

      ‘Dear God, it was a nightmare. Soon as they made it through the first two stages there were reporters everywhere. I couldn’t go out my front door without a half dozen of the grubby little swines pointing cameras in my face. “Do you know Alison and Jenny?”, “What do they like to eat for breakfast?”, “Does Alison have a man in her life?” On and on, every single day.’ He took a deep breath, and Logan watched Rennie do exactly the same thing.

      Baker looked out of the window. ‘It’s very … inconvenient for someone in my position to be harassed by the media. It makes me uncomfortable.’

      Logan tapped his pen against the clipboard. ‘So you’re saying you never spoke to, interacted with, or had anything to do with Alison and Jenny McGregor?’

      Baker closed his eyes, pursed his lips. ‘I don’t know them. I’ve never known them. I don’t want to know them.’

      ‘Do you watch a lot of television, Mr Baker?’

      ‘Sometimes.’

      ‘Documentaries, the news, or are you an X-Factor and Britain’s Next Big Star kinda guy?’

      Baker gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘OK, OK … I watched them. Every week, up there singing and dancing and getting famous. For what? What the hell was so special about Alison Bloody McGregor and her little girl? Oh, Jenny’s daddy died in Afghanistan, boo bloody hoo.’

      ‘Iraq, Mr Baker. James McGregor died in Iraq.’

      ‘Same difference.’ He scowled at the floor. ‘I never touched them. I didn’t kidnap them. I didn’t kill her, or her horrible little child. I wouldn’t dirty my hands …’

       Darren McInnes (52) – Exposing Children to Harm/Danger or Neglect, Possessing Indecent Images of Children, Theft by Housebreaking, Serious Assault

      ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying.’ McInnes brushed his long, greasy yellow-grey hair from his face and tied it in a loose ponytail. He pursed his lips, the folds around his grey eyes deepening behind thick glasses. ‘I’m saying I had nothing to do with them.’

      At least he looked like a paedophile. Baker could have passed for a swimming pool attendant, but there was no mistaking Darren McInnes.

      McInnes shifted in his seat, Rennie copying his every move. ‘Can I smoke?’ He pulled out a tin of tobacco.

      Logan shook his head. ‘There’s a hundred and fifty pound fine for smoking in the hotel, Mr McInnes. Where were you last week: Wednesday night, Thursday morning?’

      ‘Bloody government. I should be able to smoke if I want to, they’re my bloody lungs.’

      Logan banged on the arm of his chair, making the lanky man flinch.

      ‘Where – were – you?’

      ‘I don’t know. I was at home. Probably. Watching TV. Maybe I had a couple of beers, it’s not illegal is it?’

      ‘How well do you know Alison and Jenny McGregor?’

      We’ve been over this. I don’t, OK? Yes, I was aware СКАЧАТЬ