The Blood Road. Stuart MacBride

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      Click – the bare lightbulb showered the hallway in cold white light.

      Scuffed floorboards clunked beneath his feet, tiny tufts of fabric still sticking to the gripper rods where he’d torn the carpet up. Walls stripped to the bare plaster, white blobs of Polyfilla making it look like a child undergoing treatment for chicken pox.

      Logan peeled off his Police Scotland fleece and hung it over the newel post at the foot of the stairs. Tried not to think too much about the patch of brand-new floorboards surrounding it.

      At least the smell had gone.

      More or less…

      ‘Cthulhu? Daddy’s home!’

      He unbuttoned the flaps on his T-shirt and slid the epaulettes free on his way into the living room.

      It was almost pitch-black in here, the yellow glow of the streetlights dimmed to a septic smear by the ivy outside.

      Click – more chicken-pox walls, and bare floorboards.

      But at least he was making a start. Rolls of fresh paper lay piled up on the floor, by the wallpaper table. Two stepladders with a scaffolding board slotted into the steps between them. Pots of paint. A couple of cheap camping chairs, a sofa that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the skip on the driveway, and a decent-sized TV – even if it was propped up on breeze blocks.

      ‘Cthulhu? Where the hell are you, you…’ Logan smiled as she padded into the room. He squatted down and held out his hand.

      She prooped and meeped her way across the floorboards, huge fluffy tail straight up, white bib and paws almost fluorescent in the harsh overhead light. Cobwebs sticking to her brown-and-grey stripes. Fur so soft it was like stroking smoke.

      ‘How’s Daddy’s bestest girl?’

      She did her little cat dance, treadling on the floor as she turned around him.

      ‘Oh, you’ve been hunting mouses? Good girl! Did you catch any?’

      She thumped her head into his thigh and purred.

      ‘Well, that is exciting.’ He scooped her up with a grunt, holding her upside down and rubbing her tummy as he wandered back through to the hall.

      More purring.

      ‘What? No, not really. It was a horrible day.’

      Up the stairs and along the landing. More chicken pox. Probably have to replace a few of the floorboards here too.

      ‘Someone abducted a little girl. Four days and there’s still no ransom note.’

      At least the master bedroom was finished: nice thick carpet, cheerful yellow walls, some framed photos above the double bed.

      ‘I know, I know: if they didn’t snatch her for ransom, then it’s probably sexual, isn’t it?’ He lowered Cthulhu onto the bed and stripped off his Police Scotland T-shirt. The scar tissue crisscrossing his stomach shiny and pink. Might be an idea to invest in some of those warm-white lightbulbs instead? Something a bit less intense and guard-towery.

      Cthulhu treadled on the duvet cover, making delighted noises.

      ‘That’s what I was thinking.’ He changed out of his boots and police-issue trousers. ‘Oh, you think she’s been abducted to order? Could be. Amounts to the same thing, I suppose.’

      A pair of paint-spattered jeans came out of the wardrobe.

      ‘Or maybe someone abducted her to sell on? A little girl’s got to be worth a fair bit on the open market. If you had somewhere to sell her.’ He did up the buttons. Fastened his belt. Frowned. ‘That’s a very good point. Maybe it is the fabled northeast Livestock Mart…’

      Cthulhu started in on a wash.

      ‘Or maybe it’s the obvious answer? The stepfather abused her, killed her, and hid the body somewhere.’ An equally painty T-shirt joined the jeans. ‘I knew you’d say that, but Chalmers interviewed him. His alibi’s sound.’

      Cthulhu washed her tummy in a barrage of shlurpy noises.

      ‘True… I don’t think I’d trust Lorna Chalmers either.’ Logan perched on the end of the bed and pulled on a pair of painty trainers. ‘Tara’s coming over later for pizza. That’ll be nice, won’t it?’

      One last shlurp and Cthulhu stopped washing and stared at him.

      ‘What?’

      More staring.

      ‘Oh come on, not this again. There’s nothing wrong with talking to your cat. People do it all the time.’ He leaned over and kissed her on her fuzzy little head. ‘And it’s not as if you’re actually answering back, is it? Only crazy people own talking cats.’ Another frown. ‘Which reminds me.’

      Logan stood and wandered down the landing again, into the bathroom.

      Still have to finish tiling those other two walls. Just because the shower was usable, didn’t mean the room was done.

      Blah, blah, blah.

      He opened the medicine cabinet, took out the box of Aripiprazole and popped two small orange tablets out of their blister pack and onto his hand.

      Cthulhu appeared in the cabinet’s mirrored door as he shut it – following him into the bathroom and jumping up onto the toilet lid. More staring.

      ‘I know: I’m taking them, see?’

      He popped the pills in his mouth, washing them down with a full glass of water before the taste hit. Then turned and opened his mouth wide for Cthulhu to see.

      ‘Look: all gone. So if Doctor Goulding asks, you can tell him I’m definitely taking my antipsychotics.’

      She didn’t move.

      ‘Because I know you’re in cahoots with him, that’s why.’

      A long slow blink of those big yellow-and-black eyes.

      Logan sagged. ‘I know. I love you too.’ He blinked back at her. ‘Now, do you want to help Daddy wallpaper the living room?’

      She jumped down from the toilet and padded off towards the bedroom.

      ‘Lazy sod!’

      Ah well, she’d only make the wallpaper paste all hairy anyway.

      Logan smoothed down the lining paper’s edges with his brush, making the seam disappear. Might even get this wall finished tonight. Which would be—

      His phone launched into its generic ringtone.

      ‘Arrrgh! Leave me alone!’

      But it kept on ringing.

      He gave the lining paper one last flourish, then dumped the brush on the СКАЧАТЬ