Cold Granite by Stuart MacBride Read Free Book Online Page A

a fancy dictaphone out of his pocket and pointed it at them. 'You've got another missing kid. Are you--'
    Logan frowned. 'How did you know another child's gone missing?'
    Mil er pointed out at the rain-soaked road. 'You've got patrol cars out broadcastin' the kid's description! How do you think I found out?'
    Logan tried not to look as embarrassed as he felt.
    Mil er winked. 'Ah, don't worry about it. I make an arse of myself al the time, but.' He held the dictaphone up again. 'Now, is this disappearance connected to the recent discovery of--
    '

    'We have no comment to make at this time.'
    'Oh, come on!'
    Behind Mil er another car had pulled up, this one with the BBC Scotland logo emblazoned down the side. The media were going to have a field day. Yesterday a little boy turned up dead, today another one had gone missing. They'd al be jumping to the same conclusion as Mil er. He could see the headlines now: 'HAS P AEDOPHILE K ILLERS TRUCK A GAIN?' The Chief Constable would have a fit.
    Mil er turned to see what Logan was staring at and froze. 'How about if--'
    'I'm sorry, Mr Mil er. I can't give you any further details at this time. You'l just have to wait for the official statement.'
    He didn't have to wait long. Five minutes later DI Insch's mud-splattered Range Rover pul ed up. By then a little cordon of newspaper and television people had appeared, forming a wall of microphones and lenses at the foot of the steps, huddling beneath large black umbrel as.
    Just like a funeral.
    Insch didn't bother getting out of his car, just wound down his window and waved Logan over. The cameras turned to watch Logan cross the road and stand in the rain beneath his borrowed umbrel a by DI Insch's window, trying not to wince at the smel of wet spaniel that oozed out of the car's interior.
    'Aye, aye,' said the inspector, nodding towards the ring of cameras. 'Looks like we're going to be on the tel y tonight.' He ran a hand over his bald head. 'Good job I remembered to wash my hair.'
    Logan forced a smile. The scars crisscrossing his stomach were starting to bother him as last night's punch in the guts made its presence felt.
    'Right,' said Insch. 'I've been authorized to release a statement to the media. Before I do, is there anything I need to know that's going to make me look like an arse here?'
    Logan shrugged. 'Far as we can tel the mother's being straight with us.'
    'But?'
    'Don't know. The mother treats the kid like he's made of glass. Doesn't get out on his own. Al his toys are for a kid two years younger than he is. I get the feeling she's smothering the life out of him.'
    Insch raised an eyebrow, causing the pink, hairless skin of his head to wrinkle. He didn't speak.
    'I'm not saying he hasn't been snatched.' Logan shrugged. 'But stil ...'

    'Point taken,' said Insch, smoothing himself down. Unlike the filthy, smel y Range Rover he was immaculately turned out in his best suit and tie. 'But if we play this down, and he turns up al strangled with his wil y cut off, we'l be up to our ears in shite.'
    Logan's phone went off in an explosion of beeps and whistles. It was the Queen Street station. They'd picked up Duncan Nicholson.
    'What...? No.' Logan smiled, the phone clamped to his ear. 'No, stick him in a detention room. Leave him there to sweat til I get there.'
    By the time Logan and WPC Watson got back to Force Headquarters a ful -blown search was underway. DI Insch had more than trebled the six uniforms Logan had drafted in to help and now more than forty police men and women, four dog-handlers and their alsatians, were out in the freezing rain, searching every garden, public building, shed, bush and ditch between Richard Erskine's home and the shops on Victoria Road.
    The desk sergeant told them that Duncan Nicholson had been stuck in the mankiest detention room in the place. He'd been there for nearly an hour.
    Just to be on the safe side, Logan and WPC Watson stopped off at the canteen for a cup of tea and a bowl of soup.