22 Dead Little Bodies Read Free Page B

locked his pool car. ‘Fiver says it was Bobby Greig. Security camera’s didn’t get his face, but I’d recognize that manky BMX bike of his anywhere.’
    ‘Good. That’s good.’ Logan went for an innocent smile. ‘So you’re free right now?’
    ‘As I can be. Need to get a search warrant and…’ Wheezy Doug pulled his chin in, giving himself a ripple of neck wrinkles. Narrowed his eyes. ‘Wait a minute:
why
?’
    ‘Oh, just asking.’
    He backed off a pace. ‘No you’re not. You’ve got something horrible needs doing, don’t you?’
    ‘Me? No. Not a bit of it. I want you to go visit Pitmedden Court for me. Take a look at a cherry tree for me.’
    Wheezy Doug’s face unclenched. ‘Oh, that’s OK then. Thought for a moment there you…’ And then it was back again. ‘Pitmedden
Court
? Gah…’ He covered his eyes with his hands. ‘Noooooo … It’s her, isn’t it?’
    The innocent smile turned into a grin. ‘Mrs Black says her neighbour’s sticking dog poo in her tree. And you’re officially in possession of the Nutter Spoon of Doom.’
    ‘Mrs Black’s a pain in the hoop.’
    ‘Yup, but right now she’s
your
pain. Now get your hoop in gear and go check out her tree.’
    Logan tucked his phone between his ear and his shoulder, then locked the pool car’s door. ‘Nah, same nonsense as usual. Everyone’s corrupt. Everyone’s out to get her. Her neighbour’s hanging bags of dog crap in her cherry tree.’
    On the other end, DS Baird groaned.
‘Dog crap? I must’ve missed that issue of
Better Homes and Gardens
. Stoney’s back – says are you coming to the pub after work?’
    Quick check of the watch: five to four.
    ‘Depends how long I am here. Yeah. Well, probably.’
    Wind rustled through the thick green crown of a sycamore tree, dropping helicopter seed pods onto the pool car’s bonnet to lie amongst the dappled sunlight. Buchanan Street’s grey terraces faced each other across a short stretch of divoted tarmac. Eight houses on each side in utilitarian granite, unadorned by anything fancier than UPVC windows and doors. Most of the gardens had been converted into off-street parking, bordered by knee-high walls and the occasional browning hedge.
    Number Fourteen’s parking area was empty, but a useless Police Constable and his patrol car idled outside – blocking the drive.
    The house didn’t look any different to its neighbours. As if nothing had happened. As if the guy who lived there hadn’t jumped off the casino roof and splattered himself across Exchequer Row.
    Logan hung up and wandered over to the patrol car. Knocked on the driver’s window.
    Sitting behind the wheel, PC Guthrie gave a little squeak and sat bolt upright, stuffing a magazine into the footwell before Logan could get a good look at it. He turned and hauled on a pained smile, pink blooming on his cheeks as he buzzed down the window. ‘Sorry, Guv. Frightened the life out of me.’
    Logan leaned on the roof of the car, looming through the open window. ‘That better not have been porn, Sunshine, or I swear to God…’
    The blush deepened. ‘Porn? No. No, course not.’ He cleared his throat then grabbed his hat and climbed out into the afternoon. ‘I’ve been round all the neighbours: no one’s seen Mrs Skinner since she took the kids to school this morning.’
    Logan turned on the spot. Sixteen houses, all crushed together. ‘It’s Saturday, why was she taking the kids to school?’
    ‘Ballet classes for the wee boy, and maths club for the girl. He’s six, she’s seven.’
    Made sense. ‘You tried the school?’
    A shrug. ‘Closes at two on a Saturday.’
    Well, it wasn’t as if they’d still be there anyway. Not now. ‘OK. Any of the neighbours got a contact number for Mrs Skinner?’
    Guthrie pulled out his notepad and flicked through to the marker. Passed it over. ‘Mobile: goes straight to voicemail.’
    Logan tried it anyway.
    Click
.
‘Hello, this is Emma, I can’t do the phone thing