Blind Eye (7 page)

Right again, onto Cornhill Road, the grey and brown concrete mass of the old children's hospital whipping past as they made for Accident and Emergency.

'Slow down!'

'Hold on tight - speed bump.'

'AAAAAAAGH! OK, OK: I saw them, I saw them!'

Logan pulled the car into the closest A&E parking spot and jumped out.

Rory shouted from the back, 'Wait! You can't leave me like this!'

'Oh for God's sake.' Logan opened the door and uncuffed one of Rory's hands.

'Ow...' Rory creaked upright, groaning, rubbing at the small of his back. 'That wasn't funny.'

There was a uniformed PC standing by the automatic doors; Logan called him over. The officer looked as if he was about twelve, his badge number marking him out as one of the newest batch of recruits - probably only been on the force for a couple of months. Logan steered him towards the pool car.

'Keep an eye on Captain Cardigan, here. And if he offers you any sweeties, don't take them.'

As the young constable got into the back, Rory Simpson smiled, patted him on the knee, and asked him if he liked puppies.

Accident and Emergency looked as depressing as it always did. This wasn't a place people came to have fun, it was where they went when something had gone spectacularly wrong, and after all these years a little bit of that suffering had seeped into the room's magnolia walls and green lino floor. A couple of women sat at opposite ends of the grimy seating area, one of them breastfeeding a small child and swearing quietly to herself. The other was sitting next to a little boy who kept screaming, 'Mummy, it hurts! It hurts!'

'Well you shouldn't have fallen down the bloody stairs, should you?'

Logan flashed his warrant card at the desk and asked what had happened to DI Steel and Simon McLeod. One of the admin staff looked up from her computer, sighed, then said, 'Are you a relative? Because--'

A cry of, 'HELP!' came from the direction of the examination rooms, then, 'LIE STILL, DAMN IT!'

Someone screamed.

Logan lurched into a run, following the sounds down the corridor, towards a row of cubicles. He burst through the curtain: a nurse and a female doctor were struggling with Simon McLeod, trying to keep him on the examination table. A second doctor was crunched up against the far wall, clutching his groin and moaning.

The nurse glared at Logan. 'Don't just bloody stand there!'

He grabbed one of Simon's flailing arms, putting a lock on the wrist. The huge man roared and tried to break free, feet flying in random directions. One caught the nurse on the side of the hip and she staggered back, swearing.

The doctor let go of Simon McLeod's waist and grabbed his ankles, trying to pin them to the table and failing - he was just too big for her.

'Bugger this!' Logan tightened his grip on Simon's wrist and yanked, pulling Simon off the examination table and onto the floor. He crashed into the linoleum, and Logan twisted, forcing him over onto his ruined face.

The doctor tried to drag Logan off. 'What the hell are you doing? He's been seriously injured!'

Logan stuck a foot on Simon McLeod's shoulder and shoved, keeping the arm fully stretched out and twisted round. 'You want me to let him go?'

She paused for a second. 'No. Stay there!' She hurried out through the curtain and was back thirty seconds later with a hypodermic syringe and a small glass vial of clear liquid.

She threw the syringe cover onto the floor, drew a hefty measure from the vial, then stepped in close to Logan. 'Hold him still...' She yanked Simon's shirt sleeve back, smacked his wrist a couple of times, and slid the needle in.

Slowly the struggling began to fade. One kick. Two. The fingers clenched and unclenched. And then Simon McLeod went limp.

Which was when three burly men in hospital security uniforms burst in through the curtains.

The doctor dropped the used syringe in a yellow sharps bin, then gave the new arrivals a slow handclap. 'Oh yes, well done. Very good. We could all be
dead
by now.'

One of the guards shrugged. 'Fight in the maternity ward - some bloke turned up to see his kid. The mother's husband wasn't very happy about it.'

'You think Doctor Patel's happy about the state of his goolies?' She pointed at her groaning colleague. 'You're lucky I was next door, or he'd be a eunuch by now.' Then she asked Logan to help her get Simon McLeod's unconscious body back onto the examination table.

'Is he going to be OK?'

'I doubt it.' The doctor peeled back the gauze dressing they'd put on in the ambulance, exposing the top half of Simon's face. Then winced. 'Both eyes are gone and the optic nerve's been burnt. He's blind. Probably in a great deal of pain. All we can do is clean his wounds, keep him sedated, and hope he doesn't get an infection.'

Five minutes later, Logan followed the doctor through to the next cubicle, where DI Steel was sitting up on the examination table, wobbling slightly. The doctor pulled out a tiny torch and shone it in Steel's eyes, flicking the light away, then back again. 'OK,' she said, 'can you tell me who the Prime Minister is?'

'Is it...? I can picture him...' Steel scrunched her face up, lips moving silently for a moment. 'Whatsisname - slimy, lying tosspot...?' As if that narrowed it down.

'Well, you've definitely got a concussion.' The doctor felt around the back of Steel's head with a latex-gloved hand. 'Probably going to have one hell of a lump tomorrow, but nothing's broken. We'll keep you in overnight for observation, OK?'

Steel frowned again. 'Is it Margaret Thatcher?'

'I'll give you something for the headache.' She turned to Logan, 'Do you want to contact her next of kin? Let them know where she is.'

'I'll give Susan a call. Get her to bring in some--'

'Next of kin!' Steel hopped down from the table. 'We-- oops!' Her legs gave way and the doctor grabbed her. Steel kissed her on the cheek. 'Is that a stethoscope in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?'

'Maybe we should sedate you?'

The inspector tugged at Logan's sleeve. 'We need to tell McLeod's next of kin.'

'I'll get someone on it when I get back to the station.'

She shook her head, and nearly collapsed again. 'You do it. I'm no' trusting one of Finnie's monkeys: they'll screw it up.' She snapped her fingers. 'Tony Blair!'

The doctor steered her towards the wheelchair in the corner. 'Nice try, but no cigar. Come on, we'll get you into bed.'

'Ooh, saucy. I love a woman in uniform.'

Logan held the curtain open for them, watching as the doctor wheeled Steel away. The inspector flapped her arms and tried to turn around in her seat. 'Laz! Laz - look after my car, OK? It's parked round the back of ... thingy. You know: the place we work?' And then she was round the corner and out of sight, laughing like something out of a Carry On film.

But Logan didn't have anything to laugh about - not if he had to tell Colin McLeod someone had mutilated his brother.

7

'Ah...' Rory Simpson looked up at the camera bolted to the wall of the interview room. 'That wasn't what I meant.'

Logan sat back in his seat and folded his arms. 'You
said
you saw them!'

'Heat of the moment. I got caught up in all the excitement: high-speed chase, the sirens... Being handcuffed bent double like that, blood must have rushed to my head.'

Rory had developed amnesia the moment he'd overheard some idiot talking about what had happened to Simon McLeod and the other victims.

'Do you have any idea how important this is? People are being--'

'Suppose I
had
seen them - and I'm not saying I did - but suppose I had. What do you think they'd do to me if they found out I'd identified them?' He ran a hand across his bushy grey moustache. 'I'm rather attached to my eyes. I need them for looking at stuff.'

'Rory, we can stop them. But we need to know what they look like.'

'Can't you...' He waved his hands around. 'You know, DNA, fingerprints, that kind of thing.'

'They were wearing gloves.' Logan scooted his chair closer to the interview table. 'We can protect you. Make sure they can't lay a hand on you.'

Silence.

'Hmmm...' Rory pursed his lips and stared at the camera again. 'And would it make you forget all about our little ...
misunderstanding
at the school this morning?'

'You mean when you were trying to coax little kids into your car with drugs?'

Rory actually blushed. 'Well, it might have looked like that, but--'

'Were you shopping for yourself, or someone else?'

This time the awkward pause stretched out for almost a minute. 'I ... I don't know what you mean.'

'Don't play dumb, Rory. We know someone's in the market for young "livestock" - we've been hearing rumours for years. Was the little girl for you, or were you snatching to order?'

He shifted in his seat, licked his top lip, fidgeted. 'About those men this afternoon ... I
may
have seen them after all.'

'You know what happens to people who abduct children, don't you Rory?'

'I was looking right at them as they went past.'

'How much was that little girl worth? How much was someone going to pay you for her?'

'I... If I tell you about those men, can you make all this ... go away?'

Logan doubted it. 'The Chief Constable doesn't like it when we let paedophiles go: says it doesn't look good in the papers. But...' He glanced over his shoulder at the uniformed PC standing against the wall, then dropped his voice to a whisper, 'I could have a word with the Procurator Fiscal. Let her know you're helping with a major investigation. It'd be up to her whether we prosecute or not.'

Rory wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead, and said, 'OK, let's do it.'

By the time four o'clock arrived, Logan had reasonable e-fits for the men who'd blinded Simon McLeod and concussed DI Steel. He'd just finished signing Rory back into custody when DS Pirie appeared. 'The boss wants to see you.'

Which was lucky, because Logan wanted to see him too.

Detective Chief Inspector Finnie's office was one of the bigger ones on the fourth floor, with a view of the rear podium car park and the back of a row of granite buildings. DS Pirie sat back against the windowsill, flicking through a forensics report, a smug smile on his face. A couple of Eric Auld prints graced the walls above Finnie's desk, their cheerful summery colours in complete contrast with the DCI's expression as he put the phone down and glowered at Logan.

'How many times do we have to have this discussion, Sergeant?'

'Sir?'

'Did I imagine it, or did I tell you to run everything by me
before
you did it?'

'But you said--'

'So imagine my
disappointment
when I found out that you interviewed the only witness we've got to the Oedipus attacks, without even telling me he existed.'

'We caught him trying to lure children--'

'I have six people with their eyes gouged out, Sergeant McRae: six. And not only did you
spectacularly
fail to arrest the man who did it - don't interrupt - you also concealed a witness!' He started a slow round of applause. 'Good job. Well done. You must be
so
proud. I can't
imagine
why you haven't made DI yet.'

He held out his hand, and Logan had a sudden urge to spit in it.

'Well,' said Finnie, 'let's see these e-fits then.'

Logan gave him the printouts, and the DCI examined the two identikit faces. One was in his mid-thirties: heavy eyebrows, thickset features, broken nose, and little piggy eyes. The other looked like an ageing movie star - the kind who was still playing the hero in action films: grey hair, steely eyes.

'And do we believe these are accurate?'

'Simpson's done time in Peterhead before, he knows what'll happen to him if he gets sent down again.'

'You're cutting him a deal?'

'He thinks I am.'

'I see...' Finnie settled back in his chair, fingers steepled together as he considered the ceiling for a moment. 'Pirie?'

His sidekick barely glanced at the printouts. 'I don't like it. The profile says we're looking for a single white male in his mid-twenties.'

Logan said, 'Well, the profile's wrong then, isn't it?'

Pirie held up the e-fit of the older man. 'Are you
positive
this is what he looked like?'

Logan opened his mouth. Then closed it again. Coughed. 'Technically I didn't actually
see
either of them - well, I did, but it was dark and I had a face full of pepper-spray - but Rory Simpson--'