boot, so Insch made him get out of the car and fetch it, not stepping out into the downpour until Logan had the brolly open and was standing right next to the car door.
‘Now that’s what I call service,’ said Insch with a grin. ‘Come on then, let’s go see the family.’
Mr and Mrs Lumley had a corner apartment near the top of the tower block. To Logan’s surprise the lifts didn’t reek of piss, nor were they scrawled all over with badly-spelled graffiti. The lift doors opened onto a well-lit corridor and halfway down they found a uniform rummaging about in his nose.
‘Sir!’ he said, snapping upright and abandoning his excavations as soon as he saw the inspector.
‘How long you been here?’ asked Insch, sneaking a peek over the PC’s shoulder at the Lumley home.
‘Twenty minutes, sir.’ There was a tiny stationhouse less than two hundred yards from the tower blocks. Little more than a couple of rooms really, but it did the job.
‘You got someone going door-to-door?’
The PC nodded. ‘Two PCs and a WPC, sir. The area car’s off broadcasting a description.’
‘When did he go missing?’
The constable dragged a notebook out of his pocket, flicking it open at the right page. ‘The mother called at ten-thirteen. The child had been playing outside—’
Logan was shocked. ‘In this weather?’
‘Mother says he likes the rain. Dresses up like Paddington Bear.’
‘Aye, well. . .’ said Insch, stuffing his hands deep in his pockets. ‘Takes all sorts. Friends?’
‘All at school.’
‘I’m glad someone is. Have you checked with the school, just in case our little friend has decided to go learn something?’
The PC nodded. ‘We called them straight after the friends. They’ve not seen him for almost a week and a half.’
‘Lovely,’ said Insch with a sigh. ‘Right, come on then, out the way. We’d better see the parents.’
Inside, the flat was all done up in bright colours, just like the house at Kingswells, where David Reid used to live before he was taken, strangled, abused and mutilated. There were pictures on the walls, like the Erskine’s house in Torry, but the kid was a scruffy-looking boy of about five, with a mop of red hair and a face full of freckles.
‘That was taken two months ago, at his birthday party.’
Logan turned his attention from the wall to the woman standing in the lounge doorway. She was quite simply stunning: long, curly red hair hanging loose on her shoulders, a small upturned nose and wide green eyes. She’d been crying. Logan did his best not to stare at her considerable bosom as she showed them into the living room.
‘Have you found him?’ This from a tattered-looking man in blue overalls and socks.
‘Give them time, Jim, they’ve only just got here,’ said the woman, patting him on the arm.
‘Are you the father?’ asked Insch, perching himself on the edge of a bright blue sofa.
‘Stepfather,’ said the man, sitting back down again. ‘His father was a bastard—’
‘Jim!’
‘Sorry. His dad and me don’t get on.’
Logan started a slow inspection of the cheerful room, making a show of examining the photos and the ornaments, all the time watching Jim the stepfather. It wouldn’t be the first time a stepson had fallen foul of mum’s new husband. Some people took to their partner’s kids as if they were their own, others looked at them as a constant reminder that they weren’t first. That someone else had shagged the one they loved. Jealousy was a terrible thing. Especially when vented on a five-year-old child.
OK, every photo on the wall showed the three of them looking as if they were having a great time, but people didn’t tend to put up pictures of the bruises, cigarette burns and broken bones in the living room.
Logan was particularly taken with a scene on a beach somewhere hot, in which everyone was in their swimming gear, grinning at the camera. The mother’s figure was breathtaking, especially in a bottle-green bikini. Even with the scar where she must have had a Caesarean section.
‘Corfu,’ said Mrs Lumley. ‘Jim takes us away somewhere nice every year. Last year it was Corfu, this year it was Malta. Next year we’re taking Peter to Florida to see Mickey Mouse. . .’ She bit her bottom lip. ‘Peter loves Mickey Mouse . . . he. . . Oh God, please find him!’ And with that she dissolved into her husband’s arms.
Insch cast Logan a meaningful glance. Logan nodded and said, ‘Why don’t I make us all a nice cup of tea? Mr Lumley, can you show me where the things are?’
Half an hour later Logan and Inspector Insch were standing at the bottom of the tower block’s stairwell, looking out at the driving rain.
‘What do you think?’ asked Insch, ferreting out his bag of fizzy sweeties.
‘The stepfather?’
Insch nodded.
‘He seems genuinely fond of the kid. You should have heard him banging on about how Peter’s going to play for the Dons when he grows up. I don’t see him as the wicked stepdad.’
The inspector nodded again. While Logan had been making the tea and questioning the dad, Insch had been gently pumping the mother for information.
‘Me neither. The kid’s not had any history of accidents, or mysterious illnesses, or trips to the doctor.’
‘How come he wasn’t in school today?’ asked Logan, helping himself to one of Insch’s sweets.
‘Bullying. Some big fat kid’s been beating the crap out of him ’cos he’s ginger. Mother’s keeping him off until the school do something about it. She’s not told the stepfather though. She thinks he’d go nuts if he knew someone was picking on Peter.’
Insch stuffed a fizzy thing into his mouth and sighed. ‘Two kids missing in two days,’ he said, not bothering to disguise the sadness in his voice. ‘Christ, I hope he’s just run away. I really don’t want to see another dead kid in the morgue.’ Insch sighed again, his large frame deflating slightly.
‘We’ll find them,’ said Logan with a conviction he didn’t feel.
‘Aye, we’ll find them.’ The inspector stepped out into the rain, without waiting for Logan to open the brolly. ‘We’ll find them, but they’ll be dead.’
Logan and Insch drove back to Force Headquarters in silence. The sky had darkened overhead, storm clouds spreading from one horizon to the other, blotting out the daylight, turning the city dark at two in the afternoon. As they drove the streetlights flickered on, their yellow light making the day seem even
