Page 125 of Better the Devil

The tent was erected justin time for the rain to start hammering down, slicking the grass and pooling in puddles on the uneven tarmac of the A9. Joe Robertson’s remains were now protected from the elements, and from the beady eyes of the drivers slowing as they passed.

Geoff Palmer had turned up a few minutes earlier, practically falling out of the minibus in his excitement. Logan had braced himself for Palmer’s usual arse-puckering banter, but the Scene of Crime man had barely acknowledged him in his rush to go talk to DCI Reeve.

Logan had been delighted to find himself overlooked. Of course he had. Anyone who thoughtfor a secondthat he was even remotely annoyed by Reeve stealing his thunder was barking up the wrong tree, he could assure them.

Reeve, for his part, seemed to be genuinely pleased to see Palmer again. They laughed like old friends, Reeve gripping the other man’s hand and pumping his arm like he was drawing water from a well.

‘That forensics here?’

Logan half-turned as Sergeant Fleck shuffled up to join him, the rain rattling against the peak of his cap. He looked… smaller. Diminished, like he’d lived a whole lifetime in the space of the last few minutes.

‘Aye. Pathologist is on the way,’ Logan told him.

Fleck nodded slowly. He stared at the tent, like he was expecting Joe to come shambling out of it at any moment.

‘I told him to stay home,’ Fleck said. ‘I knew he was upset. I should’ve… I shouldn’t have just…’

He looked down at his feet. Logan watched him gripping the seams of his trousers, like they were tethering him in place, keeping him from floating up and away.

‘I told him to stay where he was.’

‘This isn’t your fault, Sergeant. It’s nobody’s fault.’

Fleck raised his eyes. For a moment, there was an accusation in them.

It is someone’s fault. It’syourfault.

But if that was what he was thinking, he didn’t voice it. Instead, he ran a hand across his eyes, wiping away the water that was gathering there.

‘Someone needs to tell his wife. Maureen. She’ll be worried sick.’ The way his face contorted suggested he wasn’t happy to be suggesting this. ‘I could do it. Take one of the constables. Leave them there with her until a liaison can come talk to her.’

‘You up for that?’ Logan asked.

‘Not really,’ Fleck said. He smiled grimly. ‘But she knows me. It’ll be easier for her. And I usually end up getting volunteered for these visits, anyway.’

‘Right. Aye. Good,’ Logan said.

Watching Gavin standing there, shrunken by the death, reminded Logan of something Reeve had said about the sergeant.Nice guy, sad story.

Logan suddenly got the sense that the sergeant was familiar with death. Not in the abstract, not as part of the job. He’d seen it firsthand. Stood there and faced it, eye to eye.

He’d lost someone. Logan would’ve put money on it.

‘Thank you,’ he said, and he realised that the water Fleck kept wiping from his eyes wasn’t exclusively down to the rain. ‘Come to the station when you’re done, and we’ll debrief.’

‘Will do, sir.’

Logan listened to the trampling of wet grass as Fleck left to carry out his unenviable night’s work. He checked his watch, then looked around until he spotted Tyler and Sinead among the small army of officers and SOCOs.

‘Right, you pair, go home,’ he instructed, marching over to join them.

Sinead pulled the zip of her jacket a little higher, and crossed her arms against the cold. ‘It’s fine, sir.’

‘It’s not fine. It’s nearly eight. You’ve got kids to get home to, and there’s not a lot we can do here.’

Sinead started to object again, but Tyler had the good sense to talk over her. ‘Cheers, boss. Sounds good.’

Logan told them he’d see them in the morning, advised them both to put the interview out of their minds and try to sleep, then waved them on their way.