So at least Keira had been telling the truth aboutthat.
Mind you, she didn’t know Rennie was listening in, so it didn’t count.
Logan strode towards the stairwell door, leaving Tufty to plip the locks and hurry after him while Steel strolled along behind, hands in her pockets.
Up the steps – two at a time. Then one at a time. Then puffing his cheeks out and using the handrail. Getting slower and slower. Because two hours’ sleep, in a pool car’s passenger seatreallywasn’t enough when stairs were involved.
Meaning Tufty had no problems keeping up now, even weighed down by the full stabproof-and-utility-belt kit.
Not so Acting DI Steel – instead she whistled a jaunty tune from somewhere down below, echoing around the bland concrete stairwell. Apparently unbothered about joining them anytime soon.
On the second floor, outside Flat Fourteen F, Logan crumpled back against the banister. Legs like boiled string. And nodded at the doorbell.
Tufty nodded back and gave it a poke.
A good old-fashioneddinnnnnggggg-donnnnnggggsounded inside.
Downstairs, the whistling grew fainter, followed by what sounded like a door closing, then silence. The lazy sod hadn’t even bothered climbing the first flight of stairs – just sodded off out the back. No doubt to vape and pose for yet more stupid selfies. Because being demob-happy meant you didn’t have to do any bloody work.
Well, she was in for a nasty surprise when they finished up here. Let’s see how she liked being demoted,yet again.
The wee loon was looking at him. ‘You OK, Sarge?’
‘Just tired. Give it another go.’
But before Tufty could ring it, clunks came from inside, then the door inched open – brought up short by the chain fixed on the inside.
A small, wrinkly old man, with skin the colour of midnight and hair pale as the moon, squinted out at them. Wearing an AFC replica top, grey joggy-bots, furry slippers, and the kind of Aberdonian accent you could plough fields with. ‘Aye, aye, it’s the polis. Youse here aboot them minkers doonstairs?’
Logan flashed his warrant card. ‘Keira in?’
A wet sigh. ‘Aye. Fit’s she deen, noo?’
‘Can we come in, please?’
‘Gie’s a mintie.’ The door clunked shut, there was a rattle of chain, then it opened again. Only their host was already scuffing off down the hall. ‘The quine’s in her room.’ Before vanishing into the lounge.‘Ah’m nae mackin’ tea, mind!’
The hallway was almost the full depth of the building, with two doors off each side and one at the end.
Wasn’t hard to guess which one was Keira’s. R&B thrummed out through the slab door, making the glittery stickers and ‘TRESPASSERSWILLBEPROSECUTED’ sign vibrate.
Logan pulled his shoulders back and gave it the police officer’s hard three: knuckles rapping against the trembling wood.
A female voice slashed out from inside.‘I already told you, Nana Kweku: go away! I’m busy!’
‘Police. Open up, Miss Longmore, we need to talk.’
Drums and bass rattled out.
‘Miss Longmore?’ Logan knocked again. ‘You’re going to have to come out eventually.’
‘Gah...’Sounding every inch the stroppy teenager.‘I’m just out the shower, OK? Can I put my pants on? That all right with you?’
He did a quick three-sixty.
The door on the far right was the living room, where Keira’s grandad had gone, so that left three more.
The one at the end of the hall opened on a linen cupboard. The one next to Keira’s was another bedroom – old-fashioned, but nice enough. Number three revealed a compact shower room, with white toilet and sink, a soggy towel on the floor, and a medicine cabinet, all misted-up with steam. It smelled...familiarin here. Not just the general post-shower soapy fug, but something distinctlycitrusy. Like a mandarin shagging a block of sandalwood.