A Killer of Influence: A Scottish Crime Thriller (DCI Logan Crime Thrillers Book 20) by JD Kirk

Author:JD Kirk [Kirk, JD]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zertex Crime
Published: 2024-09-12T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Getting through the cordon of reporters and cameras had been tough. Ignoring their shouted questions and shrieked demands for interviews hadn’t bothered him, but the urge to pan some of their faces in had proven harder to resist.

Fortunately, he’d held back, though had there been another call to smile like at the press conference earlier in the evening, he doubted he could’ve held so firm.

A couple of them had jogged towards their cars, making as if to follow him as he’d headed for his BMW. He’d taken a few moments to express to them precisely how much they would regret going through with that plan, then had gone speeding out of the car park with a notable lack of pursuers.

He was halfway home before he realised how badly his hands were shaking.

Before the Gozer had sent him packing, he had been going to get a copy of the audio recording from Harold Foster’s phone made so he could listen to it again. He hadn’t had a chance, but it didn’t matter. The voice was playing in his head, over and over.

It had done something to him, that voice. It had poured into his ears like a witch’s brew of potions and poisons, turning his own body against him, and stirring the muck in the deeper, darker pools of his subconscious.

There was a world, he thought, where what he was experiencing could be likened to a panic attack. But, it wasn’t this world, and if anyone suggested as much, they’d find themselves on the wrong side of a size 13 boot.

He was passing the hospital when the replaying voice in his head became too much for him, and he made an awful, desperate decision. The sort of decision that, under any other circumstances, he would never have made.

He called Geoff Palmer’s mobile.

The burring of a ringing tone filled the car’s cabin for a second or two, before Palmer’s voice slithered from the speakers.

‘Congratulations. You’re through to Geoff Palmer. Sorry, I can’t take your call right now. If you’re calling about police business, please use the landline during office hours, as I’ve previously instructed several times, both verbally and in writing. If you’re calling to book me for a stand-up slot, then please leave a message after the tone.’

Logan waited for the tone, then barked an instruction for the Scene of Crime man to call him back.

He thumped his hands on the steering wheel a few times and hissed a frustrated, ‘Fuck!’ through his teeth.

And the bag containing the parcel he’d been sent lurked silently on the passenger seat beside him.

He arrived home just a few minutes later. The streets of Inverness, particularly away from the city centre, were near-deserted at this time of night. A few taxis criss-crossed each other’s paths, like hungry predators all seeking out the same prey.

They were either new to the game, or stupidly optimistic. Most of the more experienced drivers would be comfortably tucked up in bed at half-eleven on a Monday night, ready for the school runs in the morning.

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