A Whisper of Sorrows: A Scottish Detective Mystery (DCI Logan Crime Thrillers Book 6) by JD Kirk

Author:JD Kirk [Kirk, JD]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Zertex Crime
Published: 2020-06-05T00:00:00+00:00

Logan was two cans of Red Bull down, but he could still feel sleep prowling around him like wolves around a campsite, searching for a gap in his defences. He contemplated cracking open the third can, but that would leave just one to see him through the rest of the night, and so he opened up the family-sized bag of Maltesers he’d brought along and got ripped into those, instead.

The street was quiet. A few cars had come and gone. A dog walker or two. A woman on a bike. Nothing out of the ordinary.

As he watched, his mind kept drifting back to Hamza’s kitchen. To the look of fright on the face of his wee girl when Logan had been let inside.

And to the fear in Hamza’s eyes when he thought of that bastard being right there at his home.

Logan drew in a sharp breath, and almost choked on a Malteser. He hacked and coughed it back up as he opened the Volvo’s glovebox. An evidence bag slid out, and he caught it just as he managed to crunch the sweet between his back teeth and swallow what was left of it.

Sitting upright, Logan spread the evidence bag across the steering wheel, flattening its contents. With all the drama at Hamza’s, he’d almost forgotten what he’d found in his flat.

There was no saying it had come from Petrie. It wasn’t his style. It was a plain white envelope with Logan’s name and address printed neatly on a rectangular sticker on the front. He’d barely have glanced twice at it, were it not for the fact that it didn’t have a stamp or a postmark on it.

He’d opened it carefully, and had found three separate sheets of paper inside. Each one contained just a single word, printed in a sans-serif typeface in the middle of the page.

Mentions.

Idealist.

Info.

Three words, apparently all random. It hadn’t been until he’d seen another random word—driveways—scribbled onto one of the photographs that had been left at Hamza’s that he became sure of the Petrie connection.

This wasn’t like him, though. Riddles were never his thing. Mind you, ten years in a secure mental hospital pretending to be brain-damaged would no doubt change a man. He’d certainly have had plenty of time on his hands.

Logan took pictures of the pages on his phone, then emailed them to the central team inbox.

Less than a minute later, Ben Forde’s name flashed up on the phone’s screen, and Logan swiped the button to answer.

“Ben.”

“Jack. Where the bloody hell are you?” DI Forde demanded.

“Following up on another Petrie lead,” Logan said.

“Aye, Hamza said something along those lines,” Ben replied. “What lead?”

Logan thought about pulling rank and giving Ben the brush-off, but he knew the older man would never let him get away with it.

“I’m watching the safe house. Where Maddie and Vanessa are,” he said. “I’m thinking Petrie might try something.”

“What makes you think that?” Ben asked.

Logan adjusted his position in the seat. Half his arse and most of his left leg

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