Memories of Death: A Logan Thorne DCI Scottish Detective Thriller by Duncan Wallace

Author:Duncan Wallace [Wallace, Duncan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-06-03T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

I left DC Connery in the damp corridor and rushed up the stairwell. I took the steps two at a time, and my footsteps echoed like a bowling ball knocking down a pin. I could feel my heart in my throat, and I rushed past several bemused colleagues as I was so intent on finding Harding. Adam Sullivan’s record was burning a hole in my pocket, and I was desperate to share the news with my partner.

The Pit was half-full when I got to CID, and I received a few strange looks for my flustered appearance. The officers didn’t normally see me that way, since I was usually as calm and as collected as a Secret Service agent. As I jogged past their computers, a picture of Millie McNally on the screen grabbed my attention. I paused in front of it.

I’d seen the photo before. It was from a recent New Year’s Eve party, and Millie wore a glittery dress with a scooped back. The photography wasn’t the best, and the low lights glinting on her teeth made her smile look like a wolf’s snarl from a children’s book. I’d found the picture interesting because, unlike the earlier photos, Millie was distanced from her friends, and the prosecco glass in her hand was untouched. I guessed everybody in the department knew the story was out, which meant that Clarke did, too, and soon enough, she’d drag me into her office for a briefing.

I glanced at my office and saw the blinds were open, the light was on, and somebody was in there. DS Harding. I moved towards my partner, filled with a strong determination as though seeing Millie’s face had reminded me what I needed to do first.

I flung open my office door to find Harding was in the middle of pouring herself a gigantic cup of coffee from the machine. She turned, startled, as I burst in, and half of her mug slopped over the sides and splashed on the carpet.

“Christ,” she panted with a hand on her heart. “Was that necessary?”

“You need a hardier disposition than that, Maddy,” I joked. “And you’ve ruined my carpet.”

“Oh, God!” Harding said and knelt to dab frantically at the coffee-stained carpet.

“I’m joking,” I said. “That carpet is prehistoric. It’s been here longer than I have.”

She shot me a look darker than the contents of her mug and stood up. Harding looked better rested than I was, and her copper hair was pulled up into a ponytail that brushed the middle of her back. She kept touching the spot in between her eyebrows as though an ache throbbed underneath, so I wondered if her put-together appearance was all for show. I glanced at my semi-expensive, and for once, recently ironed clothes and remembered I’d tried to achieve the same thing. We were both dressed as though we might get dragged in front of the cameras at any moment.

“Forget about it,” I said as I waved her towards the seat. “I’ve got something to tell you.

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