It couldn’t have been easy to walk through Sauchiehall Street after closing on a Saturday with some mouthy wee bam shouting, “Fuck me, is that no’ her out of Scooby-Doo?” at you at the top of his lungs.
He’d had a suspicion before. No, not a suspicion, a concern. A dread. A nagging fear that ate away at him some nights when he lay awake, and wormed its way into his nightmares while he slept. He had always dismissed it, pushed it away, beaten it down. It didn’t make sense. He refused to let it make sense. And yet, it did. Here, now, it was perhaps the only thing that did, and the realisation of that fact knocked the air from Logan’s lungs and threatened to bring him to his knees. Someone connected to the original case.
He’d been getting there for the past twenty minutes now. Logan had taken a look over his shoulder a couple of times, but there hadn’t looked like it was going to be anywhere useful. Ben had warned him he was expecting too much. The guy wasn’t a trained sketch artist, he was a high school art teacher. Sure, he could probably pull together something half-decent from a detailed description, but asking him to accurately predict what a three-year-old would look like as an adult was a big leap from there.
The warning came too late, however. Logan’s face darkened. “No, Constable, it’s not possible that he wasn’t responsible for killing those boys. I know, because I was there. I saw what he’d done. Alright? Owen Petrie is guilty. And Owen Petrie is safely under lock and key a hundred-and-fifty miles away.
Connor? No. That wouldn’t make any sense,” Logan said. He looked across their faces. “Petrie didn’t do this. You do understand that, yes? Petrie’s not involved.” “Is it possible that Petrie wasn’t responsible for—” Sinead began, then an urgent shake of DI Forde’s head cut her off before she could finish. The warning came too late, however. Logan’s face darkened. “No, Constable, it’s not possible that he wasn’t responsible for killing those boys. I know, because I was there. I saw what he’d done. Alright? Owen Petrie is guilty. And Owen Petrie is safely under lock and key a hundred-and-fifty miles away.
