Page 19 of Better the Devil

Logan was tempted to ask who she thought he was, but decided it wasn’t the time.

‘Are you Eleanor?’ he asked. ‘Eleanor Belov?’

She stopped bouncing, and shot a wary look in the direction of the double doors. The baby pulled back from chewing on her arm, revealing a dark patch of drool on the tracksuit sleeve.

‘Who are you?’ she asked him again. ‘I’ll shout for my brothers-in-law. They’re right through there. You don’t want me to call them in, trust me.’

‘I thought you knew? At the door, you…’ Logan glanced back over his shoulder to where the boy was now running up and down the hall, waving the banana skin above his head. ‘The wee man. Is he Jack?’

‘How do you…?’ the woman began, before giving a single, curt nod. ‘I mean it, you’d better tell me who the fuck you are, or else?—’

Logan reached for the inside pocket of his jacket. The woman jolted back, angling her body between him and the baby.

‘It’s just my ID,’ Logan told her. He opened the wallet to reveal his Warrant Card. ‘DCI Logan. Also Jack, hence the confusion.’

It was hard to tell beneath the mask of fake tan and makeup, but Logan would’ve sworn the woman’s face turned pale.

‘Police? You’re the police?’

‘Aye. Eleanor?’

She swallowed. Nodded. Her eyes flitted to every possible exit in the room, like she was considering making a run for it.

‘You said your brothers-in-law were next door? Are they Victor’s brothers?’ Logan asked. ‘If so, it might be worth bringing them through. I’m afraid this concerns them, too.’

‘You… you don’t want that,’ she said, and there was a shake to her voice now that had been missing just a moment before. ‘They don’t like the police.’

‘We have that effect on some people, right enough.’

‘No, you don’t understand.’ This time, her gaze lingered on the double doors for a few seconds, before she met Logan’s eye again. ‘Theyreallydon’t like the police.’

Logan shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. ‘Aye, well,’ he said. ‘I’ll try and not take it personally.’

Eleanor made no move to alert the men, but she didn’t have to. The doors opened with a heavy-soundingclunkand swung slowly outwards.

For a moment, Logan was reminded of Roman Gladiators, and arenas, and packs of hungry predators. What eventually emerged wasn’t too far off the mark.

Two men, one in his early forties, the other maybe late-twenties, came striding out, puffing on fat, sour-smelling cigars. Aside from the age difference, they were functionally identical. Both bald, both bearded, both sporting neck tattoos, and both wearing sunglasses inside. At night. Like a pair of absolute fannies.

They were big, too. Not Jack’s height—not even close—but more densely packed and meticulously put together. They wore gold chains, and gold bracelets, and gold rings. One of them, the older one, showed two gold teeth when he sneered at the sight of the stranger in the living room.

‘Who the fuck is this?’ he demanded, looking to Eleanor for the answer rather than the detective himself.

There was an accent there, but not strong. He’d worked out the kinks of it, or maybe had them hammered out of him.

‘I’m DCI Logan,’ Jack said, before Eleanor could reply. ‘Police Scotland Major Investigations. And you are?’

The man continued to stare at Eleanor. The baby on her hip began to gurn.

‘What I am is confused. What are you doing in this house?’

He finally shifted his gaze in the detective’s direction. Behind him, his younger counterpart stood cracking his knuckles, saying nothing. Veins bulged on the sides of his head, suggesting he was clenching his jaw so hard the rest of his face was suffering the consequences.

Logan regarded both men in silence for a few seconds, then deliberately turned away from them and addressed Eleanor instead. Out in the hallway, he could still hear the boy rushing around. He was making aeroplane noises now, clattering up and down the corridor with his arms at his sides.

‘I’m sorry to arrive unannounced on you like this, Mrs Belov,’ Jack said.

He gestured to an ostentatious white leather couch behind her. It was a brute of a thing, with two corners, three sets of cup holders, and a chaise longue at each side.