Page 149 of Better the Devil

There were a dozen of them at least, all masked up in full-face balaclavas, and kitted out in dark clothing. They made Logan think of blackbirds or crows. A murder of them, all flocked together, beady eyes reflecting the glow of the battery-powered lamps that hung around the room.

He might not have been expecting this, but he was ready for it. Take charge. Show no fear. It had stood him in pretty good stead up until now.

‘Well, well, well,’ he boomed, as Sergeant Fleck shuffled in behind him. ‘And just who all do we have here?’

None of the masked figures reacted beyond the occasional uncertain glance at their neighbours. Logan had already identified the three largest and most dangerous of the group. The ones who looked like they belonged behind a balaclava. The ones whose bones he would break first, if it came to it.

Most of the others seemed small, meek, nervous. Like they’d buckle at the first sign of pressure. Like they had no business whatsoever being here.

That was good. Keep up the act, and he’d keep them off-balance. The other three, with their broad shoulders and clenched fists, he’d worry about when it came to it.

‘You not going to introduce everyone, Gavin?’ Logan asked.

He smiled, mostly for the benefit of the anxious ones. They wouldn’t expect a smile. They wouldn’t know what to do with it.

‘No?’ he asked, when Fleck said nothing. ‘Fair enough. Let me start. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Jack Logan. And you lot? Well… you’re all in the deepest shit of your lives.’

‘You think?’

It was Sergeant Fleck who spoke. The sentence was punctuated by theclack-clackof a pump-action shotgun.

Logan turned slowly to find a sawn-off weapon being levelled at his chest. One of the more able-looking masked men stood at Fleck’s side. His hands gripped the weapon, still and steady. He didn’t shake, Logan noted. Not once.

‘I’d say you’re the one in the shit here, Jack,’ Fleck told him.

From the ranks of the masked, a woman let out a gasp. ‘Gavin!’

The sergeant silenced her with a look, before turning his attention back to the DCI.

‘This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to work it out. But you got too close, so you didn’t leave me withany choice,’ Fleck said. ‘I knew I had to help you along with it. Bring you here. Let you in on all of it.’

‘All of what?’ Logan asked. He looked around at the group. ‘What is this meant to be, exactly? What did you tell them all? That they could be crime-fighting vigilantes? That they could take back their communities from the bad people?’

‘Like I said. You weren’t supposed to work it out,’ Gavin reiterated. ‘But, aye. Exactly that. Everyone here—everyone in this room—has lost someone to these bastards. To the drug dealers, flooding our towns and villages with their poison. They were sick of it. Sick of seeing their kids, or their brothers, sisters, friends, nieces, nephews, grandchildren, falling prey to these pieces of shit.’

He glared raw hatred down at Bosco, but the Russian was still too out of it to pay much attention. He just groaned, his head hanging low, a string of bloody drool dangling from his bottom lip.

‘The police—you, me, us—we were doing nothing. Not really. If we did put one away, two others would spring up and take their place. Someone had to do something. Something real. Someone had to stand up!’

Logan laughed at that. A few feet shuffled on the bare floorboards. If his earlier smile had worried them, his derisory laughter now had them properly shiteing themselves.

The man with the gun didn’t appear moved, though. He kept it steady, kept it trained.

He was going to be a problem.

‘That what you told them, is it?’ Logan asked. ‘Was that how you got them all on board? Sold them on a noble crusade against the scourge of organised crime? It’s not murder then, is it? It’sjustice.’

‘You’re damn right it is,’ Fleck agreed.

‘So, you killed Victor Belov because you believed he was dealing drugs?—’

‘Not believed,knew,’ the man with the gun stressed.

It was the first words he had spoken. Logan ignored him and pressed on.

‘You killed Kendrick Crichton for the same reason, and now you’re going to kill poor Bosco here, too?’

‘“Poor Bosco,”’ Gavin said, sneering at the description. ‘You know what he is.’