Close to the Bone (24 page)

‘It’s packed, how am I supposed to. . .’ But she wasn’t listening, she was barging through the crowd like a wrinkly icebreaker that stank of cigarette smoke.

Well, maybe someone would be sodding off soon? Then he could nick
their
table. He did a slow three-sixty, staring through the mass of bodies . . . then stopped. Someone at a table crowded with empty glasses was standing up and waving at him.

‘Guv? ’ PC Guthrie had changed out of his all-black-ninja-police officer uniform and into a tweed sports coat and a pair of jeans, as if he was channelling the spirit of Jeremy Clarkson. He smiled, the fair hair and pale eyebrows looking like mould on his happy potato face. ‘Over here.’ Guthrie shifted his chair over a couple of hops, and pointed at an empty one beside him. ‘Great band, eh? ’

Logan settled into the seat, the other three people at the table rearranging their chairs to make room for him. PC Hannah had a big droopy smile on her face, eyes heavy and lidded in her wobbly head, dark wiry hair sticking out in a frizzy crash helmet. PC Stringer covered his mouth for a belch, blinked a couple of times, then went back to making little knots out of empty crisp packets. Forehead creased up in concentration.

Contestant number three was Dr Graham, sipping what was either a huge gin-and-tonic or a pint of sparkling water. She leaned forward. ‘I should have a face for you by mid-morning tomorrow.’

Stringer patted her on the shoulder. ‘Your round, April. Can we . . . can we have more crisps? ’

Hannah banged a hand down on the table, making the empties clink and rattle. ‘Eating’s cheating!’

‘Making a night of it then? ’

Guthrie shrugged, then drained the last of his latte. ‘Supporting the troops.’

Another thump. ‘Drink!’

‘OK, OK. Drink it is.’ Dr Graham stood and gathered up an armful of empties. ‘DI McRae? ’

‘Not for me, thanks. Got one coming.’

She shuffled off, looking as if she was carrying nitroglycerine rather than a few empty glasses, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth.

Up on the wee stage, the song jangled to the end and applause crackled around the room, along with the occasional whoop.

The singer let it die down, then her voice boomed out of the speakers. ‘
Thanks, guys, here’s a number we haven’t done in a little while, it’s called “The Importance of Being Idle”.’
And off they went again.

Logan turned and peered over his shoulder, through the crowd. ‘Is that Constable Sim up there? ’

Guthrie nodded. ‘Every other Monday. Good, aren’t they? ’ He cleared his throat, leaned in close, not quite shouting over the band. ‘Have you talked to Rennie recently, only he’s on a real moan about this tramp thing.’

‘It’s all he ever does these days: moan.’

‘I know, but he looks up to you and. . .’ Guthrie sat upright, cranking up the smile. ‘Chalmers, thought you weren’t going to make it? ’

DS Chalmers stood to attention, nodding at Logan. ‘Sir. Can I get anyone a drink? ’

‘Nah, you’re good – April’s just gone up for—’

There was a crash of broken glass, then a cheer and some swearing. Dr Graham strikes again.

Chalmers looked left, then right, then marched off and came back a minute later with another chair. Parked it next to Logan. ‘Hoped I’d bump into you, sir. I went through DS Rennie’s notes for the hate crimes, and I think I’ve got a connection. All the victims are male, from the Far East, and none of them are prepared to make a statement.’

‘
That’s
your connection? ’

‘No.’ She opened her mouth. Then closed it again. Had another go: ‘Well, yes it is, but think about it: if you’ve been attacked by a bunch of racist morons, why lie to protect them? Why not cooperate with the police? Wouldn’t you want them arrested and locked up? ’

He shook his head. ‘Not that much of a shock, is it? Whoever beat them up threatens to come back and finish the job if they speak to the police. Poor sods are too scared to stick their hands up and ask for help.’

‘But what if it’s more than that? What if our
victims
are involved in something illegal too? ’

‘And they can’t talk without incriminating themselves.’ Possible.

‘What if—’

A gravelly voice sounded right behind her. ‘Hoy, Curly-top, budge up.’ Steel was back.

Chalmers stood. ‘Sorry, ma’am. Would you like my seat? ’

Steel smiled. ‘Blatant sucking up, but I’m cool with that.’ She thumped a pint glass down on the table in front of Logan: black with a white head.

He sniffed at it. ‘I don’t drink Guinness, I drink Stella. You
know
that.’

‘Tough nipples. They’re no’ giving Stella away half-price if you flash your warrant card, are they? ’ She creaked into the vacated seat, clutching a large white wine and what had to be a triple whisky. ‘Anyway, it’s good for you.’

‘You drink it then.’

Steel shuddered, then took a sip of wine. ‘No chance. Bloody stuff tastes like licking a leprechaun’s bumhole.’

Chalmers shuffled her feet. ‘I like Guinness.’

Logan pushed the pint towards her. ‘Knock yourself out.’

‘
. . .thanks, everyone! We’re Burn this City Down, and we’ll be back after a short break: Jane needs a pee, and the rest of us need Tequila!’
A huge round of applause went up, and the band followed the blushing bass player offstage.

Steel settled back in her seat and had a scratch at her left armpit, lips puckered, staring at PC Hannah. ‘Come on then.’

The constable gave her a slow-motion blink – one eye lagging behind the other – then smiled, chin pulled into her neck, giving birth to chins. ‘Shoot Jamie. Shag Nigella. Marry Delia? ’

Steel threw her head back and roared a laugh at the ceiling.

Chalmers wobbled her way through the crowd to the table with a chipped brown tray laden with drinks. ‘Right: one latte, one sparkling water. . .’ She doled them out to Guthrie and Dr Graham. ‘One Jack and Coke for Sophie, one Stella. . .’ That went down in front of Logan. ‘One white wine with a Grouse chaser. . .’ Steel. ‘And two Guinness.’

She tucked the tray under the table for next time. ‘Cheers, everyone.’

Steel wrapped herself around a mouthful of wine. Smacked her lips. ‘Guthrie, your turn: Tony Blair, Ed Miliband, and Nick Clegg.’

Chalmers shuffled her chair closer to Logan’s. ‘Before I forget. . .’ She dug about in her handbag, coming out with a white carrier-bag with a big ‘W’ on it. ‘Got you something.’

Ah. Logan stared at it. Well, this was awkward. ‘You don’t have to. . . It’s. . . I’m certainly
flattered
, but I’m seeing someone and—’

‘Oh God no, no.’ She held up her hand and shrank back in her seat, eyes wide. ‘I’m not. . . It isn’t. . . I just thought it would help with the investigation.’ She handed it to him. ‘Open it.’

He did. There was a paperback inside, thick as a house brick.
Witchfire
picked out in shiny gold above a ‘S
IGNED
B
Y
T
HE
A
UTHOR
’ sticker, another boasting ‘S
OON
T
O
B
E
A M
AJOR
M
OTION
P
ICTURE!
’ and one more with ‘
2 FOR £10!
’. The actual book cover was almost invisible. ‘I see. . .’

Chalmers took a mouthful out of her Guinness, leaving herself with a white foam moustache. ‘Tenet Two: “Know thine enemy, for knowledge is power and power is victory.” If Agnes Garfield is
really
that obsessed with the book, maybe we can use it to figure out where she is, or what she’s going to do next? ’

Might not be a bad idea at that.

Laughter erupted through the group, Steel pounding on the tabletop, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘You’re a sick, sick puppy, Guthrie! A cucumber!’

Guthrie shrugged. ‘It’s not like I’d
eat
it afterwards.’

Logan slipped the book into his pocket. ‘Thanks.’

‘No problems, Guv.’

The glass of Stella was cold, beads of condensation rolling down the side. He raised it to his lips, then swore. His phone was having a fit in his pocket, vibrating and blaring out ‘If I Only Had a Brain.’

Sodding Rennie. . .

‘What do you want? ’

Rennie’s voice was barely audible in the crowded pub. ‘
—ng, don’t ha— . . . —er and . . . it?
’

Logan stuck a finger in his other ear. ‘What? ’

‘
I sai— . . . entire pl— . . . —overed in blood! It— . . . —ody.
’

He stood. ‘Calm down and try again.’

Rennie did, but it wasn’t any better.

Steel frowned up from her whisky. ‘What’s munching on your pants? ’

‘Rennie. Says there’s a body, blood everywhere.’ Logan grabbed his jacket off the chair and pushed through the crowd to the exit.

Sunlight glinted off the roadworks on the other side of the street, a deep hole in the patchwork tarmac ringed around with orange cones and barrier tape.

Justice Mill Lane bustled with cars, taxis and drunken half-wits. A pair of girlies were bent over their friend, at the kerb, outside the nightclub next door, one holding her hair the other stroking her shoulders as she vomited in the gutter. Her short skirt was tucked into her knickers at the back. Classy.

A pack of greasy-looking young men laughed like hyenas outside the slab-faced communist-styled lump of a building that used to be the local swimming pool, trying to get one of their number to wear a stolen traffic cone as a wizard’s hat. Someone in the distance roared out the words to ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ as if it was a battle cry.

Eight o’clock on a Monday evening. . .

Logan hunched his shoulders against the noise and pressed the phone hard against his ear. ‘What body? ’

‘
OK, OK. . .
’ There was a deep breath. ‘
Kintore. Neighbours complained about the smell, so the local station sent round a uniform. There’s a body in the kitchen and blood . . . everywhere.
’

‘Has the—’

‘
I can’t cock this up! I’ve never dealt with something like this on my own. What? What do I do?
’

O’Donoghue’s door clunked open and Chalmers appeared.

DCI Steel was right behind her, blinking into the sunshine. ‘What’s this about a body? ’

‘Will you shut up? ’

‘
I’m sorry, I’ll shut up. Just tell me what to do!
’

‘Not you.’

Steel stuck her chin out. ‘Don’t you tell me to shut up!’

He turned his back on her. ‘Get your notebook out. I need you to call Control and tell them you’re confirming it’s a suspicious death. Tell them you need a crime scene manager, the PF, the pathologist, the IB, and enough bodies to search the place and get door-to-doors started.’

‘
I can do this. . . I can do this. . .
’

‘And get the scene secured – you know the drill: no one in or out. Now give me the address and I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

Steel poked him in the chest with a yellowed finger. The words floated out on a tide of whisky fumes: ‘
We’ll
be there. Head of CID, remember? ’

21

Blue-and-white ‘P
OLICE
’ tape stretched across the driveway, tied to a For Sale sign driven into the lawn on one side and next-door’s cheery garden gnome on the other. Not exactly impenetrable, but better than nothing.

Bees hummed in the syrupy summer air, thick with the Turkish-delight smell of honeysuckle and roses. A nice street, in one of the older bits of Kintore, only a handful of eighties bungalows breaking up the solid granite cottages and terraced houses. The clacking diesel growl of a train going past behind the property on the way out to Inverurie.

It wasn’t the kind of place normally associated with words like ‘bloodbath’.

DCI Steel leaned on the roof of Logan’s battered Fiat Punto, elbows just missing a gritty smear of vitrified seagull poop. She took a long drag on her fake cigarette. ‘What kind of sick weirdo has gnomes? ’

Chalmers struggled her way out of the back seat, notebook at the ready. ‘Why aren’t the SEB here? ’

‘I mean, it sounds like a venereal disease, doesn’t it? Can’t come into work today, I’ve got a bad case of the gnomes.’

No sign of life, so Logan called Rennie on his mobile. ‘Where are you? ’

‘
Where are
you
?
’

‘Out front.’

‘
Don’t come in!
’ Clunk, rattle.

‘What, are you naked or something? ’

Then the front door opened and Rennie lurched out onto the driveway, dressed in a white SOC suit. ‘You have to stay out here.’

Steel snorted, then stepped over the gnome-line. ‘Aye, that’ll be shining.’

Rennie scurried over, the legs of his suit making rustly vwip-vwop noises. ‘No!’

She stopped one foot in, one foot out. ‘I’m head of sodding CID, you wee shite. I’ll decide—’

‘This is a secure scene. No one enters or leaves till the Procurator Fiscal and the IB gets here.’ He stuck out his chest. ‘First rule of crime-scene management: secure the scene.’

‘First rule of DCI Steel – do what you’re sodding told, or I’ll have your scrotum for a shower cap!’

His eyes flicked to Logan. ‘Guv? ’

‘You stick to your guns, Detective Sergeant.’

Steel scowled at him. ‘Don’t you bloody start.’ She pulled her shoulders back. ‘Rennie, I’m warning you: get out of—’

‘Have you been drinking? ’ He sniffed, then his mouth set into a hard little line. ‘You’re not getting anywhere near my crime scene. The PF would do her nut.’

Logan placed a hand on Steel’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t you and Chalmers wait out here, and I’ll let you. . . What? ’

Rennie shook his head. ‘You’ve been in the pub with her, haven’t you? ’

‘I had
one
pint. I’m still—’

‘DI Leith got here five minutes ago, Control made him Senior Investigating Officer, and you know what he’s like.’

‘You called me! We came wheeching all the way out here for
nothing
? ’

Rennie opened his mouth, then closed it again. Fingered the elasticated hood of his oversuit. ‘I can’t let anyone in till the PF and the IB get here.’