Authors: Stuart MacBride
It was getting colder. Logan stood in the open doorway, his SOC suit covered in dust – going dirty grey in the misty drizzle. The crane was a huge scuffed yellow thing, borrowed from the building site, a yellow light on the cab roof flashing gold and darkness through the rain. The bitter smoke tang of diesel exhaust pulsed out in great clouds as the foundation slab was slowly lowered onto a waiting flatbed truck.
Smurfs One and Two had secured their blue plastic sheet to the block with at least three rolls of silver duct tape, wrapping the whole thing up like a morbid Christmas present. Now they guided it carefully onto a framework of wooden posts, keeping Steve Polmont’s remains from being crushed against the metal truck bed.
The truck’s rear end sank as the huge chunk of concrete settled into place, the suspension groaning. Two more techs unhooked the crane, strapped the block into place, and drove it away.
Smurf Number One peeled off her mask, then her SOC suit hood. She ran a hand through her brown and grey hair, letting it fall around her shoulders, then looked up to see Logan watching.
‘You’re that DS aren’t you?’ Her voice steamed out around
her head and a smile creased her round face, wrinkling up the eyes. ‘The one who had to eat human flesh?’
Logan tried not to grimace, he really did.
She stuck out a gloved hand. ‘Doctor Jessica Frampton, forensic soil science. This is Tony, my assistant.’
Smurf Number Two nodded, one eye not really pointing the same way as the other. ‘Wassup?’
‘Right, yes.’ Logan shook the proffered hand, then nodded at the truck’s taillights, fading into the distance. ‘So, you’re the concrete specialists?’
‘Soil. They won’t get a lot of trace evidence off the body – any fibres will be all on the outside of the clothing, bound up in the concrete – but the soil…’ She winked, not letting go of his hand. ‘The soil always has a story to tell, don’t you think?’
‘Erm, OK.’ Logan tried to back away, but her grip was solid.
‘Tell me, do we really taste like chicken?’
Awkward silence.
‘I think I’d better…’ He pointed over his shoulder, back towards the house. ‘You know.’
Smurf Number Two, nodded. ‘Later.’
Dr Frampton finally released Logan’s hand. ‘The soil never lies.’
‘OK…’ And he was free.
DI Steel was waiting for him in the CID pool car, dribbling smoke out her nose. She flicked a nub of ash into the footwell as Logan stripped off his SOC suit and chucked it in a bin-bag. He rolled the whole lot up and threw it in the back.
‘Who you speaking to?’
Logan slid in behind the wheel. ‘Some creepy soil science woman and her pet monkey.’
‘Ah, Dr Framptonstein and Igor the Dude.’ Steel shrugged and had a dig at her crotch. ‘She’s no’ as bad as she seems, just a bit enthusiastic, you know?’ Putting on a
Hammer House of Horror
accent for, ‘De soil is de life! Bwahahahahaha…’
They watched the pair shuffle back into the crime scene house, both carrying shovels. Off robbing graves.
Steel pulled her seatbelt on. ‘Did a kidnap case with her, must’ve been seven, eight years ago. Banker’s wife got grabbed on the way home from Markies.’
Logan cranked the key in the ignition, and sent the pool car crawling down the rutted road, making for the site exit, drizzle gleaming in the headlights.
‘Course we knew who did it: Ronny Maguire, a scrawny wee shite with a face like a ruptured scrotum. Swore blind he was in Dundee when she went missing, but we found this muddy pair of boots in his garage. Frampton takes samples, and next day she’s back with three possible locations, all within about a hundred feet of these lay-bys on the A96.’ Steel took a long puff, rolling the cigarette from one side of her mouth to the other. ‘Bang on the money too.’
Logan drove past the last set of foundations, rear tyres squirming in the mud. ‘You found the banker’s wife?’
‘In a drainage ditch: all tied up, covered with a chunk of old carpet, raped and strangled. Ronny’d got the kidnap idea off the telly, thought he could make a bit of easy cash…’ Sigh. ‘Daft bastard never could keep his hands to himself.’ Steel slumped further into her seat. ‘Still, look on the bright side – only lasted three days in Craiginches till some public-spirited junkie kicked him to death.’
The car’s headlights swung past a grubby van with the Strathclyde Police logo on the side, windows glowing an opaque gold. ‘Hang on a minute.’ Logan bumped the car to a halt, undid his seatbelt and clambered out into the soggy gloom.
Steel leaned over in her seat. ‘Hoy, where do you think you’re—’
‘Just be a tick.’
‘Don’t—’
He clunked the door shut, muffling whatever came next,
then hurried across and knocked on the van’s steamed-up window. PC Martin cracked the door open.
‘Can I not even get…Oh, it’s you.’ She pointed at the passenger seat, where Wardrobe was sitting, tail thumping against the dashboard. ‘I’d invite you in, but…’ Shrug.
‘Should he not be wearing a seatbelt?’
‘You’re letting all the heat out.’
‘Did you get anything else from the other houses?’
The constable raised an eyebrow, then turned to her dog. ‘Hear that, Wardrobe? Local plod think we’re holding out on them. Did you find another deid body and not tell anyone about it?’
Wardrobe’s mouth fell open in a huge grin, tongue hanging out the side like a soggy pink bathmat.
PC Martin looked back at Logan. ‘Nope, looks like one corpsicle is all you get.’ She pulled a handful of prawn cocktail crisps from the packet in her lap, feeding them one at a time to the big yellow Labrador. ‘He likes cheese and onion, but it makes his breath stink. Doesn’t it, Mr Stinky?’
Bark.
She gave him another one. ‘Sniffed out every plot in the place and as much of the site as we could. Could be more remains out there, but with the weather that cold, frozen earth…’ She dug out more crisps. ‘Give it three weeks and you might get more seepage – aye, if there
are
any more out there.’
‘What about blood? Would he pick up blood?’
‘Not unless it was in a big bucket going fusty. Wardrobe’s a cadaver dog, he only does dead bodies. Now, if you don’t mind, it’s sodding freezing and we’d like to finish our crisps in peace before hitting the road. Long way from the Land Of The Sheepshaggers to God’s own Clydeside.’
‘I really don’t see how I can possibly help.’ The project manager ran a hand across his comb-over, straightening up
the trailing strands as Logan eased the interview room door shut.
A gust of rain hammered the window, making the vertical blinds rattle. The misty drizzle had given up on the way back into town, replaced by driving needles of icy water. Making the streetlights bob and sway.
DI Steel looked up as Logan dumped the manila folder on the scarred Formica table and settled into the seat next to her. ‘Detective Sergeant McRae enters the room.’ She sniffed. ‘This it?’
Logan nodded.
Silence.
‘Are we nearly finished here? Because I have a development to run.’
Logan opened the folder and pulled out a handful of printouts. ‘We found a body buried under the foundations of one of your houses, Mr Brett. How many more are there out there?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘How many more bodies? You’ve got planning permission for four hundred houses, that’s a lot of concrete. The whole place could be a graveyard for all we know.’
The project manager took off his glasses and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ‘We’ve been over this. McLennan Homes had nothing to do with—’
Steel banged the table. ‘Then how come there’s a dead body—’
‘—actions of a disturbed individual, who—’
‘—no’ supposed to believe you don’t know—’
‘—had access to the site. It’s not—’
This was all they’d done for the last hour and a bit, go round and round with Brett denying any knowledge or responsibility, and Steel trying to wind him up. It didn’t seem to be working.
The latest bout over, the project manager smoothed the
hair over his bald patch again. ‘Now, I think I have been extremely patient with your questions, but I’m going to have to draw this conversation to a close.’ He stood. ‘If you wish any further statements you can contact our legal team.’
Steel glowered at him. ‘Sit your arse down.’
Another sigh. ‘Inspector, I came here voluntarily to assist with your enquiries. And now I’m going back to work. Good day.’
Logan tapped the sheet of paper. ‘Tell me about your site security, Mr Brett. The large, bald man with the big dog.’
Brett raised an eye brow. ‘What about him?’
‘How about we start with his name?’
Pause. ‘Andy. Andy Stephenson. It says that on the—’
‘The list of employees you gave us?’ Logan made a show of scratching his forehead. ‘That’s odd, because the DNA sample I took came back belonging to a Mr Andrew Connelly.’ He held up the paperwork he’d just printed out. ‘According to the police national computer, Andrew Connelly served three years for aggravated assault. Two years for demanding money with menaces. Got a suspended sentence for his part in a security car heist…There’s more if you want to hear it?’
The project manager sniffed. ‘At McLennan Homes we believe
every
large organization has a responsibility to help integrate people from troubled backgrounds into society. It’s part of our Community Commitment Programme to—’
‘Blah, blah, blah.’ Steel hauled at herself under the table. ‘He’s a bloody enforcer for Malk the Knife and we all know it.’
‘That’s
slander,
Inspector.’
‘And my arse is—’
‘Where is he?’ Logan ignored Steel’s glare. ‘Andrew Connelly wasn’t at the site when we recovered the body. Our teams have spoken to everyone else.’
Brett’s eyes narrowed. ‘Andrew is on compassionate leave, Sergeant. His mother had a stroke yesterday.’
‘Well,
that’s
sodding convenient.’ Steel actually stopped rummaging for a moment. ‘You expect us to believe his dear old mum’s no’ well at exactly the same time we dig Steve Polmont’s body out from under one of your bloody houses? Four days after you catch the silly sod nicking electrical supplies? No way Malk the Knife—’
‘I repeat, Inspector, McLennan Homes had nothing to do with—’
‘Someone had to operate the bloody cement mixer—’
And they were off again.
Logan slouched his way downstairs, with yet another report wedged under his arm so he could burn his fingers carrying the two coffees from the canteen back to Steel’s office. He tried using his elbow to work the door handle and instantly regretted it as the metal dug into the bruised joint, making it ache again. He used his other arm, and froze as the door swung open.
Buggering hell…
That big git Danby was sitting in one of the visitor’s chairs, craning his thick neck around to see who was coming into the room. Steel sat behind her desk, which was actually tidy for once. Something had to be up. And then Logan saw the battered journals they’d taken from Polmont’s flat – the ones full of barely legible, drunken scribbles.
Logan stopped and nodded at the pair of them. ‘Ma’am, sir. You want me to come back later?’
One of Danby’s eyebrows climbed up that huge pink forehead. ‘So it’s “sir” now, is it?’
Might as well get it over with. ‘I’d like to apologize for my earlier comments, sir. It was unprofessional of me to let my personal feelings interfere with the meeting.’
Danby actually smiled. ‘Dear God, that was stilted. You been practising that?’
‘Erm, not really.’
‘Trust me, it shows, know what I’m saying?’
‘Yes, well…’ Shrug. ‘Sorry.’
‘So you should be.’ The man waved a huge hand at the other visitor’s chair. ‘Sit.’
Logan looked at Steel. ‘Ma’am?’
‘Park your arse.’ She stuck out a hand. ‘What did Fingerprints say?’
‘It’s Polmont.’ He held out the report and she snatched it from him, eyes flicking across the page. He pointed at the diagram. ‘They got a sixteen point match off the prints we lifted from the hand.’
She nodded. ‘Post mortem?’
‘Isobel…Dr McAllister’s got it scheduled for half nine tomorrow morning. They’re getting an archaeologist in to help dig the remains out of the concrete.’
Danby shifted in his seat, then reached out to take one of the coffees. Thieving bastard. ‘What did your project manager friend say?’
Logan looked at Steel. ‘Guv?’
‘Tell him.’ She took a sip of her cappuccino. ‘This got cinnamon on it? I don’t like cinnamon—’
‘It’s chocolate. According to Mr Brett, they poured half the new foundations on Monday night and the rest on Tuesday morning, due to some sort of equipment failure. Claims anyone could’ve sneaked onto the site after they shut up for the night, and buried the body in the damp cement.’
Danby frowned. ‘I see…’
‘All bollocks, of course.’ Steel wiped away a foam moustache. ‘If Polmont was dumped in wet cement it’d be all over him, ‘stead of down one side. It was poured in on top.’
The huge DSI drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. Then stood. ‘Better be getting on, got the Sacro report on Knox to wade through.’ He picked up one of the journals on Steel’s desk and tucked it under his arm. ‘Don’t forget to keep me up to date.’
Logan waited until the door clunked shut. ‘Why’s he sticking his nose in?’
‘Never you bloody mind.’ She dug something out of her in-tray and threw it to him. ‘You’ll be happy to know, you’ve had papers served on you
again.
Douglas Walker’s brief thinks you’re unprofessional, overly aggressive, and offensive. How many times is that now?’
Logan scanned the official complaint. ‘Stopped counting when we got into double figures.’
‘Funny. It’ll be even funnier when you’re up in front of the rubber-heelers in half an hour, won’t it? You silly bastard.’
‘He was an idiot.’
‘I don’t care. As of tomorrow you’re someone else’s problem. I’m off on holiday and you can try your luck with whatever banjo-playing inbred loony they send down from Fraserburgh. Meant to be here today, but they’ve got some sort of big drug-raid-stakeout-thing tonight, so you’ll have to give him the handover tomorrow. I want you in the office seven sharp:
sober.
Understand?’