Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

‘What’s in Spain?’

‘Complications.’

The door remained firmly closed.

He tried the doorbell again, keeping his thumb on it.

Harper moved in closer, so she was sheltered from the snow. ‘Sod this. Not standing out here like a pair of idiots while Milne sits in there laughing at us.’ She nodded at the door. ‘Sergeant, I have reason to believe Martin Milne’s family is in danger and we should force entry. Agreed?’

Logan tried the handle.

Locked.

He mashed the bell again. ‘Don’t think I’m really up to kicking it down.’

‘Hold on.’ Harper put a hand on his arm as a shadow fell across the glass beside the door.

There was a click , and then the shadow faded again.

This time, when Logan tried the handle, the door swung open, letting a flurry of snow twirl into the hall.

They hurried inside, shutting the door behind them, just in time to see Katie Milne disappear into the kitchen, what looked like a bottle of champagne in one hand.

Logan followed her, pausing to check the lounge and the downstairs bathroom on the way. No sign of Milne.

Katie had her back to them as they entered the kitchen, putting two mugs down in front of the rattling kettle. ‘Is tea all right? I don’t have any coffee.’ Her voice was soggy — slow and muffled — as if her mouth wasn’t working properly. She raised the bottle of champagne and swigged from it. ‘Or there’s wine, if you’d rather?’

Logan unzipped his jacket. ‘Mrs Milne, where’s your husband?’

She turned. Her chin was covered in dried blood, bottom lip all swollen and cracked. Which explained the voice. A single white tooth sat on a saucer by the sink. ‘He’s in the garage.’ She pointed at the far wall, then took another swig. Blinked in slow motion. ‘Would you like biscuits?’

Harper nodded. ‘Sergeant, invite Mr Milne to join us.’

Logan limped back out into the hall, following the vague direction of the pointed finger down to a door at the far end. It opened on a breezeblock garage, with a dark-blue Aston Martin parked in it.

Milne was on the floor.

He lay face-down on the concrete, naked, with both hands tied behind his back. Torso and legs covered in bruises. Wine bottles lay scattered around him, a couple of them broken, the heady winey smell mingling with the butcher-shop tang of blood and offal. A black plastic bag was duct-taped over his head.

Katie Milne ran a finger along the countertop. ‘They came in the back way, over the garden wall. Didn’t see them till they were barging in through the French doors.’

Two cups of tea sat on the table, untouched.

Harper stared. ‘And they killed him? Right there, in front of you?’

‘They said I had to watch as punishment.’ She reached into a pocket and came out with a small white plastic tub. The kind that pills came in. ‘I had to tell everyone what happened to people who couldn’t be trusted.’

‘Notebook, Sergeant.’ Harper snapped her fingers at Logan. Back to Katie. ‘Can you describe them?’

She shook her head. ‘They were wearing... I don’t know, masks or something.’ Katie dropped the container into the bin. Took another swig of champagne then went to put the bottle down, but missed the worktop. It hit the floor and shattered, spattering out frothing wine that hissed and fizzed against the tiles.

Logan didn’t bother with the notebook. ‘And then you cleaned the kitchen?’

‘What?’ Katie turned towards the fridge and its display of childish drawings.

‘Where’s Ethan?’

‘Didn’t you hear me? They killed my husband.’

He pointed at the floor. ‘You say they came in from the garden, which is under about two feet of snow, but the tiles are bone dry.’ Well, everywhere except for the bit covered in champagne. ‘So’s the laminate in the hall and the garage floor.’

She took a picture of a cow jumping over a rainbow from the fridge door. ‘Ethan’s always been very sensitive.’

‘Mrs Milne? When all this happened, why didn’t you alert the patrol car parked right outside?’

‘They always tell you children are so resilient, don’t they? That they can get over anything, given enough time.’

‘Did you kill your husband, Mrs Milne?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Her voice was getting slower. More slurred.

‘Logan?’ Harper picked up four bits of paper from the kitchen table. It looked as if they used to be a single sheet, torn into ragged quarters, one side covered in neat blue handwriting. ‘Listen to this: “Dear Katie. I can’t go on like this. I’m tired of being scared all the time, I’m tired of the threats and the violence. I’m tired of never knowing what’s going to set you off. By the time you read this, Ethan and I will be long gone.”’

Katie shook her head. ‘No.’

‘“I should never have lied for you. As soon as we’re out of the country I’m going to tell the police that gangsters didn’t murder Peter, it was you. I’ll tell them I only helped you cover it up because you threatened to kill yourself and my son.”’ Harper looked up from the torn letter. ‘“You need help, Katie. You need to tell the police what you’ve done. Ethan deserves better than this.”’ She lowered the fragments to the table. ‘“Martin”.’

‘How could he be so selfish .’ Katie held the picture against her chest. ‘Taking my baby from me. My baby.’

Logan’s eyes flicked to the bin. The empty tub of pills.

Oh no...

‘Where’s your son, Mrs Milne? I need to see him right now.’ Logan waved a hand at Harper. ‘Go: search the bedrooms.’

‘You should have seen Ethan’s face when he found out about his father.’ She stared down at her hands. ‘Broke my heart.’

Harper scrambled out into the hall, pulling out her Airwave. ‘DS Robertson, I need you in here!’

A copy of the Aberdeen Examiner sat on the worktop, by the kettle. Someone had been having a bash at the crossword. Katie flicked it over, exposing the front page. ‘H UNT C ONTINUES F OR S TUDENT E MILY’S K ILLER ’ above a photograph of a young woman in a leather jacket grinning away outside a pub somewhere.

Katie picked it up and knelt by the broken champagne bottle, spreading the newspaper out beside her and dropping shards of green glass onto it. Wine soaked into the paper, darkening it. ‘He told me it was only the one time. That it was a mistake, he loved me . We were a family.’

‘Mrs Milne, please: where’s Ethan? Is he safe?’

‘I mean, Peter Shepherd? Martin and Peter, together? He’d been in my house so many times. He was Ethan’s godfather. How could they do that?’ She shook her head. ‘They were going to take my baby from me.’

‘LOGAN!’ Harper’s voice boomed out from somewhere deep inside the house. ‘LOGAN, CALL AN AMBULANCE!’

Katie Milne wadded up the newspaper and dumped it in the bin. Then put the drawing back on the fridge. ‘He was always so sensitive.’

‘Here.’ Logan held out a plastic cup full of vending machine coffee, topped with a scummy disc of foam masquerading as milk.

Harper took it. ‘Thanks.’

‘They were out of KitKats, so I got you a Double Decker.’ Logan eased himself into the plastic seat next to hers, groaning and grunting all the way. ‘Gnnn...’

‘You OK?’ She ripped the top off the orange-and-purple wrapper and took a bite of chocolate.

‘No.’

‘Me neither.’

A man in light blue hospital scrubs squeaked his way down the corridor and stopped in front of them. Checked his clipboard. ‘Detective Superintendent Harper? Good. Yes. Well, I’m happy to say that Mrs Milne’s going to be fine. We pumped her stomach and it looks like she didn’t take anywhere near enough Loprazolam to cause any real damage.’