Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

Logan’s shoulders sagged. ‘Steel.’

‘Apparently she told him there were plenty of people in HMP Grampian who owed her favours. And if he didn’t do what he was told, one of them would hold him down and carve “paedo scum” into his forehead.’

‘You didn’t need me. You already had everything you needed.’

A shrug. ‘This is my last case, Logan, now I can retire. Superintendent Gray will be taking my place, but there’s a role for you in the department, if you want it?’

It was a struggle to keep his face in one place, but Logan did his best. ‘Professional Standards?’

Holy Mother of God.

‘Oh you don’t have to decide right away. I’ll be here for the rest of the day, tying up loose ends. If you want to discuss things, let me know.’

The world had gone completely mad.

‘All right, Lumpy, is there anything in your pockets I should know about?’ Calamity snapped on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. ‘Anything sharp — blades, needles, that kind of thing?’

Lumpy Patrick raised his skeletal hands over his head, letting free a groin-curdling reek of rancid sweat. ‘Nah, I’m like, clean as Mr Sheen, and that...’ His breath was even worse.

Logan backed off a couple of paces as Calamity patted him down. ‘Don’t forget to check his turn-ups.’

The bottom edge of Lumpy’s tracksuit bottoms had been rolled back to nearly mid-shin, showing off stick-thin pale hairy legs and grubby socks. His trainers squelched with water on the snowy pavements.

She grimaced, keeping her face as far away from the man she was searching as possible. ‘Gah... Have you never heard of soap, Lumpy? God almighty.’

Logan’s phone launched into its anonymous ringtone. ‘McRae?’

‘ Mr McRae, it’s Sandy Moir-Farquharson. ’ As if anyone else could own that oil-slick voice. ‘ I wanted to appraise you of our progress on your friend’s case. ’

‘Right.’

Calamity finished with Lumpy’s top half, took a deep breath and started on the bottom.

‘ Although the evidence against Detective Chief Inspector Steel is definitely there, we have managed to spot a number of procedural cracks in the way it was gathered and presented. There’s enough technical variance here to make me confident we can get this whole unfortunate incident to go away. ’

‘Aaagh...’ Calamity flinched back from Lumpy’s tracksuit bottoms. ‘Why are you not wearing any underwear? God, it’s all dangly.’

‘That’s great news. We—’

‘ However, she still has the internal Professional Standards review to worry about and, sadly, their burden of proof is much lower than that required in the criminal courts. In all likelihood, they will find her guilty. ’

Ah. ‘Right.’

‘ This means she could face a fine, expulsion from the force, or demotion. But she certainly won’t be going to prison. ’

At least that was something. ‘Thank you.’

‘ My pleasure. Our invoice will be in the post. ’ And Hissing Sid was gone.

‘ All units be on the lookout for a silver Subaru Impreza last seen heading north from New Pitsligo on the A98. Suspected drink driver. ’

Logan sat in the driver’s seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

Meltwater dripped from the eaves and gutters of the buildings, the pavements all shiny — gold and green in the light spilling out of the Co-op’s window.

‘ Update on that missing eighty-two-year-old, she’s been found in New Aberdour, safe and well. ’

Calamity hurried out of the shop, her arms full of assorted things. She hauled open the Big Car’s door and clambered up into the passenger seat. ‘Bleeding heck, it’s freezing out there.’ She held out a bottle of Lucozade and a paper bag. ‘Last hot sausage roll in the cabinet.’

‘Ta.’ He took a swig, then a bite of mouth-scalding meat and pastry.

‘ Anyone in the vicinity of Scotstown Road, Fraserburgh? Reports of a domestic disturbance. ’

She helped herself to what looked like a chicken slice, getting crumbs all down the front of her high-viz jacket. ‘What time you taking your sister and her sexy sidekick down to Keith, Sarge?’

Logan raised an eyebrow. ‘Fancy Narveer, do we, Constable Nicholson?’

A shrug, then more crumbs, talking with her mouth full. ‘Wouldn’t say no to a Singh-along.’

‘Half six, you randy little sod.’

She checked the dashboard clock. ‘Twenty minutes? Might go with you; maybe help our C Division brethren with their bags.’

Inspector McGregor’s voice crackled out into the car. ‘ Bravo India to Shire Uniform Seven, safe to talk? ’

Logan pressed the button. ‘Batter on, Guv.’

‘ William Campbell and Alastair Simmons are at it again. Tearing lumps out of each other outside the football club. Go give them a kick up the bum, will you? ’

‘Will do.’ He started the engine and smiled at Calamity. ‘I know this’ll sound weird, but it’s nice everything’s back to normal again.’

Logan pulled into a parking bay and killed the engine. ‘Here we go: five minutes to spare.’

The car park was pretty much empty at this time of the evening — the Big Car joining a couple of muddy four-by-fours and a small dented van. The building in front of them looked more like a convenience store on an industrial estate than a train station: a long metal shed with a grey pitched roof. Glass along one wall.

‘Thanks.’ Narveer climbed down from the back seat, closely followed by Calamity.

‘Why don’t I help you with the bags, DI Singh?’ All bright and cheerful.

Hussy.

Harper lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Just between you and me, I think Narveer has a thing for your Constable Nicholson.’

Good luck to him — the poor sod would need it.

‘Don’t forget, you’ve only got seven minutes to change trains in Aberdeen.’

‘You’re taking this whole “big brother” thing seriously, aren’t you?’

‘And don’t talk to any strange men.’

They got out and Logan humped her suitcase from the boot. Locked the car. Checked his watch. ‘You need anything?’

‘We’ll be fine.’

They followed Calamity and Narveer to the platform, the wheels on Harper’s case making clattering growls against the lock-block and paving slabs. A bitter wind whipped along the line, setting a couple of empty crisp packets dancing.

Logan stuck his hands in his pockets and watched them whirl. ‘Before I forget: we got the forensics back on Martin Milne’s car. Peter Shepherd’s DNA was all over the boot, and the fibres from the bag over his head match the car’s carpet.’

‘Katie Milne still no-commenting?’

‘Changed her plea to diminished responsibility.’

‘Probably for the best. No sane person bashes three people’s heads in, then stuffs sleeping pills down her six-year-old’s throat.’ Harper shook her head. ‘You know she’s not asked about Ethan once? And you think your mother’s bad.’

Narveer and Calamity were down the other end of the platform, sharing a joke about something. The pair of them laughing like drains.

All right for some.

‘Niamh?’ Logan looked off down the tracks. ‘Reuben’s gone missing.’

‘I know.’

‘He’s going to come after us. Might take him a while, but he’s not a forgive-and-forget sort of guy.’

She stuck her chin out. ‘So, let him come.’

‘Look... keep an eye out, OK? If something happens to me, you’ll know he’s back.’

Harper stuck her hands in her pockets and hunched her shoulders against the wind. ‘You’re a strange fish, Sergeant McRae. You handed your old boss to Professional Standards because she broke the law, but you’re on first-name terms with gangsters. I’m not sure what to make of that.’