Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

‘Well, you never know your luck. Since we retired, Lusso’s sniffed out nothing more challenging than other dogs’ bumholes.’ He unrolled a small fluorescent-yellow waistcoat thing and slipped it over the golden retriever’s head, clipping the straps together behind its front legs. Then Syd took the T-shirt and wadded it up into a ball. Squatted down and held it under Lusso’s shiny black nose. ‘Big sniffs.’

Logan pulled on a pair of padded leather gloves. ‘We set?’

‘As we can be.’ Syd stood, then swept his arm out in an arc, hand pointing towards the woods on one side of the track. ‘Come on, Lusso: find .’

The dog scampered around them a couple of times, then its nose went down and it snuffled away.

They followed Lusso across the damp leaf litter, into the forest gloom, ducking under branches and crunching through brittle beige curls of dead bracken.

Logan nodded at the dog. ‘What do you reckon?’

‘Long shot, to be honest.’ Syd tucked his hands into his pockets. ‘If you’re after dead bodies, cash, or explosives: Lusso’s your dog, but this tracking thing...’ He sucked on his teeth. ‘Well, you never know.’

The musky brown scent of earth rose from the ground like a blanket, turning sharper and more antiseptic as they crossed the boundary from deciduous to evergreen. At least the tops of the trees were evergreen; down here, at ground level, everything was black and grey and jagged.

Through a clearing, tufted with heather and fringed with brambles.

Down a small ravine.

They clambered over a fallen tree, its roots sticking up into the air like a hairy shield.

Up a steep hill, puffing and panting by the time they reached the summit.

But there wasn’t much of a view from the top, just more dark trunks, stretching down and away into the distance. Merging together in the fog and drizzle.

Syd sniffed. ‘Of course, trouble is, it’s been so long since he’s had to actually work Lusso might think he’s out for a walk.’

There was that.

‘Well, at least we’re—’ Logan’s mobile blared out its anonymous ringtone. He closed his eyes and sagged for a moment. Then straightened up. Pulled on a smile. ‘Sorry. I’ll catch up.’

He dug the phone out as Syd worked his way down the hill, following the wagging tail.

‘McRae.’

A woman’s voice. ‘ Logan? It’s Louise from Sunny Glen. ’

And Logan sagged again.

The crackle and snap of Syd fighting his way through a clump of dead rosebay willowherb faded into silence. Somewhere in the distance a pigeon croooed.

‘ Logan? Hello? ’

Deep breath. ‘Louise.’

A sigh came from the earpiece. ‘ I know this isn’t easy, Logan, it’s a horrible thing, but there’s nothing else we can do for her. If there was, I would. You know that. ’

Of course he did. Didn’t make it any easier, though.

‘Yeah...’ He stared down at his boots. At the tufts of grey-green grass poking out between the dirty pine needles. ‘When?’

‘ That’s really up to you. Samantha’s... You’ve been the best friend she could ever have hoped for, but it’s time. It’s just her time. ’ Another sigh. ‘ I’m sorry, Logan. I really am. ’

‘Right. Yes. I understand.’

‘ We have a specialist counsellor you can speak to. She can help. ’

Another smear of fluorescent yellow appeared away off to the right, before disappearing into the undergrowth again.

Four beeps sounded underneath his high-viz jacket, followed by a muffled voice. ‘ Shire Uniform Seven, safe to talk? ’

Logan unzipped the jacket and reached inside, feeling for the Airwave handset. Leaving it on its clip while he pressed the button. ‘Give us a minute, Tufty.’

Back to the phone.

Louise was still going: ‘ ...all right? Logan? Hello? ’

‘Sorry. I’m kind of in the middle of something.’

‘ You don’t have to decide right away. We’re not trying to rush you into anything. Take your time. ’

‘Yeah, I understand.’ The stabproof vest held him tight in its Velcro embrace, keeping everything squeezed inside. ‘Friday. We’ll do it Friday.’

‘ Are you sure? Like I said, you don’t have to— ’

‘No. Friday the thirteenth. Samantha would’ve liked that.’

‘ I’m sorry, Logan. ’

‘Yeah, me too.’ He hung up and slipped the phone back into an inside pocket. Stared up at the heavy grey sky.

Friday.

When he breathed out, it was as if someone had attached weights to his lungs and stomach, dragging them down.

Another breath.

Then another.

And another.

Come on.

He blinked. Rubbed a hand across his face, wiping away a cold sheen of water. Hauled himself straight.

Then pressed the call button on his Airwave handset again. ‘Tufty: safe to talk.’

‘ Sarge, we’ve done the loop again. No sign of Milne. You want us to try the burn? ’

‘Might as well.’

Dripping water made a slow-motion drumroll on the forest floor.

‘ Sarge? ’

‘What?’

‘ Can we go home soon? Only Calamity’s gone all blue and purple. Last time I saw someone that colour they were lying on a mortuary slab. Bleeding freezing out here. ’

‘Tell her we’ll give it another hour, then back home for tea and biscuits.’

‘ Sarge. ’

Logan slithered his way down the hill, picking his way between the trees, following Syd’s trail.

Silence blanketed the forest, the needles underfoot and the branches overhead smothering all sounds except the ones he made. Not even midday and it was already getting dark. The clouds overhead had blackened and crept lower. Gearing up for the change from breath-frosting drizzle to a full-on downpour. Maybe an hour was chancing their arm? Might be better to pack it up and try again tomorrow.

And after that it’d be someone else’s problem.

A ding and a buzz against his ribcage marked another text message coming into his mobile. No point checking: it’d be Steel. It was always Steel.

Wah, wah, wah, why haven’t you called me back? What I want is much more important than anything you’re doing. Wah, wah, wah...

He left his phone in its pocket. Kept going.

It wasn’t too hard to follow Syd. His feet had left a scuffed path through the needles, the layer below darker than the ones on the surface. It wound its way between the trees, scratching a zigzag line down and off to the left. Where—

Was that a shout?

Yes. Somewhere off in the distance, but definitely there.

Logan stopped, cupped his hands around his mouth in a makeshift loudhailer. ‘SYD?’

Another shout.

Nope, still no idea what he was saying.

Needles slipped beneath Logan’s feet as he hurried down the slope and up the other side. ‘SYD?’

He froze at the crown of the hill, surrounded by boulders and Scots pine. The ground fell away in front of him: a steep incline punctuated by rocks and gorse between hundreds of circular stumps where the trees had been harvested. A dirt track ran along the bottom of the hill, with another clump of gorse on the other side.

Syd stood in front of it, waving his arms like he was trying to guide a plane in to land. Lusso lay on the ground at his feet, hairy yellow tail sweeping back and forth through the mud.

Logan tried again: ‘WHAT IS IT?’

Whatever Syd shouted back, it was swallowed by the wind and rain.

‘Sodding hell.’ No choice for it then. Logan scrambled down the slope, feet sideways to the drop, skirting the dark-green needles of gorse. Windmilling his arms as a clump of mud shifted beneath him, threatening to send him tumbling.