Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

‘And then we arrive at Michael Webb.’

Click .

Another young man, this one lying on his back, naked, with his arms behind him. Black plastic bag taped over his head. His torso was a mass of green and purple bruises, then porcelain skin, then a line of red where the blood had pooled nearest to the ground after death. Settling through the tissues.

‘Low-level drug dealer. His hands were tied behind his back, then he was beaten around the head, neck, and torso. Then they duct-taped a bin-bag over his head and watched him suffocate to death. The remains were dumped in woodland just south of the Forth Bridge and drenched in bleach to destroy any trace on the body.’

Click .

Different body, different woods, but the MO was the same.

‘Daniel Crombie — used to smuggle cigarettes and alcohol in from the Continent.’

Click .

And again.

‘Alex Ward — pimp.’

Click .

‘Walter Gibson — retired police officer turned loan shark.’ Harper dumped the remote on the table. ‘I’ve got another dozen of these, spread over a space of twenty-six years. All our victims were rivals or inconveniences to Malcolm McLennan, but there’s nothing but rumour connecting him to the killings.’

She picked up one of the empty cake bags and scrunched it into a ball. ‘We’re pretty certain he doesn’t kill them personally, but he does order it. The actual murders are carried out by multiple, unknown, persons. No one has ever been arrested for these crimes, never mind prosecuted.’ Harper lobbed the bag into the bin from a distance of about eight feet. ‘Any comments?’

Rennie put his hand up. ‘What about trace inside the bin-bags? The bleach can’t get in there, if the seal’s reasonably tight. And black plastic bags are like static electricity hoovers for dust and fibres.’

‘Good question...’ she checked a sheet of paper, ‘Simon. No viable DNA from anyone other than the victim — which isn’t surprising, given the warm moist environment inside the suffocating hood. No fingerprints on the bags either. And there hasn’t been any correlation between fibres found on the various bodies. So no two of them were killed in the same place. And none of the fibres match anything at Malcolm McLennan’s home or place of work.’

Another hand.

Harper checked her paper again. ‘Yes, Becky, isn’t it?’

‘It’s all very flashy and unnecessary — leaving the bodies lying about when you could make them disappear. It’s sending out a message: this is what happens when you mess with Malk the Knife.’

‘Of course.’

‘So,’ Becky sat forward, ‘what we need to do is figure out who this is a message for . There’s no point killing Shepherd like this if the intended recipient doesn’t find out about it.’

‘Good idea.’ Harper gave her a smile. ‘I want you to produce a list of all the local villains running more than a one-man operation. Let’s see if we can rattle their tree a bit. Anyone else?’

Logan had a go. ‘What about our prime suspect, Martin Milne, ma’am? We’ve got him tied to Shepherd sexually and financially. They embezzled nearly quarter of a million pounds from their company. And Milne did a runner three days before we found Shepherd’s body.’

She stared at him.

The radiators creaked and pinged.

One of Steel’s DIs cleared their throat.

‘Firstly, Sergeant , I do not appreciate your casual sexism. You will address me as “sir”, “superintendent”, or “super”. Are we clear?’

Warmth bloomed in Logan’s ears, spreading down the back of his neck. ‘Yes, Super.’

‘Secondly, Martin Milne is no longer a suspect, he’s a potential victim. It’s much more likely he’s on the run because Malk the Knife’s boys are after him. Assuming he isn’t dead already.’

‘But—’

‘Milne didn’t kill Shepherd, you idiot.’ She pointed at the DS sitting on the far end. ‘Donna, tell Sergeant McRae what you found in Shepherd’s house, please.’

She turned in her seat to face him. Brushed the lank greying fringe from her eyes. ‘We turned up two residency visas and work permits for Dubai, one lot in Peter Shepherd’s name, the other in Martin Milne’s. They’ve been hired to run logistics for one of the contractors building infrastructure for the World Expo there in 2020. You wouldn’t believe how much they were getting paid, and dirty-big bonuses every quarter too.’ She held up an evidence wallet. ‘Visa’s valid from the end of the week. They were running away together.’

Probably with two hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds of GCML’s money.

‘That doesn’t mean Milne didn’t kill him.’

She sighed. ‘And it doesn’t mean he did.’

‘But if Milne—’

‘Enough.’ Harper thumped her hand down on the table. ‘If you’ve quite finished wasting everyone’s time, Sergeant McRae, perhaps you’d like to sod off and make the tea? Don’t worry if it’s too complicated for you, Narveer will supervise.’ She nodded towards the door. ‘Off you go.’

Logan slammed the milk down on the work surface, next to the line of mugs. Yanked the drawer open and jammed his hand in, ripped out a spoon. Clattered that next to the milk.

Leaning back against the canteen table, DI Singh sighed. Shook his head. ‘I don’t understand it. I have never seen her take against someone like this.’

Teabags were hurled into five of the mugs. Coffee granules got thrown into the other four.

‘And I’m including the tosser who set fire to that block of flats in Arbroath last year, because the residents dobbed him in for selling drugs to kids.’

Logan snatched the kettle off its stand and filled it, before thumping it back on its charger.

Narveer sucked his teeth. ‘Are you sure the pair of you haven’t met before? Maybe you ran over her dog, or her grandma, or something?’

The kettle growled and hissed.

‘I don’t get it, this really isn’t like her. I swear.’

Logan rammed the sugar back in the cupboard and slammed the door shut. ‘What the hell is her problem?’

A shrug. ‘Genuinely, if I knew I’d tell you. Giving me heartburn, all this tension.’ Then he puffed out a breath. ‘Her dad died a couple of months ago, maybe that’s it?’

‘All she’s done is bitch and whine and moan and act like a complete and total—’

‘Now, Sergeant, let’s not forget ourselves. There is such a thing as chain of command.’

He put a hand on the kettle. Took a deep breath as it grumbled. ‘Sorry, sir .’

‘Hmm...’ Narveer turned and picked the concrete gnome off the canteen windowsill. ‘Heavy little fellow, isn’t he?’

‘And what was with the “casual sexism” remark? You called her “ma’am” earlier and it was fine, but when I do it?’

‘Don’t know. That’s a new one on me too.’ He frowned down at the white lump in his hands. ‘Why do you have a lawn ornament in here?’

‘I don’t even want to be on the bloody MIT. I’ve got a division to run, a drugs raid to organize, and what am I doing? Making the tea .’ The kettle rattled to a halt and Logan drowned the teabags and coffee granules. Glowered at them. Then mashed the teabags against the side of the mugs and hurled their remains in the bin. ‘You’re here to make sure I don’t spit in Harper’s tea, aren’t you?’

‘Couldn’t possibly comment.’ There was a clunk. ‘Sergeant... Logan. I don’t know why the Superintendent has it in for you, but if I find out I’ll let you know. Meantime, till we figure it out, it’s probably best you keep out of her way.’