Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

Narveer adjusted his tartan turban. ‘So that’s why they needed those loans from the bank. They had to pay off Malk the Knife.’

‘Two hundred thousand, plus twenty-five grand interest. Only when they tried, the price went up another hundred thousand and they had to hand over the company. Shepherd refused and they killed him.’

Harper narrowed her eyes. ‘Hmm...’

Logan put the phone back in his pocket. ‘And now Milne has to use his containers and ships to shift stuff in and out of the country for Malcolm McLennan — lose them among the other manifests — or the same happens to him and his family.’

She pushed her chair back and stood. ‘Send the audio file to Narveer, Sergeant. We’ll take it from here.’ Harper waved at the door. ‘You can go now.’

You’re sodding welcome.

Steel spread her mouth wide, showing off rows of grey fillings in a jaw-cracking yawn. Then slumped and shuddered. ‘Where the hell have you been? Dropping off the spar, here.’

Logan grabbed his stabproof vest from the corner of the Sergeants’ Office and dragged it on, scritching the Velcro flaps together so the whole thing was tight. ‘I’m leaving now. You’re either in the car, or you’re walking.’ Equipment belt next, complete with the truncheon he could’ve done with when Nicholas Fife was on the rampage.

She stretched. Let him see her fillings again. ‘Pfff... I fancy some chips. Anywhere open for chips?’

‘It’s after ten. No. Now are you coming or not?’

‘All-night bakery?’

He snatched his high-viz jacket from the rack by the door — checked to make sure it actually was his, hauled it on and stormed out. ‘Stay here then.’

‘All right, all right.’ Steel hurried along behind, pulling on her coat. ‘Who poked a burning ferret up your bumhole today?’

Across the corridor and through the door at the top of the stairs. ‘I’ll tell you who — Detective Superintendent Holier-Than-Thou Harper, that’s who.’ Logan’s boots hammered down the steps. ‘Doesn’t matter what I do, that bloody woman treats me like something to be scooped up in a plastic bag and dumped in a park bin. Well, you know what? She can—’

‘Sergeant?’ Narveer appeared at the top of the stairs, mouth stretched out and down as if he was doing a sad frog impersonation. ‘Glad I caught you.’

Logan stopped. ‘Detective Inspector Singh: I’m off duty. And I’m going home.’

A sigh. Then Narveer closed the door and leaned his elbows on the handrail, looking down the stairs at them. ‘I wanted to say, good job. You did well. Milne wouldn’t talk to any of us, and you got him to open up.’

Was that credit ?

Dear Lord, wonders would never cease.

He pulled his chin up. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘We’re going to offer Milne a deal. See if we can’t intercept one of Malk the Knife’s shipments.’ A smile widened Narveer’s face. ‘This is the closest we’ve come in years to pinning anything on McLennan.’

Tell that to Detective Superintendent Harper.

Narveer looked away, picking at the handrail with a fingernail. ‘Erm, Sergeant McRae? How did you get him to talk to you?’

No idea. But it wouldn’t do to let DI Singh know that.

Make something up.

‘Harper battered away at him, tried to grind him down. I treated him like a human being.’

‘Right. Good cop to her bad cop. Cool.’ The DI pulled on that big smile again. ‘Anyway, like I said: good job.’ He slipped back through the door, leaving Logan and Steel alone in the stairwell.

She sucked on her teeth, making squeaking noises. ‘Think he fancies you.’

‘Oh shut up.’ Logan turned and marched down the stairs.

‘Ooh, Sergeant McRae, you’re so sexy . Kiss me, Sergeant, kiss me like I’ve never been kissed before. Make a woman of me!’

He hauled the door open and stuck his hat on. Stepped out into the rain.

‘Oh come on, Laz, stop being such a Pouting Percy. You just got a pat on the bum from our new overlord’s sidekick.’ She followed him across the car park to where the Punto sagged under the weight of the drumming rain. ‘Which, on balance, maybe doesn’t sound all that impressive, but it’s better than nothing. And Narveer’s a nice boy: he’d probably take you to dinner before humpity-humpity.’

Logan unlocked the car and slid in behind the wheel. Chucked his cap in the back. ‘Are you coming or not?’

‘Still, going to be a longshot. Hanging about, hoping Malk the Knife will turn up and...’ A frown settled onto her face.

‘What?’

‘Shhh. Thinking.’ She dumped herself into the passenger seat. Then a smile bloomed across her face and she thumped a hand on the dashboard. ‘Of course! Why’d I no’ see it before? It’s obvious !’

‘You know how to get Malcolm McLennan?’

‘That big Asda we passed on the way in — we can get something to eat there!’

Moonlight speared down through the clouds, raking the fields as they slid by the Punto’s windows. Off to the right, the North Sea was a slab of polished granite. The world black-and-white beyond the car’s headlights.

‘Mmmnnnghph mnnnphh?’ Small beige flecks of pastry shone in the dashboard lights as they spiralled out from Steel’s mouth.

‘God, you’re disgusting.’

She swallowed. ‘Oh don’t be such a Jessie.’ Then took another bite of her pasty. Chewing with her mouth open. ‘I said, “Do you want the chicken curry or the steak-and-onion?” you grumpy old sod.’

Oh.

‘Steak-and-onion.’

The road wound along the coast, then headed inland, hiding the sea as Steel struggled with the packaging. ‘Ha!’ She handed it over. She’d even rolled the first inch of plastic down, so he could bite straight into it.

Logan did. Chewing on chilled soft pastry and cold meaty filling. It coated the roof of his mouth with a thin layer of waxy grease. Not exactly three Michelin stars, but better than nothing.

Steel polished her pasty off. Sucked the crumbs from her fingers. ‘When you doing it?’

He talked around a second mouthful. ‘Doing what?’

‘Tomorrow. With Samantha.’

Oh. That.

‘Don’t know. In the morning, probably.’ He puffed out a breath as stones and boulders gathered in his stomach, pulling it down. He cleared his throat. ‘Did you hear about Wee Hamish Mowat?’

She reached across the car and squeezed his leg. Second time that day. ‘You want me to come with you?’

The stones grew heavier. ‘Now he’s dead, we’ve got criminals from all over descending on Aberdeenshire. Looking for a chunk of the pasty.’ He took another bite, but it curdled in his mouth.

‘Give me a call, OK? You phone me when you’re heading over and I’ll dump everything and come sit with you.’ Another squeeze. ‘I mean it.’

He forced the greasy mouthful down. Blinked. Nodded. Then let out a long shuddery breath. ‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ She pointed at the pasty in his hand. ‘Now are you done with that, cos I’m still starving.’

Logan pulled up outside a little B-and-B on the northern fringe of Banff. A dozen feet of patchy grass separated the road from the cliffs. A pebbled beach hissed at the base of them, turned into a lunar landscape by the bleaching moonlight. The North Sea a solid slab of clay — glistening and grey.

Steel brushed pastry crumbs off her front and into the footwell. ‘Right. You call me tomorrow. Promise?’

‘Promise.’

‘Good boy.’ She climbed out into the night and stood there, peering back into the car while all the heat escaped. ‘I mean it, Laz: no trying to do it on your own. You’ve got family now.’