Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

Had to admit he had a point. Why give Shepherd a loan he couldn’t pay back, just to get your hands on a container logistics company that’d be bankrupt by the end of the month anyway?

‘So if it wasn’t your people, who was it? Hypothetically.’

‘Ah, if I knew that, Sergeant McRae, I’d tell you. And if I find out, don’t worry: I’ll be doing my civic duty.’ The smile fell from his voice. ‘I don’t take kindly to people trying to fit me up.’

A couple walked by, glaring at each other and muttering in low voices.

Someone laughed in the distance.

The sound of car engines starting filtered through from the other side of the graveyard wall, as people departed the land of the dead.

Malcolm McLennan patted Logan on the arm. ‘Glad we cleared that up.’ He turned and walked off towards the road, joining a couple of massive goons in identical black suits.

They held the gate open for him, then stood there, staring back at Logan. Then they were gone.

He huffed out a long breath. Let his shoulders droop a bit.

Malcolm McLennan had heard a lot about him . Great.

Logan joined Narveer and Harper under the tree. ‘Someone in the Major Investigation Team can’t keep their big gob shut.’

Harper clicked a white tab of gum from a blister pack and popped it in her mouth, voice cold and hard. ‘Have you and Malcolm McLennan been friends long, Sergeant? Because you looked very chummy.’

‘Never met the man till two minutes ago.’

‘Could’ve fooled me. You’re not in CID any more, Sergeant, and yet here you are, rubbing shoulders with half the organized crime families in Scotland. Odd that, isn’t it?’

Logan folded his arms and leaned back against the tree. ‘McLennan says his people had nothing to do with Shepherd’s death. Says someone’s fitting him up.’

Narveer shrugged. ‘He would say that, wouldn’t he? Not exactly going to admit to it.’

True.

‘I didn’t know him, but he knew me. He knew how Shepherd’s body had been staged. Someone on the MIT’s talking.’

Harper chewed. ‘Oh I can believe that. And who’s my prime suspect?’ Her finger jabbed Logan in the chest. ‘You. Who the hell do you think you are? Coming down here and barging in, interfering with my investigation.’

‘I didn’t interfere with anything. It’s—’

‘What were you trying to do, muddy the waters? Warn someone off? Why are you even here?’

Logan’s back stiffened. ‘Are you finished?’

‘First you’re obstructive, then you’re useless, then you can’t even make a cup of coffee without turning it into a disaster, and now you’re talking to my suspects behind my back!’

‘Oh don’t be so—’

‘I have given you every chance to redeem yourself, Sergeant, but you still keep screwing up. If you ever go anywhere near Malcolm McLennan again, or anyone else, without my express written permission, you’re finished. Are we clear?’

‘He bumped into me! How am I—’

‘I said,’ she was getting louder with every word, ‘are — we — clear?’

Narveer turned away, taking a surprising amount of interest in a lichen-crusted headstone.

Logan stared at her. Let the silence grow. Then pulled on the coldest smile he could. ‘Very, sir.’

‘And don’t think I won’t be discussing this with Professional Standards.’

‘You do that, sir .’

A wave of shadow crashed across the fields, sweeping the sunlight before it. It crested the hill and swallowed the graveyard, plunging it into a gloom that washed all warmth from the air.

Logan stuck his hands in his pockets and pulled his shoulders up to his ears.

Clouds made a heavy grey lid, blanking out the sun.

Twenty minutes, hanging about outside the church, and there was still no sign of John Urquhart. How was Logan supposed to get home?

A handful of mourners lingered at the graveside. OAPs with curved spines and hooked noses. Glittering eyes and hands like claws.

Tiny pale flakes drifted down from the sky, melting as soon as they landed. But when Logan breathed out his breath left vapour trails.

Where the hell was Urquhart?

He worked his way over to the gate, peering round the high churchyard wall at the dozen or so cars still parked along the verge. Urquhart’s Audi was there.

More snow.

Sod this. Might as well call for a taxi. He pulled out his phone.

‘Laz?’ A voice behind him. ‘Aye, it is. Thought it was you.’

Logan turned. ‘Doreen?’ A smile broke out on his face. ‘Good grief, Doreen Taylor. It’s been... what?’

‘Year and a half: Baldy Bain’s retirement bash.’ She hadn’t changed a bit — still looked like someone’s plump aunty, dressed in a trouser suit and frumpy brown pudding-bowl haircut. Doreen pointed at the hunched figure next to her. ‘You met DC Shand? No relation.’

He held up a long tapered hand. ‘Hi.’ When he opened his mouth, the reek of long-dead garlic staggered out.

‘Iain, this is Sergeant McRae — used to be my acting DI back in CID.’ She beamed. ‘Logan, Lazarus, McRae. What brings you here?’

Not another one.

‘Wanted to see who turned up. You know: rumours.’

She shuddered. ‘Tell me about it. Half the druggies in town are convinced World War Three’s going to kick off in Tillydrone.’

He pointed at the church. ‘You?’

‘Much the same. We’re in Serious and Organised now. The boss wanted a heads up on who’s sniffing about Wee Hamish Mowat’s old territory. See if we can nip some of that in the bum before it starts.’

‘Right. Right.’

A couple of the wizened old gravesiders shuffled out through the gate and away.

‘So...’ Logan shrugged. ‘You see much of Biohazard?’

‘Argh.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘He’s with the Divisional Rape Investigation Unit. Had to share a car with him on a shout last week and I swear to God a human being shouldn’t be able to produce smells like that, it’s not normal.’

Happy days.

‘Don’t suppose you guys are heading back into town?’

‘Before we freeze to death.’ She peered up at the sky and flecks of snow settled on her fringe. ‘See when I retire? I’m emigrating somewhere warm.’

‘Any chance of a lift?’

Logan sat in the back of the pool car, Doreen in the passenger seat, with DC Shand behind the wheel. Driving them along the twisting South Deeside Road. The snow was getting heavier, thickening, highlighting the bare branches of trees on either side.

She turned to look at him. ‘You hear the latest? They’re talking about merging Aberdeen City and Moray-and-the-Shire back together again.’

Logan groaned. ‘What was the point of splitting them up in the first place, then?’

‘Exactly.’

His phone dinged in his pocket and he pulled it out. Text message:

Sory dude, gt tyed up with R — can U hang on a bt?

John Urquhart.

Doreen produced a hanky and blew her nose. ‘Can you imagine how much money we wasted changing everything from Grampian Police? All the signage, all the posters and bits and bobs?’

Be nice to ignore it, but then again he needed Urquhart. No point being in a one-person conspiracy to commit murder.

Logan thumbed out a reply.

It’s snowing. I’m getting a lift into Aberdeen.

Send.

‘Madness, isn’t it?’ She tucked her hanky away. ‘So, all that time and effort, and now we’re going to have to change it all back again.’

Shand shook his head. ‘Bet they won’t let us call it Grampian Police though.’

‘Don’t see why not. Tayside still get to be called Tayside.’

‘True.’

Ding .

Sory its all hands 2 the pumps:(gt meatngs 2 orgnize 4 all the factiens!!!