Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

‘Good luck, contestant.’ A salute, then Karl turned and scuffed out of the room, leaving Logan alone with the computer.

‘ Did you go to Auchterturra Lights nightclub on Justice Mill Lane, Aberdeen, last Friday night? ’

‘ No comment. ’

‘ Did you see anyone there you knew? ’

‘ No comment. ’

‘ Did you approach this woman and offer to buy her a drink? ’ Steel pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table. Difficult to make out from here, but it looked like a head-and-shoulders shot of a woman with long blonde hair. ‘Claudia Boroditsky.’

‘ No comment. ’

Yeah, this interview was going well.

‘ Did you repeatedly attempt to dance with her? ’

‘ No comment. ’

‘ Did she tell you that she wasn’t interested, because she had a boyfriend? ’

‘ No comment. ’

‘ At eleven forty-five when she left the nightclub, did you follow Claudia Boroditsky? ’

‘ No comment. ’

‘ Did you make sexually threatening comments to her on Westfield Road? ’

‘ No comment. ’

‘ Did you attack her on Argyll Place and pull her into Victoria Park? ’

Wallace barely moved the whole time. Just sat there, picking at the sleeves of his white oversuit. ‘ No comment. ’

‘ Did you punch her in the face, breaking her cheekbone? ’

‘ No comment. ’

‘ Did you repeatedly kick her in the chest and stomach? ’

‘ No comment. ’

‘ Did you produce a knife and hold it to her throat? ’

‘ No comment. ’

‘ Did you tell her that if she screamed you’d “gut and skin her like a rabbit, then send the bits to her parents”? ’

‘ No comment. ’

Steel’s hands tightened on the folder, making the edges curl. ‘ Did you tear off her skirt and blouse? Did you cut away her underwear with your knife? ’

‘ No comment. ’

‘ Did you rape her? ’

‘ No comment. ’

‘ Did you rape Claudia Boroditsky? ’

‘ No comment. ’

‘ Did — you — rape — her? ’

Wallace seemed to think about that, his head on one side as he looked down at the photograph on the interview room table. Then he sat back. His face was as lifeless as his voice. ‘ No comment. ’

Logan’s breath billowed out in a pale cloud. He stuck his free hand into his trouser pocket and hunched his shoulders. Shuffled his feet. Still didn’t help. The air was so cold, every breath was like being stabbed with frozen knitting needles. ‘Because I wanted to go, OK?’

DCI Steel snorted down the phone at him. ‘ You wanted to go to Wee Hamish Mowat’s funeral? What the hell is wrong with you, Laz, you lost your marble? ’

The snow fell in slow lazy flakes, covering the pavement, piling up on top of the bus shelter. Drifting down between the crawling traffic.

‘It’s “marbles”. Plural.’

‘ You’re no’ in possession of plural marbles. If you had one more screw loose everything would fall apart. No wonder the Ginger Ninja was after you. ’

‘Yeah, well...’ He peered around the side of the bus shelter, back towards town. Cars and trucks and lorries and, dear Lord, was that the actual bus ? The number 35 had finally crawled into view. And only twenty minutes late.

Which was pretty impressive, given the state of the traffic.

‘ So where are you? ’

‘Aberdeen. Waiting for the bus.’

‘ The bus? Why didn’t you drive, you thick... Actually, I don’t care as long as you’re on your way home. Got plans this evening: curry and beer-ish plans. And maybe whisky-ish too. ’

The number 35 grumbled through the snow. Its heating better be working or there was going to be trouble.

Standing out here in a cheap funeral suit and shiny shoes. Like an idiot.

‘ We’ve got sod all out of Martin Milne today, by the way. Thanks for asking. ’

‘I’m sorry, but maybe I’ve had other things on my mind today.’ He dug out his money ‘Be back about six. Ish.’

‘ Did a press briefing with him this morning, so the jackals have dispersed. Don’t see Malk the Knife getting Milne to go smuggling anytime soon, though. ’

‘Going to have a bath when I get in, so give us an hour, OK?’

‘ Nah, he’s going to wait till this blows over a bit. Make his move when he thinks we’re no’ looking. ’

The bus hissed to a stop, the doors opening to let out a red-faced woman and a grey-faced man.

Logan climbed inside and handed over his cash. ‘One to Banff.’

‘ Bit of a risk though, isn’t it? ’

He took his ticket and worked his way back along the bus to a pair of empty seats. Sat next to the condensation-streaked window. Bucksburn station loomed in the fog.

‘ I mean, killing Peter Shepherd and leaving his body lying around like that. Course we’re going to investigate. ’

‘I met him today.’

‘ What, Peter Shepherd? How’d you manage that, ouija board? ’

‘Not Peter Shepherd, you idiot, Malcolm McLennan. Says someone’s trying to set him up.’

‘ Aye, and unicorns poop teacakes. ’

The bus’s engine growled and they nudged out into the traffic, joining the slow-motion exodus out of town.

‘Could be though. Or maybe he did it so we’d all focus on Milne and his boats, when McLennan’s really off doing something dodgy somewhere else.’

‘ Thanks, Laz, that’s sod-all help. Any other parades you’d like to piddle on while you’re at it? No? Cool, in that case I’m going to— ’

The bus inched closer to the roundabout.

Someone sitting further forward nodded along to the tssssss-tsss-tsssss-tsss-tssss leaking out of their headphones.

‘Hello?’

An old lady embarked on a massive coughing session.

Logan checked his phone. Steel had hung up.

Lovely.

The battery icon was down to its last bar. Probably enough charge to last all the way home. Maybe. He stuck his mobile back in his pocket and stared out of the steamed-up window. Snow. Snow. And more Snow.

Should have asked her about Jack Wallace. Asked her why the prosecution collapsed before it got anywhere near the court. According to the files, Claudia Boroditsky withdrew her statement and claimed she’d been confused at the time of the assault. That she couldn’t really remember who attacked and raped her. That she’d had consensual sex with Wallace earlier in the evening.

Why didn’t that sound convincing? Why did it sound more likely that Wallace had tracked Claudia down and ‘persuaded’ her to change her mind?

No wonder Steel hadn’t been happy about the result.

But was she unhappy enough about it to do him on a trumped-up charge of possessing indecent photographs of children?

Logan drew a skull and crossbones on the bus window, sending tears of condensation crying down the glass.

And who’s to say Jack Wallace didn’t deserve it?

Logan cleared a porthole in the fogged-up window. A thin sliver of sky was squashed between the heavy grey clouds and the cold white earth; the setting sun made blood-spatters across the fields, lengthening the shadow behind the drystane dykes. Wind rocked the bus, hurling snow in great sweeping curtains.

The woman sitting in front of him shifted her phone from one ear to the other. ‘Oh, I know... I know. He’s all right, in general, but in bed? Honestly, he couldn’t find a clitoris with two Sherpas and a sat nav.’ All done at the top of her voice, as if there were nobody else on board.