Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

He rubbed a hand across his face. Then flinched as his phone blared out the ‘Imperial March’ from Star Wars .

And everyone thought Friday the thirteenth was bad.

Logan took the call. ‘I can’t.’

On the other end, Steel was barely audible over the sound of loud music and shouting in the background — as if she was standing in the middle of a nightclub. ‘ What? Hold on. ’ She’d obviously turned away from the phone. ‘ WILL YOU SHUT THAT RACKET UP? I’M TRYING TO TALK TO YOUR DAD! ’ The music died away. ‘ Thank you. ’

He turned his back on the room and limped out into the hall.

‘ Sorry about that. Wee hooligan’s going through her heavy metal phase. ’

‘I said, “I can’t”.’ He opened the front door and stepped into the snow.

‘ Can’t what? What can you no’— ’

‘Dinner. The whole thing. I can’t.’ Logan locked the caravan.

The battered Transit van was gone, leaving the box-filled Punto alone in the car park, covered with about three inches of snow. More drifted down from the dirty grey sky.

‘ You got any idea how much trouble Susan’s gone to, you ungrateful wee sod? ’

‘I can’t.’ He groaned his way into the driver’s seat. Slammed the door shut.

‘ Don’t you “can’t” me, you get your backside— ’

‘I’m not feeling well, OK? Been sick twice. And my head hurts. And my stomach.’ Which was an understatement. It was as if someone had sewn fire ants under the skin, leaving them to bite and sting all the way across his abdomen.

He turned the key, treadling the accelerator until the engine caught. Clicked on the windscreen wipers. They ground their way through the snow.

Steel cleared her throat. ‘ Hey, I had a hangover today too: don’t be such a whinge. ’

‘It’s not a hangover.’

He stuck the car in reverse, the wheels slithered then caught.

‘ Aye, pull the other one, it’s got sheep attached. ’

‘Look...’ Logan bit his lip. Winced. Then caught a good look at himself in the rear-view mirror. His mouth was swollen and cracked, a good spread of bruises growing over his cheekbone and temple.

There had to be some way to get her to leave him alone. Something that’d wind her up till she stormed off in a huff. Of course there was: ‘The kiddie porn on Jack Wallace’s computer, it was buried away. So how come you managed to find it?’

‘ Aye, nice try, Hannibal Lecter, but you’re no’ changing the subject that easy. You want to cancel on your kids, you can do it yourself. ’

‘Oh come on, you can barely work the microwave, how are you suddenly a computer hacker?’

He got the Punto facing the right way and crawled out of the caravan park and onto Mugiemoss Road, past the huge ugly grey sheds of the industrial estate.

His stomach churned and gurgled, keeping time with the thumping waves of warm gravel that filled his skull. Probably got a concussion. Probably shouldn’t be driving. But what was he supposed to do, hang about in the caravan till Reuben sent someone else after him?

And then Steel was back. ‘ You really want to know? Fine. ’ Some rustling, then the sound of a door closing.

The road was a dirty black, fringed with brown slush — wavy lines of grit clearly visible.

‘ I went to tell him to stay the hell away from Claudia Boroditsky. Grimy little sod had form for leaning on witnesses and victims. Liked to throw his weight about like a big man. And there she is, all of a sudden, saying she was confused, it wasn’t him. Really? ’

Tiny flecks of snow drifted down, clinging to the walls of the new flats and bookshelf houses.

‘ He’s giving it, “Told you I never even saw her — nothing to do with me,” when the phone goes. And soon as he nips off to answer it, I have myself a wee wander. Didn’t have to do any hacking — the laptop was in the study, and the pictures were right there, bold as brass. He’d got it set on slideshow. ’

An eighteen wheeler grumbled past on the opposite side of the road, sending up a wake of muddy sludge.

‘ And we’re talking some sick stuff here. Really horrible. Arrogant git hadn’t even shut the laptop when I rang the bell. Left it sitting right there. ’ She sniffed. ‘ Probably got him all excited, talking to the police downstairs while that filth was playing away on his laptop. ’

‘So you didn’t have to type in a password or anything like that?’

‘ Course what I really wanted to do was chuck him down the stairs a few times. And how would I know what his password was? What am I, Derren Brown? ’

Logan pulled over to the side of the road and sat there with the engine running. From here the fields were a patchwork of white and grey, bordered with thin black lines and the occasional clump of bare trees. The landscape faded as the snow swallowed the middle distance.

He huffed out a breath and ran a hand across his stomach.

The knife’s line stung beneath his fingers, like rubbing rock salt into the wound.

Steel started a four-year feud with Napier to cover for him.

And now here he was, press-ganged into investigating her for Chief Superintendent Chocolate Crispies. Somehow it was a lot easier when Napier was just a shadowy Nosferatu figure, lurking and ready to pounce.

Jack Wallace was an arrogant tosser, that much was obvious from the interview footage. Sitting there impassive as everything he’d done was laid out in front of him. ‘No comment’ing all the way.

Maybe he wasn’t really a paedophile? Maybe it was all about sexual power for him and he didn’t care who he exerted that power over? As long as they were weaker than him.

And now Steel was in the firing line because Wallace fancied getting out a bit early. Oh, poor me, I’ve been set up by the nasty policewoman.

Logan pulled out his phone again and brought up the photo of Samantha at Rennie’s wedding. Rested the phone in the gap between the steering wheel and the instruments.

‘I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right.’

No reply.

‘You think I’m looking for excuses not to go home. Because if I go home, I’ve got to face the fact that I’m screwed.’

She was beautiful. Hair as red as fresh blood, skin as pale as the snow. The corset made the top of her breasts swell — one skeleton on either side above the leather, holding aloft a banner with ‘Q UOTH T HE R AVEN, “ N EVERMORE” ’ on it. Bare shoulders showing off the tribal tattoos, brambles, skulls and hearts and jagged swirls.

‘Come on, look at me: I can’t even kill someone in self-defence without feeling awful. It’s like there’s a lump of granite inside my chest. How am I going to kill Reuben in cold blood?’

He reached forward and zoomed in on her face.

‘She stood up for me. Least I can do is return the favour.’

The Punto’s engine pinged and clicked as it cooled.

‘I miss you.’

No reply.

He sighed, put the phone back in his pocket and started the car again. Then did a U-turn.

Sod going home.

Peterhead’s ASDA wasn’t very busy at half five on a Saturday evening. Just as well really. It meant there weren’t too many people around to stand and stare as Logan limped and shuffled his way around the clothes department.

He caught sight of himself in a full-length mirror attached to a pillar.

Talk about stop-and-search chic. His cagoule — unwrapped from the handgun in the car park — covered a multitude of sins and bloodstains, but did nothing to hide the hunched, bruised lump of a man reflected back at him.