Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

A pause. Then Steel’s voice grated out of the earpiece, like smoked gravel. ‘ That any way to talk to a Detective Chief Inspector, you cheeky wee sod? ’ She snorted. ‘ And what the hell were you thinking, turning up a body in the middle of nowhere, in the mud and the rain? Shoes are like squelchy buckets of yuck now. ’

‘Is there a point to this call, or did you just ring up to moan? Only I’m off shift in ten, and I’ve got a suspect to interview. So...?’

‘ Oh aye? And what’s your suspect saying to it? You got a line on my victim you’re no’ sharing with me? ’

‘OK, I’m hanging up now.’

‘ Oh don’t be such a girl, Laz. ’ There was a sooking noise. Then a sigh. ‘ Called to do you a favour. Our beloved Chief Superintendent Napier — the Ginger Ninja, the Nosy Nosferatu, the Copper-Top Catastrophe, the Duracell Devil himself — is on the prowl. So watch your back... Hold on. ’ A muffled conversation happened in the background, the words too far away to hear properly.

Samantha raised her eyebrows. Pointed at the phone. Made the universal hand gesture for onanism. ‘Oh, and I want a proper send off. Black coffin, red silk lining, all my bits and bobs, OK? Full battle-paint. And that leather corset. Not going to meet the worms dressed like someone’s mum.’

‘Anything else, your ladyship?’

‘Yes. Cheer up, for God’s sake. You’ve got a face like a skelped backside.’

And Steel was back. ‘ Swear I’m going to swing for that idiot Rennie before the day’s out. ’ She made a little growling noise, then sniffed. ‘ Right, where were we? Yes: Napier. Slimy git retires in a couple of months, and he wants to go out with a bang. That means stitching some poor sod up. And you know he’s always had a hard-on for you and me. Let’s not hand him a threesome, eh? ’

Now there was an image. ‘Don’t care. Let him dig, I’m clean.’

Well, kind of...

Ish...

If you didn’t count the whole flat-selling fiasco. Which Napier most certainly would if he ever found out about it. Logan ran a hand across his face. He wouldn’t find out. Never.

There was no way he could.

Could he?

‘ Laz, you still there? ’

Logan cleared his throat. ‘It’ll be fine.’ Or it would all go horribly wrong. ‘Right, got to go: suspect waiting. Give Jasmine and Naomi my love, OK?’ He hung up before she could answer.

Then switched his phone off, just in case.

Even with the window open, Interview Room Two stank . The cause sat on the low bench on the other side of the small white table. Fidgeting.

Lumpy Patrick’s arms stuck out from the sleeves of his T-shirt like dirty pipe cleaners. They were little more than bone, the muscles knotted bungee cords, stretched taut and thrumming. Skin peppered with dark pocked scars where the needles had tracked time and time again. His hands had taken on a brown-grey tinge, a mixture of dirt and... more dirt. Ragged black crescents for fingernails. Sunken cheeks and eyes the colour of Tabasco — fringed with clumps of yellow. And when he spoke, the smell of a thousand backed-up toilets spewed into the room. ‘I want you to let us off on the shoplifting.’

Logan pulled as far back into his seat as possible. Breathing through the side of his mouth. ‘And why would we do something silly like that?’

‘Cos it’s just bacon and cheese, yeah? Not like it’s anything major.’

He picked up a clear evidence bag and held it in front of Lumpy’s face. ‘For the tape, I am now showing Mr Hay the two wrappers of heroin found in his pocket when he was arrested.’ Logan put them back down again. ‘And before you deny it: we know they’re heroin, because we tested them.’

‘Ah...’ A nod sent greasy wisps of hair rocking. ‘Well, supposing I told you where you could, like, get a whole lot more of that stuff? Yeah, right?’ His pale tongue crawled out between his chapped lips, glistening. Then Lumpy leaned forward, enveloping Logan in his stench. ‘Way I hear it, Ma Campbell’s got herself a shipment coming up from Weegietown. Yeah?’ He held his filthy hands up, about two feet apart. ‘Big shipment. You like that?’

Calamity leaned back against the wall by the open window. ‘Who’s the delivery for?’

‘Oh no. We do us a deal first, yeah? I tell you stuff, we forget all about the shoplifting and that. Deal?’

‘Depends on whether you’re telling us the truth or not.’ Logan pulled out his pen and pointed it across the table. ‘Who’s it for?’

The smile that bloomed on Lumpy’s face was like watching something rot, it exposed a set of grey gums almost devoid of teeth. ‘You know Ricky Welsh?’

That got him a groan from Calamity. ‘Oh God. Not Ricky and Laura...’

‘Yeah. Big shipment coming in from Glasgow. All them Weegie drugs.’

Logan tapped his pen against his notebook. ‘Not meaning to be funny, Lumpy, but are you seriously sitting there clyping on Ricky and Laura Welsh? After what happened to Abby Ritchie?’

When Lumpy shrugged, his whole body slumped to the side, until the ends of his hair made little oily marks on the table. ‘Me civic duty, isn’t it? Can’t have Weegie imports ruining it for local businessmen. Not right.’

Yeah, because Lumpy Patrick was a fine upstanding member of the Banff and Macduff Chamber of Commerce.

Logan clicked his pen out. ‘When and where?’

‘Noooo. First we gotta talk my reward for being civic. I get...’ He tilted his head, coiling more hair on the tabletop. ‘Three thousand quid and you get me off on the shoplifting and possession. Yeah?’

Outside, a car grumbled past.

The rain hissed down on the world outside, the sound clear through the open window as the vertical blinds swayed in the breeze.

A phone rang somewhere in the depths of the station.

Calamity was the first one to crack, spluttering out a snigger that exploded into a full-on laugh.

Logan wasn’t far behind, rocking back in his chair, hooting. Letting it ring out.

Lumpy just stared at them.

Eventually the laughter rattled to a halt.

Logan sighed. Wiped his eyes. ‘Priceless.’

‘Three grand, Lumpy?’ Calamity shook her head, still grinning. ‘You’ll be lucky if we don’t bang you up for wasting police time. Remember the last red-hot tip of yours?’

He shifted on his bench. Lowered his voice and his gaze. ‘Wasn’t my fault.’

‘Any idea how many crimes we could’ve been solving, instead of traipsing round the countryside trying to find your non-existent dealer from Newcastle?’

‘Wasn’t my fault .’

‘And now you’re giving us this rubbish about Ma Campbell and the Welshes?’

Logan tapped the pad again. ‘Who do you owe three grand to?’

No answer.

‘Come on, Lumpy. You didn’t come up with that figure out of the blue, you owe someone, don’t you? Let me guess...’ Logan bit down on his bottom lip for a moment. ‘It wouldn’t be Ricky Welsh , by any chance, would it? That’d be a coincidence. You owe him a big chunk of cash, and here you are dobbing him in.’

Calamity sucked a breath through her teeth. ‘Lumpy, Lumpy, Lumpy. Clyping on someone you owe money to, just so we’ll bang them up and you won’t have to pay them back. Should be ashamed of yourself.’

‘No!’ Lumpy’s bottom lip wobbled for a bit. Then he shrugged his way down to the tabletop, so his cheek was resting against the chipped white surface. ‘Civic duty...’

‘OK. Well, we’re done here.’ Logan stood. ‘Good luck sorting things out with the Welshes. I’m sure Laura will be very understanding when she finds out you tried to weasel out of paying by informing on the pair of them. She’ll probably bake you a cake. She can send it to you, care of HMP Grampian, where you’ll be spending the next four to six months.’