Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

‘Yeah. Thanks.’

‘So what’s it like suddenly having a wee sister?’

Logan leant on the bell again. ‘Slightly less annoying than you.’

A grin. ‘So, what’s the plan?’

‘You heard Steel: Malcolm McLennan’s not going to make contact with this lot hanging about.’ He pointed at the phalanx of cars. Some of the occupants were already out, cameras poised. ‘Go check every single road tax, tyre, brake light, and anything else you can think of.’

The bottom lip protruded a half inch. ‘Why me? You’re the one in uniform, surely you should be... Erm.’

Logan stared at him.

He cleared his throat. ‘Right. OK.’ Then turned and marched back down the drive again, intercepting the vanguard as they made it as far as the pavement outside the house. ‘All right, ladies and gentlemen, I’m going to need to see your driver’s licences.’

The door opened and a rumpled Katie Milne blinked out at Logan. ‘Do you have any idea what time it is?’ Her gaze slid over his shoulder and she sagged. ‘Oh God, not them again . Why can’t they leave us in peace?’

‘Mrs Milne, I know it’s early, but we need to have a word with your husband. There’s a story in today’s paper that you’re probably going to want to discuss too.’ Which was an understatement. Hey, your husband was having an affair with his business partner and as many women as they could talk into having a threesome with them.

Happy Sunday.

Martin Milne’s eyes got wider and wider as he read the front page of the Sunday Examiner . His bottom lip wobbled when he turned the page and saw the rest of it. ‘Oh God...’

They’d left the curtains shut in the living room, so the press couldn’t leer in through the windows. A pair of standard lamps cast a cheery glow on the ceiling completely out of keeping with the horrified expression on Milne’s face.

‘How did... Who? It’s...’ He lowered the newspaper, then jerked up in his seat — turning to face the closed door. ‘Has Katie seen this?’

‘No’ yet, no.’ Steel winced her way down onto the couch, hissing like a deflating balloon. ‘But it’s only a matter of time.’

‘But I trusted you!’ He grabbed his head with both hands, forcing the hair back from his face. ‘How could... Oh God...’

Logan took the newspaper back and folded it, hiding the offending front page. ‘We’ll find out who spoke to the journalist and we’ll make sure they’re properly punished. If you want to make a formal complaint we have guidelines to help you through the process. Here.’ He reached into a pocket of his stabproof vest and pulled out a leaflet. Handed it over.

‘What’s my wife going to say? What’s Katie going to think when she finds out?’

Steel pursed her lips. ‘My guess? She’ll no’ be too happy about you shagging a bloke. Doubt she’ll be too keen on the other women either.’

He crumpled the leaflet. ‘This is all your fault!’

‘Aye, with all due respect, Martyboy, I’m no’ the one who forced you into bed with Peter Shepherd and half the slappers between here and Ellon. That was all you.’

‘Oh God.’

Logan took out his notebook. ‘Can you describe the people who gave you and Peter the loan?’

Milne glared up at him. ‘Are you insane ? I’m not helping you any more. I trusted the police and you told a newspaper who I was sleeping with! Private, personal details.’

A sigh. Then Logan lowered himself onto the edge of the couch, the stabproof vest making sure he sat bolt upright. ‘I’m sorry, Martin, but you can’t back out of this now.’

‘I want you out of my house.’

‘Let’s say you don’t cooperate with our investigation. Do you think Malcolm McLennan will forget about the two hundred and twenty-five thousand pounds you owe him? No, he’ll make you smuggle things into the area for him whether you like it or not. And we’ll be watching you.’

‘I don’t—’

‘Sooner or later we’re going to catch you bringing in a boatload of drugs — or counterfeit goods, or weapons, or illegal immigrants — and we’re going to arrest you and put you away for sixteen to twenty years. And Malcolm McLennan isn’t going to be very pleased about losing a shipment, is he? He’ll be even less pleased when you try to cut a deal to get out of prison before you’re fifty.’

Milne bit his bottom lip and stared down at his hands.

‘Or maybe you’ll refuse to smuggle anything for him, because you know we’re watching you. He won’t like that either; all that money you owe. What do you think the chances are of you being found in the not too distant, battered to death, naked, with a bag over your head?’

Milne’s voice was barely audible. ‘Why can’t you just leave me alone?’

Steel shook her head. ‘Never going to happen, Martyboy. That ship sailed soon as you fessed up in the cells. You help us, or you’re screwed.’ She gave him a big grin. ‘Now, any chance of a cuppa? I’m parched.’

The little boy sat at the kitchen table, wearing thick socks and fleecy pyjamas with dinosaurs on them. A graze sat on his left cheek, about the size of a walnut, the skin scabby and brown as it healed. His face was creased with sleep and his blond hair stood out at all angles, so the resemblance was uncanny when Steel sat down next to him and pushed a piece of jam-smeared toast and a big glass of milk in front of him.

‘There you go, Ethan. You eat that up like a good wee boy.’

He turned his head to the door.

Muffled shouting filtered through from the living room. Not clear enough to make out actual words, but the tone obvious. Katie Milne wasn’t pleased about her husband’s extramarital activities.

Logan tucked his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he rinsed out his mug and placed it on the draining board. ‘We’ve got descriptions of three I–C-One males, two in their late twenties, one early forties. Couple of distinguishing features we can run past the National Crime Agency, see if we can’t get a match.’

‘ Good. ’ Rustling came from the speaker, as if Harper was rummaging through a pile of paper. ‘ What about names? ’

‘No luck. Milne says they always referred to each other by number: One, Two, and Three. “One” was the older guy.’

‘ Hmmmm... So definitely organized. How did Milne take the article in the paper? ’

The sound of something smashing against the wall made Ethan flinch, toast halfway to his mouth.

‘He and his wife are discussing it now.’

‘ Logan? ’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘ I appreciate you keeping our relationship professional at work — I know a lot of people would have a problem with taking orders from their little sister — but when we’re off duty you can call me Niamh. OK? ’

‘OK.’

‘ Good. Right. Well, get cracking with the IDs and we’ll see if your theory pans out. ’ The line went dead.

His little sister. Yeah, that still sounded weird.

He put his phone away. ‘Time to head.’

Steel held up a finger. ‘Just a minute.’ Then she scooted around in her chair, until she was facing the wee boy. ‘Ethan? Can you tell your Aunty Roberta what happened to your face?’ She pointed at her own cheek, mirroring the scabby patch.

The little boy shrugged, then stared at his toast. ‘Fell down.’ His voice was tiny, barely more than a whisper.

‘Where did you fall down?’

‘Outside.’ He picked at his toast. ‘Some boys pushed me.’

‘Wee shites.’ Steel sighed, then popped a couple of pills from a blister pack, washing them down with a scoof of Ethan’s milk. She levered herself to her feet. ‘Right, wee man, we’re off. Make sure you look after your mum. Can you do that for your Aunty Roberta?’