Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

‘Can I not get two minutes peace?’ Logan pulled out his ringing phone. ‘McRae?’

‘ Is this Sergeant Logan McRae? ’

Why did nobody ever listen? ‘Can I help you?’

‘ It’s Detective Inspector Bell. ’

A smile cracked its way across Logan’s face. ‘Ding-Dong, it’s been years. How’s CID treating you?’

‘ You own a static caravan, don’t you: 23 Persley Park Caravan Park, Aberdeen? ’

Oh God. The smile died. They’d found Eddy Knowles’s body.

Barbed wire wrapped itself around Logan’s chest, tightening and tightening until there was barely any breath left.

He was screwed.

‘ Logan? Are you there? ’

He cleared his throat. Stood up straight. ‘That’s my caravan.’

Here it came.

Hand yourself in to the nearest police station where you’ll be detained on charges of murder and attempting to pervert the course of justice by illegally disposing of a body.

‘ I’ve got some bad news, the fire brigade did what they could, but by the time they got there... I’m sorry. ’

‘Fire brigade?’ The barbed wire snapped and air rushed into his lungs.

‘ The fire investigation team are looking through what’s left, but it’s pretty much burned to the ground. At least no one was hurt, right? ’

‘Was it... Did someone...?’

‘ Officially, I can’t say — ongoing investigation — but off the record? Apparently there’s traces of an accelerant. Looks like it was torched on purpose. ’

‘Christ.’

So that was that. His whole life with Samantha had been consumed by flames. First his flat, now her caravan. There was nothing left but her body.

‘ You know I’ve got to ask this: can you confirm your whereabouts last night, Sergeant McRae? ’

Logan blinked at the TV, a wee bloke with curly hair was turning a little bird in a frying pan. ‘Home. I was at home. In Banff.’

‘ And can anyone corroborate that? ’

‘Three police constables and a detective superintendent. We had beer and sausages.’

‘ Yeah, as alibis go that’s a pretty good one. I’ll let you know if anything comes up this end, but in the meantime I’ll text you the crime number and you can get on to your insurers. ’

Logan puffed out a breath. ‘Yes. Thanks, Ding-Dong.’

He hung up.

They hadn’t found Eddy’s body. Urquhart hadn’t screwed him over.

Thank Christ.

‘Any chance of a coffee?’ Inspector Mhor sidled into the room, hands in the pockets of his black police-issue trousers. The canteen lights sparkled off the big polished dome of his head. With the two small ears, small mouth, button nose, and hairy eyebrows, he looked a bit like a surprised egg.

Logan swallowed. Nodded. ‘Guv.’

‘You OK?’

‘Sorry. One of those days.’ He pulled another mug from the cupboard.

Mhor leaned against the wall. ‘How’s preparation for the dunt coming?’

‘Good, thanks: we’re going in at half-eleven tonight. As long as everyone turns up on time.’

‘Have you told Beaky she doesn’t have to come in early?’

‘Next on my list, Guv.’ She wasn’t going to be pleased, but tough. At least she’d get a lie-in. ‘Soon as I’ve spoken to Detective Superintendent Harper.’

The kettle juddered and rattled, then fell silent.

‘Logan, I want you leading from the rear on this one, understand? You look like someone tied you to a washing machine then threw you down an escalator. Battered police officers don’t fill the public with confidence.’

‘Guv.’ Coffee, sugar, hot water. He handed the mug over.

‘Cheers. And for God’s sake do something about the Response Level warning, will you? Someone’s changed it to “Dalek Attack Imminent.” Nightshift are a law unto themselves.’ Mhor took a sip, grimaced, shuddered, then turned and sidled off. ‘Urgh. Like licking the underside of a broken-down bus...’

Logan swapped the warning of Dalek attack for a more traditional, ‘NORMAL’, then headed upstairs with his pile of printouts.

DS Weatherford bustled past on the landing, clutching a file box, grey fringe stuck to her shiny forehead. ‘I’m doing it, I’m doing it.’

He watched her go. ‘I didn’t say anything!’

‘Aaaargh...’

A happy workforce was a productive workforce.

Harper was on the top floor with her sidekick, the pair of them sitting side-by-side at the conference room table poking away at laptop computers.

‘Sir?’

She looked up. ‘Sergeant McRae.’ Her voice had all the warmth of a mortuary cadaver. ‘What have you got for us?’

Fine. If that was the way she wanted to play it — he could do cold and professional too.

Logan held up the printouts. ‘No direct matches, sir , but they’ve sent me every near miss in the whole UK. I’ll get Milne to go through the photos, see if he recognizes anyone.’

Narveer held out his hand. ‘Let’s have a squint then.’

He passed them over and the Inspector flicked through them.

‘I understand you’re organizing a drugs raid for tonight, Sergeant.’

Logan nodded. ‘Ricky and Laura Welsh. Word on the street is they’re acting as agents for Jessica “Ma” Campbell. She’s trying to move in on Hamish Mowat’s old territory. If we can get our hands on one of Campbell’s representatives it might help with the Shepherd case.’ Well, assuming it wasn’t the guy Reuben sent back to Glasgow with his hands in a Jiffy bag.

Narveer poked a finger at a picture of a young man on the printout. ‘Big Willie Brodie. I did him for assault and possession with intent, what: eight years ago? God, doesn’t time fly?’

‘And you didn’t tell me about this in advance, because...?’

‘Didn’t I?’ Logan hooked a thumb over his shoulder. ‘The operation’s been planned since Wednesday. We were going in long before we knew there was any connection with Peter Shepherd’s murder and—’

‘ Possible connection.’

‘Has to be worth a go, doesn’t it?’

Narveer laughed and poked another picture. ‘Crowbar Gibson! Thought he was dead.’

Harper pursed her lips and frowned at Logan. ‘I think it’s probably best if Detective Inspector Singh and I accompany you on this raid.’

Sod.

‘Of course, sir.’

‘Now is there anything else?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Sergeant?’ Narveer pulled his chin in, then held up the last sheet of the pile. ‘Before you head off, are we really worried about Daleks attacking Banff?’

Inspector Mhor was right, the nightshift had a lot to answer for.

‘ You scheming, underhand, lowlife, son of a rancid— ’

‘Oh come off it, Beaky, it was never your dunt in the first place.’ Logan slipped in behind the wheel of his rusty Punto. It was like sitting down in a fridge. ‘Tell you what, you want it? You can have it.’ He turned the key and whacked the heater up to full.

‘ Really? ’ Suspicion dripped from her voice. ‘ Why? What’s wrong with it? ’

‘Nothing. It’s all yours.’

‘ Laz, I’m warning you. ’

A sliver of clear glass appeared at the bottom of the windshield, creeping upwards with glacial slowness.

‘There’s nothing wrong. Oh, and good news: Detective Superintendent Harper will be tagging along, and so will her sidekick DI Singh. Kick-off’s at half eleven. Make sure you wear warm socks.’

‘ Seriously? I’ve got to do a dunt with a superintendent and a DI breathing down my neck? ’

‘Don’t forget the Chief Inspector from Elgin doing his “down with the common man” thing.’