Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

His phone went again as he hurried across the car park.

Tough.

Logan pushed his way through the tradesman’s entrance and into the warmth of the station. Stamped his feet free of gritty grey snow.

Laughter boomed out into the corridor from the canteen. ‘ Come on then, what did you do? ’

‘ Only thing I could — threw up on it. ’

More laughter.

He kept going, through into the main office. No one around. And with any luck it would stay that way till everything was sorted.

Logan slipped off his jacket and stepped into the Sergeants’ Office. Stopped. Tried really hard not to swear.

Harper was sitting in his seat, an open file on the desk in front of her. ‘Sergeant.’

‘Sir.’

She pointed. ‘You’re supposed to leave your equipment in the locker room. Officers are not authorized to take police property home with them. Especially not extendable batons and CS gas!’

Logan hung his jacket up, leaving it to drip on the carpet tiles. ‘And it’s lovely to see you too, Niamh.’

‘Don’t you dare Niamh me, Sergeant, you’re—’

‘One: my shift doesn’t start for another fifty minutes, so I’m not on duty. You asked me to call you Niamh when I’m not on duty. Two: the Sergeant’s Hoose belongs to Police Scotland, so my equipment belt has remained on police property since I left here at five. And three: I do have permission. Check with Inspector McGregor.’ He scritched off his stabproof vest. ‘Now, is there anything else I can help you with?’

‘Hmmm...’ Harper pursed her lips and swivelled left and right in his seat for a moment. ‘Is everything organized for the operation this evening?’

‘Why do you think I came in early?’

The Operational Support Unit van rocked on its springs as another gust of wind punched it in the ribs. Every seat in the van was taken — Tufty, Calamity, Isla at the back; the three officers from Elgin and their Chief Inspector in the middle, the four-man OSU team in the front, which barely left standing room for Harper, Narveer, Steel, Rennie, Logan, and the Police Dog Officer. Which was a shame, because she absolutely reeked of wet dog and it was impossible to get away from the smell.

Everyone in the van was dressed in full armoured ninja black — with kneepads, gauntlets, and elbow guards. Well, everyone except Harper and Steel, who looked as if they’d just crashed a very strange fancy-dress party.

Five minutes and it was already getting muggy in here, thick with the smell of stale clothes, damp dog, and warm bodies. The windows fogging up.

Logan pulled out his plastic folder of paperwork and held it up. ‘One last time.’

A groan from one of the Elgin contingent.

‘I don’t care if you’ve heard it before, you’re hearing it again. Ricky and Laura Welsh have form for violence, so watch yourself. They’re unlikely to have firearms, but their Saint Bernard makes Cujo look like Basil Brush — anyone who doesn’t have their Bite Back with them will not be allowed in that house until the dog’s been made safe. Am I clear?’

A smattering of, ‘Yes, Sarge.’

‘Good. Sergeant Mitchell, you’re up.’

The huge figure sitting in the passenger seat pulled his helmet on. It grazed the van’s ceiling — he was that big. ‘ Mesdames et Messieurs , grab your bonce protectors and gird your loins. In the immortal words of the Bard: il est temps de mettre sur le maquillage, il est temps d’allumer les lumières !’

The other three members of his team gave a synchronized bark of, ‘Hooah!’ and fastened their helmets.

Logan cracked open the van’s side door. ‘You heard the man.’ He backed out onto the sleety road as everyone did what they were told.

Well, everyone except Steel and Harper. And Narveer, but then there was no way he’d get a crash helmet on over his turban.

The smell of soggy canine got worse for a moment as the Police Dog Officer picked her way past, heading for the other van and its contingent of Alsatians and Labradors.

Steel and Harper joined Logan out on the road.

‘You’re no’ serious about that Saint Bernard, are you?’ Steel’s words billowed out on a cloud of fog, turned a pale yellow by the streetlights.

‘Thing’s massive. Looks like someone crossed a velociraptor with a highland cow.’ He fastened on his own helmet — pulling the chinstrap tight — unlocked the Big Car, and slipped behind the wheel.

Steel stuck her hand up. ‘Shotgun!’ Then scrambled into the passenger side, leaving Harper with the back seat.

Soon as she climbed in, Logan clicked the button on his Airwave. ‘Shire Uniform...’ Ah, no he wasn’t. Stubby was duty sergeant for as long as he was seconded to the MIT. ‘Sorry, force of habit. Sergeant McRae to Sergeant Mitchell. Operation Kermit is on.’

‘ Roger that, we’re rolling.’

The OSU van pulled away from the kerb and turned left at the end of the street. After a couple of beats, the dog van followed it.

Logan pulled on his thick leather gloves.

Harper leaned forward and poked him on the shoulder. ‘What are we waiting for, Sergeant?’

‘You to put your seatbelt on. Sir.’

Steel produced her e-cigarette and puffed on it. ‘Brother Sergeant and Sister Sir. Oh, the family fun you whacky kids have these days.’

‘I see.’ A click from the back seat. ‘Right, well, go ahead.’

Mitchell’s voice came over the speakers. ‘ Easy now... Baz: Big Red Door Key. Davy, you and me are first in. Carole, you’ve got the hoolie bar.’

Logan eased the Big Car out and took the same left as the vans.

Most of Macduff was in darkness, just the ribbons of streetlights holding everything together. A right. Then another left onto Manner Street.

Not a living soul to be seen. The only blot on the stillness was the two big white vans in yellow-and-blue police livery.

‘ Ready when you are, Sergeant McRae.’

He pressed the button again. ‘And we’re clear. Go, go, go!’ The Big Car roared forward as Logan rammed his foot hard down.

Granite cottages flashed by on either side, the North Sea a wall of solid black dead ahead. He slammed on the brakes and the Big Car slithered on the sleety tarmac, stopping with two wheels up on the kerb. He jumped out.

A swarm of ninjas burst from the OSU van — the huge figures of Sergeant Mitchell’s team taking the lead. One of them clutched a mini battering ram, another held an elongated crowbar with a dirty big spike sticking out of it. Everyone else piled up in a big lump behind them.

The Dog Officer’s van skidded to a halt, less than a foot from the other van’s bumper. She leapt out onto the kerb then hauled open the sliding side door as Logan joined the back of the queue.

One of Mitchell’s team swung the Big Red Door Key and BANG , the cottage door went crashing in.

The other one — Carole? — swung the hoolie bar, shattering the living room window with the spike, raking the pick around the frame to dislodge the loose glass. Ripping the Venetian blinds away from their mountings.

The Dog Officer charged past Logan, one hand wrapped around the lead of her massive Alsatian.

And they were in.

A dark house. Narrow corridor with doors leading off to either side and one at the end.

‘POLICE, NOBODY MOVE!’

Barks went off like gunshots in the confined space.

Then answering barks from deeper inside the house. Deep and huge.

Logan shouldered the door on the left and burst into a double bedroom. Unmade bed, wardrobe door lying open, socks and pants scattered on the floor. No sign of Ricky or Laura Welsh.

Back into the hall. Almost.