Stuart MacBride - In the Cold Dark Ground

‘Completely cool.’

Smiles.

No chance.

‘Well?’ Harper hadn’t moved from the back of the Big Car, sitting there with her seatbelt on and her arms folded.

Logan closed the driver’s door and peeled off his gloves. ‘Drug dog’s going through the place now. Our friend the Chief Inspector has decided to supervise the search.’

Steel puffed a faceful of steam across the car at him, e-cigarette glowing from the corner of her mouth. ‘Which means the thieving git wants to take all the credit.’

‘And Narveer?’

Logan shrugged. ‘Don’t think his nose is broken, but better safe than sorry.’

‘Agreed.’ Harper unfastened her seatbelt. ‘What about our two house guests?’

‘Nick McDowell and Steven Fowler. Sticking to their mountain-bike stories.’ He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, frowning out through the windscreen. The sleet had stopped at last, giving way to a bitter wind that rattled the streetlights. A couple of houses had people at the windows, staring out, having a good old nosy at the police vehicles. ‘Don’t know why, but Steven Fowler rings a bell.’

‘So do a PNC check.’

Logan glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘I did actually think of that, sir. He’s got a couple of parking tickets: that’s it. Never been arrested. Far as I can tell, he’s never even been cautioned.’

But still...

Steven Fowler.

Steve Fowler.

Stevie... Oh crap.

Stevie Fowler — the guy Reuben wanted him to collect a package from. Collect a package and hide it until further notice.

Oh that was just great .

Logan’s ‘loyalty test’ was under arrest, and now—

‘Sergeant?’

He blinked.

Harper was leaning forward between the seats, staring at him.

‘Sorry.’

Steel was at it too. ‘You OK, Laz? Only you look like someone’s stuffed an angry hedgehog up your bum.’

‘Just a... twinge that’s all. From breaking up that fight yesterday.’

‘Tell me about it. Could barely get my bra on this morning.’ She untucked her shirt. ‘You should see my ribs, Detective Superintendent, they’re—’

‘Actually,’ Harper pulled in her chin, ‘I think I’d better go check on Narveer. Excuse me.’ She fumbled with the door handle and clambered out of the car. Hurried along the pavement towards Ricky and Laura Welsh’s place.

Steel grinned. ‘Think your sister fancies me.’

‘Yes. Because you’re so desirable.’

‘And don’t you forget it.’ She puffed on her fake cigarette. ‘While you were off playing policeman, I regaled her with the sexual conquests of my youth. Edited highlights, anyway.’ A sigh. ‘Did I ever tell you about Mrs Morgenstern? She was thirty-four, I was fifteen. She was my piano teacher and I was horny as a—’

‘Can we not do this?’

Steel sniffed. ‘Thought you boys liked a bit of hot girl-on-girl action?’

A gap opened up through the clouds, letting a cold slab of moonlight crash against the street, bathing it in frigid grey light.

Stevie Fowler.

What the hell was Logan supposed to do now? Never mind the fact that whatever Fowler should have handed over for safekeeping would probably end up in the evidence store; would Reuben expect Logan to let him go without so much as a slap on the wrists? Because there was no chance of that happening. Not with Harper and Narveer and Steel and the Chief Inspector from Elgin falling over each other to find someone to prosecute so they could take the credit.

Reuben already wanted him dead, this really wasn’t going to help.

Oh he was so screwed.

‘Anyway, so one day Mrs Morgenstern turns up for my lesson wearing this pencil skirt and silk blouse and — oh my hairy armpits, Laz, you should have seen her breasts .’

Urquhart. Call Urquhart and explain what happened.

‘Every time she bent over the piano it was like diving into Loch Cleavage. God, you could’ve drowned in there.’

This wasn’t Logan’s fault. Fowler had screwed up, not him.

‘So I tell her I’m having difficulty with my fingering and she says—’

Logan’s phone blared out its anonymous ringtone. He dragged the thing out. ‘Sorry, got to get this.’

Whoever it was, it had to be better than Confessions of a Teenaged Lesbian Piano Student .

‘McRae.’

‘ Logan? It’s Eamon. ’ A pause. ‘ Your brother? ’

He turned his back on Steel and climbed out of the car. ‘Let me guess, Mother’s been bending your ear.’

‘ I don’t know why you’ve got to antagonize her the whole time, Logan. She phoned me in tears saying you’d shouted and sworn at her. How could you be so insensitive and— ’

‘Did she tell you why I was swearing, Eamon? Did she let that tiny nugget of truth escape, or was it all lies like usual?’ He slammed the car door. ‘Well?’ His breath rolled out in a cloud of fog, before being torn away by the wind. Cold air nipped at his ears.

‘ Logan, she’s your mother . You can’t— ’

‘Dad didn’t die when he was shot. He got better and sodded off to Dunfermline with a nurse. Settled down and had another family. You’ve got a wee sister, Eamon: you’re not the youngest any more.’

Dark furious barks exploded inside the Dog Officer’s van. Difficult to tell if it was Cujo or the Alsatian. A second later it didn’t matter, because the other dog joined in — doubling the noise.

‘All those years she dragged us along to put flowers on his grave and he wasn’t even dead!’

Still nothing from the other end of the phone.

‘She lied to us, Eamon. We could’ve had a father growing up, but she lied .’

The barking was getting louder, each dog egging the other on.

Logan slammed his palm against the van’s cold metal bulkhead. ‘SHUT UP, THE PAIR OF YOU!’ It didn’t work. If anything, they got louder.

Curtains twitched in the house opposite.

Maybe it wasn’t the best of ideas to be ranting and raving in the middle of the street, where anyone could see him, film him, and upload it to YouTube. He turned his back on the van and marched back to the Big Car. ‘You still there?’

‘ I don’t know what you’re trying to prove, Logan, but it’s not funny. Grow up, phone Mother back, and apologize. ’

‘Don’t be such a mummy’s boy.’

‘ All right, I’m hanging up now. ’ And the line went dead.

What a shock: Eamon took her side. Well sod him too. Logan wiped the condensation from his phone’s screen and blocked Eamon’s number too.

He stood and glowered down Manner Street. The sea shone, down the end, between the buildings, like a polished headstone.

Thirty-four years.

Thirty-four sodding years.

Steel was still puffing away as he climbed back into the Big Car. ‘Aye, aye, Captain Cheery’s back.’

Logan slammed the door closed. ‘Don’t start.’

‘You ever wonder why you’re such a miserable git?’

He turned and stared at her. ‘Please, do tell me. Is it because I got the crap kicked out of me yesterday? How about: someone tried to slit my throat the night before that? Or maybe it’s because someone burned Samantha’s caravan down today?’ Getting louder with every word. ‘Oh, tell you what — and I’m going out on a limb here — how about it’s because I had to kill my girlfriend on Friday? YOU WANT TO PICK ONE?’ Spittle glowed in the dashboard lights.

Steel took a good long draw on her e-cigarette. Dribbled the steam out of her nose, long and slow. ‘Are we finished, or is there a wee bit more tantrum in there?’

‘I’m having a bad week, that OK with you?’ He folded his arms and thumped back in his seat. And that wasn’t even mentioning the guy he’d seen killed and the guy he’d killed himself. A long breath rattled its way free. Surprising he could even function at all. ‘This isn’t easy.’