Стюарт Макбрайд - All That’s Dead

Steel leaned forward in her chair, making it creak. ‘Bit of a mouthful.’ She snatched the photo from Logan’s hands. ‘I’m all for playing Kinky Librarian and the Overdue Book, but there are limits, eh? Mind you,’ she nudged King in the ribs, ‘bet she’s a filthy minx when she lets herself go. That sort always is.’

Mr Sabre retrieved the photo. ‘Quite. I took the liberty of calling up the security footage from her last visit before Haiden disappeared.’ He fiddled with his computer, setting a video playing on the screen, then scooted his chair to one side so they could get a better look.

The camera must’ve been ceiling mounted, going by the angle, looking down on a small round table, with four chairs arranged around it. Haiden was facing the camera, staring straight across at his visitor as if he was a starving Labrador and she was a whole packet of pork-and-stilton sausages. Mhari Canonach Powell’s pale-beige hair hung in a veil in front of her face, and she tucked it behind her ears before lunging forward to snog the living hell out of Haiden. Full-on face-eating snogged him.

Steel grinned. ‘Told you: Julie Andrews in the streets, Stormy Daniels in the sheets.’

Then a prison officer moved in to break it up, making them sit in their respective seats.

Sabre pointed as Mhari composed herself again. ‘It’s the oldest trick in the inmate handbook. Significant other pays a visit, concealing drugs about their person. Passes it over during a passionate kiss, and the offender either swallows it or palms it — hand into the pants, and up his, or her, bum it goes for retrieval later.’

Steel winked at King. ‘That’s called “cheeking” in polite society.’

‘Only, every time we strip-searched Haiden, he was clean. They weren’t passing contraband, it genuinely was just kissing.’ A shrug. ‘Now that might not seem like a big deal to you, but I’ve lost count of the number of mother-son tonguing sessions we see on a weekly basis. So it rather stood out.’

King produced a Police Scotland business card and snapped it onto Sabre’s desk. ‘Can you email that footage to me?’

‘Of course.’ He pocketed the card. ‘Now, is there anything else we can help you with? At HMP Grampian we believe in—’

‘Fairytale of New York’ blared out of King’s pocket. ‘Oh for God’s sake, what now?’

Sabre stared at him, mouth pinched. ‘You’re not supposed to have that in here: all phones have to be left at reception. I told you that when we came through security!’

‘Sorry. Sorry.’ He dug it out and killed the call. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

‘We take security very seriously here! It’s a prison .’ Voice cold and aloof, nothing like the man who’d congratulated Archie on achieving a National 5.

King put his phone away, pink rushing up his cheeks. ‘I must’ve grabbed it from the tray after the X-ray machine. Force of habit.’ A pained smile and a shrug. ‘Sorry.’

Logan tried hard not to sigh. ‘Do you have an address for Mhari?’

Sabre produced a sheet of A4 from his in-tray. ‘I took the liberty of listing everyone’s addresses from the visitors’ book.’ He gave the printout to Logan and a withering look to King. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get someone to escort you back to reception. I have work to do.’

And it had all been going so well.

A large prison officer waved them off, as Logan, King, and Steel stepped out through the front doors and into the early evening sun.

The only sounds were the raucous skirl of the seagulls and the drone of supply vessels making for the harbour exit.

King stopped, throwing his hands out to the sides. ‘I forgot I had it on me, OK?’

Steel shook her head. ‘Kingy, Kingy, Kingy...’

Which was a lot more polite than Logan would’ve been. He pointed at her. ‘Go run a PNC check on Mhari, see if she’s got prior with Haiden. And then get on to the care home — I want to know if anyone matching Haiden’s description has visited Gary Lochhead in the last couple of weeks.’

‘Gah...’ She stomped off, pulling out her phone. ‘Slave-driving tosspot cock-muppet...’

Logan marched back to the car.

King hurried to catch up. ‘Honestly, it was a simple mistake anyone could’ve made.’

You keep telling yourself that.

Logan checked the printout. ‘Closest is the old lady, lives locally. The schoolteacher is just outside Fraserburgh. Ex-wife’s in Stonehaven. Girlfriend’s in Pitmedden.’

‘Only one worth rattling: the girlfriend. Think our boy Haiden’s hiding out at her house?’

‘Only if his dad’s right and he really is an idiot. Always bound to be the first place we’d check...’ A shrug. ‘Worth a go, though. But if there’s even a tiny chance he’s there, we have to call for backup.’

‘True.’ King turned to squint out at the huge orange-and-white supply vessels. ‘Mind you, if he’s bright enough to leave a forensically neutral crime scene, is he really going to be moronic enough to hide out at his girlfriend’s? Be a huge waste of time and resources getting a dog team and OSU and all the rest involved. Never mind the paperwork.’

‘You want to risk it? Because speaking as a member of Professional Standards...’

‘Yeah. You’re probably right.’ King dug out his contraband phone and poked at the screen, wandering onto the yellowy grass as he held it to his ear. ‘Milky?... No, it’s me... How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?... Milky—... No, Milky—... Look, can you get me the number for Ellon police station... Please.’

Yeah, good luck with that. Knowing Milky, she wouldn’t be letting him in off that particular high ledge for a long time. If there was one thing Yorkshiremen and Yorkshirewomen excelled at, it was holding a grudge.

Steel wandered over, her shirt unbuttoned down to the bra line, flapping both sides to get some air circulating around her...

Logan closed his eyes and shuddered. Best not to think about it. When he opened them again she was standing right in front of him, still flapping.

She nodded at King — pacing about in the middle distance. ‘Can you believe that numpty?’

‘What did the Police National Computer say?’

‘Imagine smuggling a phone into prison. Everyone knows heroin’s where the big money is. Lot easier on the bumhole too.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Any idea how hard it’d be to get a charger up there?’

‘Leave DI King alone, he’s having a hard enough time as it is.’

‘You meaning the Alt-Nat terrorism thing, or the cheating wife thing?’

How on earth did she know?

‘Oh don’t look at me like that.’ Steel untucked her shirt and gave the sides an extra-strong flap, exposing pale belly skin as well. ‘I used to be a Detective Chief Inspector, remember? Course I know things.’ A couple more flaps. ‘PNC says: Mhari Canonach Powell, twenty-two, arrested during an anti-Trump rally in Newcastle last year.’

‘Which one?’

‘Who can remember? Got off with a fine in any case. Other than that, she’s a model citizen. DVLA says she’s got an ancient white Nissan Micra registered at her address in Pitmedden — never had a speeding or parking ticket.’ An unwholesome smile slithered its way onto Steel’s shiny face. ‘Too good to be true, to be honest. Needs dirtying up a bit.’

‘Just don’t, OK?’ Logan pulled his peaked cap down, shading his eyes. ‘What about Gary Lochhead’s visitors?’

‘Didn’t have any. Not a one. Well, no’ unless you count his CJ social worker, but she’s a woman and she’s only been twice. And before you ask — no, it wasn’t Haiden in a dress. Gaelic Gary’s got nae mates.’