Стюарт Макбрайд - All That’s Dead

Pink rushed up PC Fruit & Nut’s cheeks. ‘Ah...’

His partner in the passenger seat shook her head. ‘Told you.’

‘Sorry, Inspector.’

She waggled her can at him. ‘“Shut up and drink your Irn-Bru.” Remember that?’

‘Shut up!’ PC Fruit & Nut leaned across from the driver’s seat and grimaced up at Logan. ‘We’ll go park somewhere a wee bittie less oot in the open.’

‘You do that. Thanks.’ He patted the patrol car’s roof, then turned and walked back the way he’d come as they pulled away.

Pair of Muppets.

The rich smoky scent of a distant barbecue wafted in through the open window, curling its way around Logan’s nose, making his stomach growl as he reclined his seat a bit and put his peaked cap over his face. Replacing the scent of burning sausages with the musty-hair smell of the inside of his hat.

No one ever washed police hats, did they? Not as if you could chuck one in the washing machine, was it? Or could you? Have to check the instructions.

He stretched out his legs and crossed his arms, vampire-style across his chest.

Comfortable and warm.

Could go a snooze right now.

Well, he could if King and Steel weren’t still nipping at each other like a pair of yappy dogs:

‘That’s no’ what I said, I said, “These Alt-Nat nutjobs need castrating.” No’ the same thing.’

A contemptuous snort from King. ‘You Unionistas are all the same.’

‘Hoy! I voted “Yes”, thank you very much! Unionista, my sharny arse!’

‘Then why are you so anti-independence?’

‘I’m no’ anti-independence , I’m anti-people-being-dicks-about-it. I’m anti-harassment. Anti-burning-people’s-houses-down. Anti-blowing-stuff-up. Anti-hating-people-just-because-they’re-English!’

Pause.

‘Oh. That’s OK then.’ King poked Logan in the shoulder. ‘What about you?’

Logan stayed where he was. ‘No politics in the car. No religion either. Go back to playing I-spy.’

Something that sounded suspiciously like... rummaging came from the passenger seat. No way Logan was taking the hat off his face to see what she was up to, though. Seen quite enough of her bra-fiddling to last three lifetimes, thank you very much.

King sighed in the back, the pik, pik, pik , of his mobile phone marking time with him sending a text or something.

‘Girls Just Want to Have Fun’ bounced into the car, getting louder and louder, then it fell silent, replaced by Steel’s gravelly tones: ‘Who dares disturb my rummaging?... Uh-huh... Uh-huh.’ Sniff. ‘And why didn’t you phone him instead of me ?... Oh, I see... No, you’re a coward... Yeah, I suppose he is a bit Nosferatuy. You’re still a coward, though.’

Logan raised his peaked cap a bit and peered out. ‘Who’s “Nosferatuy”?’

‘That was Sergeant Winston from Ellon station: we’ve lost our backup.’ She put her phone away, then dug a hand into her pocket, far deeper than it should have been able to go. ‘They’ve had a shout on a grade-one flag: on their way now with lights and music blaring. Apparently some auld wifie’s tried to kill her husband three times this year, and she’s hoping fourth time’s the charm.’

‘Great. And what are we supposed to do?’

Steel stuck her tongue out one side of her mouth. ‘On the bright side...’ Her hand re-emerged, clutching a packet of Polos, bringing a small cascade of fluff with it. ‘We now have sweeties! There’s a hole in my pocket, so they were stuck down in the lining. Bit hairy, but still sookable.’

King’s left hand appeared between the seats, holding a full packet of extra-strong mints. ‘You should have said: I’ve got about three packets of these.’

‘Oh for...’ She slammed her hairy Polos down on the dashboard. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Logan settled back and put the cap over his face again. ‘No eating in the car.’

Rennie’s voice groaned in his ear. ‘Sorry Guv, haven’t had time yet. And it’s my turn to pick Donna up from swimming. I’m kinda running late as it is.’

Logan sighed. ‘OK. But do it first thing tomorrow.’

‘Guv.’

He hung up. Shook his head. ‘So we still don’t have Haiden Lochhead’s known associates.’

Steel tutted. ‘Cos Rennie, and I mean this with all due respect, is goat-buggeringly useless.’

Harsh but true.

Logan adopted his snoozing vampire position once more. Well, it passed the time...

Maybe he should take his hat to the dry cleaner? That would get rid of the slightly funky smell, wouldn’t it?

Still, it was better than making conversation with Captain Broken Record and Her Royal Wrinkliness.

King was on the phone again, sounding as if he’d just slammed his willy in the car door. ‘ How long?... Oh for goodness’ sake!... No, I know... OK, well, do what you can... Yeah. Thanks.’ A growly sigh, then a thud.

The passenger door clicked open and clunked shut as Steel got back in again. ‘I miss anything exciting?’

King gave a little strangled scream.

Steel did some sniffing. ‘Laz hasn’t farted again, has he?’

A finger jabbed into Logan’s shoulder. ‘Sergeant Winston says we’ve lost our Operational Support Unit too. They’ve been rerouted to a bar brawl in Peterhead. Going to be at least another hour and a half.’

Great. Wonderful.

Another hour and a half with the Chuckleless Brothers.

He pulled the hat off his face. ‘Well, what choice do we have?’

Steel’s face darkened, mouth working on something bitter. Then, ‘No. Sod that. Sod them. And sod this whole sloth-buggering wankfest .’ She clambered out again, slamming the passenger door behind her.

Logan sat up, staring as she marched off, past the skip and down the road towards Mhari Powell’s bungalow.

King poked him again. ‘Logan, Logan, Logan!’

Oh no. She wouldn’t.

Would she?

She bloody well would.

They scrambled from the car, Logan plipping the Audi’s locks as they hurried after her.

Not fast enough, though: Steel had too much of a lead. She banged through the garden gate and was reaching for Mhari Powell’s doorbell by the time King caught up with her.

He grabbed her arm. ‘Don’t!’

But she jammed her thumb down on the bell anyway.

King hauled her back a step. ‘Are you insane ?’

She looked down at his hand, then up at his face. ‘You can either move that, or I’ll make you glove-puppet yourself.’ Voice cold and level. ‘Right up to the sodding elbow.’

Logan pushed himself between them, forcing them apart before the punches started. ‘All right, that’s enough. You’re both supposed to know better!’ He turned to Steel. ‘And you’re...’

The front door opened and there was the small mousy woman from the prison photo. She peered up at them through a curtain of dishwater hair, shoulders hunched, her posture meek and subservient. Cowed and nervous. Which might have had something to do with the bruising at the corner of her left eye. Her voice wobbled. ‘Yes?’

King stood up straight. ‘Mhari Canonach Powell?’

And she shrank a bit further into herself. ‘Have... Have I done something wrong?’

‘It’s OK.’ Logan gave her the most reassuring smile he could muster. ‘You’ve not done anything wrong, we just want to ask you a few questions, that’s all.’ He pointed past her into the bungalow. ‘Can we come in?’

‘I... no.’ She clutched the door. ‘The house is a mess. I’m...’ Her eyes turned away. ‘What’s this about?’

King loomed. ‘Your boyfriend, Haiden Lochhead. Where is he?’

‘I don’t...’ She shrank away from them. ‘I have to go.’