Стюарт Макбрайд - All That’s Dead

They passed Logan’s Audi, then the skip, emerging from the other side to a slow handclap: Steel was waiting for them at Mhari’s garden gate.

‘Oh aye. Very impressive. Well done.’

King’s face darkened a shade. ‘And where the hell were you?’

‘I was supervising, Kingy.’

‘We wouldn’t be in this position if you hadn’t gone off half-cocked in the first place!’

‘Oh aye?’ She stepped closer, chin out. ‘Don’t blame me. No’ my fault you couldn’t catch syphilis in a brothel.’

King’s eyes bugged. ‘In a...?’ He threw his arms out. ‘YOU BLEW THIS WHOLE THING! YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE GONE TO THE HOUSE!’ Then he shoved her, hard enough to send her staggering back a couple of paces. ‘YOU SHOULD’VE STAYED IN THE BLOODY CAR LIKE YOU WERE ORDERED!’

Oh even more joy.

Steel surged at him, fists curled. ‘That’s it, you’re getting—’

Logan stepped between them. Again . ‘All right, enough!’ He poked King in the chest. ‘You: go stand over there and cool down.’ Then poked Steel too. ‘You’re out of order, Detective Sergeant! Threatening a senior officer? Are you trying to get busted down to constable ? Wasn’t the last demotion enough?’

She glowered at him. Then at King. Then sniffed. Stuck her hands in her pockets and her bottom lip out. Looked away. ‘He started it.’

‘I don’t care who—’

‘He pushed me.’

‘You’re a police officer, not a six-year-old!’ God’s sake. Logan marched up the path to the front door, where Mhari was still cowering just inside, one hand clutching her throat. Eyes wide as she bit her bottom lip.

He stopped in front of her and had a go at firm-but-reasonable. ‘I don’t want to arrest you, I really don’t. But if you harbour an escaped prisoner...’ Sigh. ‘What am I supposed to do?’

Her face puckered, eyes shining as the tears threatened. ‘I can’t... I’m sorry. You don’t know what he’s like. Please .’

‘Then help me to help you. He’s violent, isn’t he?’ Because men like Haiden always were. ‘He hit you — I can see the bruises.’

She lowered her eyes. ‘He loves me.’

And you know what? Maybe he did. Maybe Haiden really did love her in his own twisted fashion. But that wouldn’t stop him beating her to a pulp for looking at him the wrong way, or contradicting him, or burning the toast, or just because his football team lost. Dickheads like him thought it was their right.

‘I know it’s not easy, but there are things we can do: support, women’s shelters. Better yet, we can put him in prison again, where he belongs.’

Tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘ Please don’t ask me that. I can’t. I can’t.’

And maybe next time Haiden would put her in the hospital. Or the mortuary.

God, this job was depressing sometimes.

Logan nodded, then slipped a Police Scotland business card out of his wallet — printing his mobile number in biro on the front. ‘Here. You can call me any time, day or night. You don’t have to live in fear of him, Mhari. We can help.’

She took the card, still not meeting his eyes.

‘And if Haiden tries to get in touch again, tell him we’re watching the house. That’ll keep him away.’

She wiped a palm across her face, sniffed, then closed the door on them.

And that was that.

Logan turned away from the bungalow and marched over to where Steel was sulking. ‘I can’t even begin to describe how much trouble you’re in right now.’

Steel shrugged. ‘Come on, don’t be like—’

‘If you hadn’t charged off on your own because you couldn’t be arsed waiting, Haiden Lochhead wouldn’t have got away!’

She just stared at him.

Well, you know what? She wasn’t wriggling out of it this time.

‘What do you think the media are going to make of it? What do you think the top brass are going to do?’

‘I was only trying to—’

‘Professor Wilson could die because of this!’ Putting a bit of force behind it.

She pursed her lips. Stared down at her boots. ‘I’m sorry.’

Yeah, that probably wasn’t going to cut it this time.

Parched countryside rippled past the windows in shades of yellow and grey, the air shimmering above heat-hazed tarmac, as they headed towards town. Steel banished to the back seat, King sitting up front. Scowls and frowns all round.

King glowered at the rear-view mirror. ‘I still say we should’ve arrested her.’

Steel snorted. ‘Aye, and I still say you should ram it up your spudhole.’

‘Sergeant—’

‘All right!’ Logan raised a hand off the steering wheel. ‘All right. God’s sake...’ Why him? Why couldn’t they bugger off and annoy someone else instead? ‘We couldn’t arrest her, because we couldn’t prove she’d done anything wrong.’

King slapped a hand down on the dashboard. ‘She was harbouring Haiden Lochhead!’

‘And how are we going to prove that? You didn’t even see his face, could’ve been any random numpty disappearing off into the sodding sunset.’

‘It was Haiden!’

Of course it was. ‘But we can’t prove that. And if we’ve no proof, we can’t arrest her.’

King’s bottom lip pinched like a five-year-old told he wasn’t allowed any more biscuits. ‘Could’ve arrested her on suspicion.’

Steel poked her head through, between the seats. ‘Pin your lugholes in the upright and locked position, Kingy: you — can’t — arrest — victims — of domestic — violence — for being — controlled — by their — abuser. Poor cow was terrified.’

‘I’m not telling you again! We wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for you.’ He turned to Logan. ‘We get an SE team and we swab her house for DNA. That’ll prove Haiden was there.’

Surely a DI should be brighter than that?

Logan did his best not to sound as if he was explaining it to that biscuit-less five-year-old. ‘Her lawyer will claim contact cross-contamination from when she visited him in prison.’

‘Then fingerprints!’

‘He’s her boyfriend. He visited her before he went into prison.’

‘What, and they’re still there three years later? She hasn’t cleaned since then?’

‘Hoy!’ Steel poked him. ‘She’s a woman so she’s got to be a house-proud wee mouse, does she? Cleaning and polishing for some man?’

Logan scowled at Steel in the rear-view mirror. ‘You would be really wise to stop talking right now. You’re in enough trouble as it is.’ He reached out and clicked on the radio and some bland happy-clappy pop tune jingled out of the speakers. ‘Can we please sit in silence till we get back to the station?’

Steel thudded into her seat, face creased, arms folded. ‘Fine.’

King turned to face the passenger window. ‘Perfect.’

Logan just sighed.

A floor polisher made dubstep noises in the corridor outside DCI Hardie’s office.

Still no sign of the man himself. Probably dragging it out, leaving Logan and King to stew in the juice of their own failure and await the coming bollocking.

King brushed a clump of dried dirt from his trouser leg. The pale beige lump burst as it hit the carpet tiles, turning to dust. He picked at another bit, not looking at Logan. ‘What’s going to happen to her?’

Good question.

‘Disciplinary hearing. If she’s lucky, she’ll get off with a suspension. If not? Demotion, fine, maybe fired. If Professor Wilson dies, definitely fired. And maybe prosecuted.’

King nodded. Then scooted his chair closer to Logan’s, keeping his voice down. ‘Can’t you just... you know?’