Стюарт Макбрайд - All That’s Dead

‘Yes, Boss.’ He gathered up his coffee and let himself out, before she changed her mind.

The PSD office was half-full — people on the phone, people hunched over their computers, people chatting. Shona battering away at the laser printer, using a ring binder as a cudgel. ‘Work, you moronic, half-arsed, turd-fuelled excuse of a thing. Work!’

Clearly, now that all the birthday paraphernalia had been tidied away, it was business as usual.

Rennie backed in through the doors, carrying a tray laden down with greasy paper bags from the baker’s. ‘It’s rowie time: get ’em while they’re hot!’

Pretty much every phone conversation was brought to a rapid halt as the assembled horde swarmed Rennie and his offerings, helping themselves in a barrage of muttered thanks, before heading off to their desks to chomp and munch. Leaving no one but Logan and Rennie standing.

He proffered the tray in Logan’s direction. ‘Wasn’t sure if you were coming in or not, but I got you a Cardiologist’s Delight just in case.’

‘Ooh, ta.’ Logan helped himself to the bag with ‘CD’ scrawled on it, the paper nearly transparent with grease. He pulled out a pair of hot rowies with a slice of plastic cheese and two sausages sandwiched between them. It popped and crackled as he bit into it, mouth flooding with melted butter and porky goodness.

Rennie opened the remaining bag and produced two more rowies, twisting them apart to reveal the jam and butter liberally spread on the inside surfaces. ‘Heard you were out on the lash with King and Hardie last night.’

‘Don’t remind me.’ He grabbed the tomato sauce as they passed Shona’s desk, applying a liberal squirting of crime-scene red. ‘Last I saw of Hardie, it was gone midnight and he was spattering his shoes with an extra-large doner with chilli sauce and garlic yoghurt.’

‘Ooh, pukearama .’

‘Nope: too drunk to get much of it in his mouth.’ Logan ripped another bite of his arterial monstrosity, the sweet tomato sauce rounding the whole thing out. ‘Mmmmnngghhinn nngggginggg?’

‘Maybe?’ Rennie settled into his seat and took a dainty bite, shoogling the mouse with his other hand to wake up his computer. ‘I looked into Haiden Lochhead. Word is: that jewellery shop he ram-raided? Wanted the cash to—’

‘Buy explosives so he could blow up a Duke of Sutherland statue?’

A disappointed pout. ‘You knew.’

‘Anything else?’

Rennie checked his screen. ‘Grew up around Ellon, moved to Auchterless when he was eight and his dad got out of prison for the third time. Family holidays at Cruden Bay. Lost his wee brother in a fishing accident — boat sank, Haiden barely made it to shore alive. Took three days for his brother’s body to wash up.’ Another dainty bite. ‘They let his dad out of Barlinnie for the funeral. Lochhead senior was doing a three stretch for breaking his lawyer’s legs with a crowbar at the time.’

Logan wiped a dribble of sauce off his chin. ‘To be fair, we’ve all fantasised about that.’

‘Haiden dropped out of community college after a couple of months, went to work for his uncle Sandy’s building company. Uncle Sandy’s got form for aggravated assault, drugs, and was eventually put away for helping his brother, “Gaelic Gary” Lochhead, execute—’

‘A property developer.’ Another big bite.

That got him a look. ‘What’s the point my going digging, if you already know all this stuff?’

‘Keep going, you’re doing fine.’

‘Uncle Sandy got into a fight with an ex-special-forces guy from Guildford for, and I quote, “being an English twat”. So the aforementioned “twat” battered him to death in the prison laundry.’ Rennie did some more nibbling. ‘All in all, a lovely family. Bet they’d make a great episode of Jeremy Kyle .’ He frowned as Logan stuffed in the last lump of Cardiologist’s Delight. ‘You know what gets me about people like good old Uncle Sandy? Always banging on about Bannockburn and Culloden and the clearances. My great gran lived in Clydebank — World War Two, the Luftwaffe come over and bomb the crap out of the place. The only house left standing in the whole street is hers. Next night, they come back and finish the job. And is anyone suggesting we chuck the Germans out of Scotland? No. Because no one alive today was responsible for that.’ He shook his head. ‘We’ve forgiven them for what happened in 1941, but we’re still holding grudges from 1314?’

Logan sooked his fingers clean. ‘What about known associates?’

‘Was going to do it this morning, but DS Gallacher says King’s got someone on it already.’

‘Fair enough.’ A sigh. ‘So, we’re basically clueless until someone spots Haiden Lochhead.’ Great. Unless Tufty had managed to find something online? And if not, a boot up the bum might motivate him. ’Grab your hat, we’re off to see a weirdo.’

Rennie blew a short, wet raspberry. ‘Be quicker getting out and walking.’

The rush-hour traffic crawled along Queen’s Road, the trees hiding Rubislaw Quarry barely shifting in the passenger window.

Logan inched them forward another car’s length. ‘Don’t whinge.’

‘I said we should’ve gone Auchmill Road, but nooo, you said out to the ring road and back would be faster.’

‘I can get another sidekick, you know.’

‘What, like Steel?’ Rennie smirked. ‘Yeah, good luck with that. I’m the best of the best, the rest are just...’ a frown, ‘something that rhymes with best, but means the opposite.’

Another car length.

‘So — and I say this as the best sidekick you’ll ever have — that team-building night you went on with DI King and DCI Hardie...’

Logan glanced at him. ‘What about it?’

Pout. ‘Why didn’t I get an invite?’

‘Because you’re a soggy sack of sharny socks, that’s why. And you’re not of inspector rank, or above.’ Not to mention being a pain in the hoop.

‘Hmmph. You’re the so-called “elite” Brexiteers are always going on about, aren’t you?’ One side of Rennie’s face creased for a moment. ‘Depressed? Obsessed? Molest?’

If this was a top-of-the-range sidekick, God knows what a bargain-basement one would be like.

A wail of sirens erupted from somewhere behind them, followed two seconds later by flickering blue lights in the rear-view mirror. The cars following Logan’s Audi parted to let a patrol car through — blues and twos going.

Logan pulled over too, and as soon as they were past — pulled out after them, poking the switch that set his own lights and siren going. Raising his voice over the din: ‘In case they need our help.’

‘The rest are just a pest!’

Idiot.

The parting traffic meant he could finally put his foot down, accelerating to a heady thirty-five miles an hour.

‘Get on the blower, find out what we’re chasing.’

Rennie twisted around and fumbled at the back seat, coming out with a Police Scotland fleece in the usual shade of furry black. He dug an Airwave handset from one of the pockets. ‘Alpha Whisky Six Three Two, to Control, safe to talk?’

A sigh gurgled out of the speaker. ‘What can we do for you this time, Sergeant Rennie?’

They burst out onto the roundabout with Anderson Drive, a pair of matching eighteen wheelers bookending the dual carriageways on both sides. Some idiot in a Lexus 4x4 tried to sneak out behind one of them, then slammed on the brakes as the patrol car zipped past. Did exactly the same thing a second later as Logan’s Audi followed.

Why couldn’t people learn to drive?

Rennie grabbed for the handle above his seat as they jinked onto Queen’s Road again. ‘We’re following a patrol car down Queen’s Road, looking to give assistance. Can you detail the shout?’