Stuart MacBride - 22 Dead Little Bodies

Right to the chase.

Logan glanced down at the letter, with its columns of eye-watering figures. ‘Yes.’

‘Excellent. Well, if you can organize the phase-one payment we’ll get the ball rolling.’

Phase one cost more than he made in a year.

He forced his voice to stay level. ‘When do you need it?’

‘Well, normally we’d say straight away — there is a waiting list — but if you need time to sort things out I can probably extend that to two weeks? Any more than that and I’ll have to release the bed again.’

Two weeks. Could probably get a second mortgage organized on the flat by then, couldn’t he?

Or he could take Wee Hamish Mowat up on his offer. Borrow enough money to pay the care centre’s fees till the mortgage came through.

Sweat prickled the back of Logan’s neck. Cross that line and there was no going back. No ‘plausible deniability’. He’d be in Wee Hamish’s pocket, and that would be that.

Logan’s eyes widened. Oh crap...

Wee Hamish.

He’d taken an interest in Samantha’s care. Said he’d put in a word. What if he’d done more than that? What if he’d made the opportunity.

‘Mr McRae? Hello?’

‘Sorry.’ Logan licked his lips. ‘Dr Berrisford, the person who died, how did... Was it...?’

‘Pneumonia. She was due to come up from Ninewells Hospital three weeks ago, but there were complications.’ A sigh. ‘It’s often the case with people in long-term unresponsive states. Chest infections are very difficult for them to deal with and, sadly, she was simply too weak to fight this one off.’

The breath whoomphed out of Logan, leaving him with eyes closed, one hand clasped to his forehead. Thank God for that. At least Wee Hamish didn’t have her killed.

‘I see. Right. Two weeks.’

‘Let me know if that’s not going to be possible, though, OK?’

‘No, yes. Right. Thanks.’

He listened till the line went dead, then clicked the phone back in its charger.

Two weeks.

Another deep breath. First thing tomorrow — get an appointment with the bank. See what they could do.

Two weeks.

It was as if something huge and heavy was sitting on his chest.

Logan pressed play on the answering machine again.

‘Message two:’ Bleeeeeep.

‘Logan? What exactly is wrong with you? I’m your mother and I deserve—’

‘You can sod off too.’ Poke.

‘Message deleted. Message three:’ Bleeeeeep.

‘Guv? It’s Rennie. We’re in Archie’s, where are you?’ The sound of singing and cheering drowned him out for a moment. ‘... buck naked. Anyway, we’re having another couple here, then maybe grabbing a curry. Give us a call, OK?’

‘Message deleted. Message four:’ Bleeeeeep.

‘Aye, DI McRae? It’s Alfie here from Control. Yon horrible wifie Mrs Black’s bin on the phone aboot a dozen times, moaning aboot her neighbour. Are you—’

‘Message deleted. Message five:’ Bleeeeeep.

‘Mr McRae, it’s Marjory from Willkie and Oxford, Solicitors again. Hello. I’ve been trying to get in touch about the young man who came round to view the property this afternoon. He loves the flat and he’s made an offer...’ She left a dramatic pause.

That was the trouble with people these days — too much time spent watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire , and Celebrity MasterChef , and Strictly Come Sodding Dancing . They couldn’t just come out and say something, they had to build it into a big production number.

‘Mr Urquhart wants to know if you’ll take the property off the market for twenty thousand pounds over the valuation.’

Logan stared at the machine. ‘ How much?’

‘Anyway, it’s nearly five o’clock, so if you want to give me a call back tomorrow morning, we can see how you’d like to proceed. OK. Thanks. Bye.’

Bleeeeeep.

‘How much?’ He pressed the button to play the message again.

‘ Mr Urquhart wants to know if you’ll take the property off the market for twenty thousand pounds over the valuation.’

Damn right he would.

He played the message three more times. Then kissed Cthulhu on the head, popped her down on the couch, and toasted her with the tin of Stella. ‘Daddy’s sold the flat!’

God knew it was about time something went right.

‘OK, any questions?’ Standing at the front of the MIT office, Steel clicked the remote and the screen behind her filled with the photos of Heidi and Toby Skinner.

A hand went up at the back. ‘We still looking for live kids, or is it kids’ bodies now?’

Steel scowled through the gathered ranks of uniform and plain-clothes officers. ‘You looking for a shoe-leather suppository, McHardy? Cos I don’t use lubricant.’

He lowered his hand. ‘Only asking.’

‘Well don’t.’ She turned to the crowd again. ‘Heidi is seven. Toby is six. They’re only wee, and we are damn well going to find them while they’re still alive. Am I clear?’

A muffled chorus rippled around the room.

‘I said: am I sodding clear?’

This time the answer rattled the ceiling tiles. ‘Guv, yes, Guv!’

‘Better.’ She straightened the hem of her shirt, pulling it down and increasing the amount of wrinkly cleavage on view by about an inch. ‘Now our beloved Divisional Commander is going to say a few inspirational words.’ She jerked her head towards a big man with a baldy head and hands like a gorilla. ‘Come on, Tony, fill your boots.’

While Big Tony Campbell was banging on about civic responsibility and the weight of the public’s expectations, Logan flicked through the short stack of Post-it notes that had been stuck to his monitor when he got in. All pretty much the same: ‘MRS BLACK CALLED AT 21:05 COMPLAINING ABOUT THE NOISE FROM NEXT DOOR (RAP MUSIC).’, ‘MRS BLACK CALLED AT 21:30 STILL COMPLAINING ABOUT THE NOISE.’, ‘MRS BLACK CALLED AT 22:05 COMPLAINING ABOUT RAP MUSIC AND SWEARING FROM NEXT DOOR (AGAIN). SOUNDED DRUNK.’ The next six were the same — every fifteen to twenty minutes she’d call up to moan about Justin Robson, apparently sounding more and more blootered each time.

Suppose they’d have to go around there again and read them both the riot act.

So much for the ceasefire.

Big Tony Campbell still hadn’t finished being motivational: the power to make a difference, serving the community, proving our detractors wrong. Blah, Blah, Blah.

Steel sidled her way around the outside of the room, till she was standing next to Logan.

Keeping most of her mouth clamped shut, she hissed at him out of one side. ‘Don’t forget — you’re on babysitting duty tonight.’

He kept his face front, expressionless.

She sighed. ‘OK: a tenner, a pizza, a bottle of red, and a tub of Mackie’s.’

Logan didn’t move his mouth. ‘What kind of pizza?’

‘Microwave.’

‘Get stuffed.’

Up at the front, Big Tony Campbell came to the end of his speech and held up his hands in blessing. ‘Now get out there and find those children. I know you can do it.’

The younger members of the audience launched into a round of applause. That petered out under the withering stares of the older hands. Some embarrassed clearing of throats and shuffling of feet. Then they started drifting out of the MIT office, heading off on their allotted tasks.

Rennie appeared at Steel’s shoulder, stifling a yawn. ‘All set, Guv. Both lots of grandparents are on their way for the press conference at eight.’