Стюарт Макбрайд - 22 Dead Little Bodies and Other Stories

‘I am not a sodding princess.’

‘Whatever you say, Your Majesty.’ More crumbs. Steel stared out of the window, then her shoulders dropped a little. ‘Still no sign of the kids.’

‘Early days yet.’

‘Got a press conference at half six, going out live on the news. No’ exactly looking forward to that. Come Monday morning, going to be like a siege out there.’ She took a slurp of tea. Finished her biscuit. Offered him the packet. ‘So... You busy Tuesday night?’

‘Here we go.’

‘Only it’s Susan and me’s anniversary, and if you’re no’ too busy sitting at home like a sad sack, you could look after Jasmine for the night. Be nice for you to spend a bit more time with your daughter.’

Logan saved the file, then closed down the computer. ‘How come you only think I need to spend more time with Jasmine when you need a free babysitter?’

‘Think of it — I’m going to wheech Susan off to a swanky hotel, get room service to deliver champagne and strawberries, put a bit of porn on the telly, then shag her brains out.’ Steel flicked biscuit crumbs out of her own cleavage. ‘Very romantic.’

‘I’m busy Tuesday.’

‘No you’re no’.’

‘Yes I am.’

‘Doing what?’

‘I’ve got... a viewing. Someone’s coming round to look at the flat.’

‘No they’re no’. You’re going to be sitting at home, watching The Little Mermaid , in your pants, with your cat. Nipping off for a touch of onanism when singing along to “Part of Your World” gets you a bit horny.’

A knock on the door and Wheezy Doug stuck his head in.

Oh thank God.

‘Guv? It’s Mrs Black — just called nine-nine-nine.’

Maybe not. Logan folded forwards until his forehead rested on the keyboard. ‘It’s home time.’

‘Yeah, but she says her neighbour’s trying to kill her with a cleaver.’

The siren shredded the early evening air as their pool car slewed around onto Pitmedden Court.

Steel latched onto the grab handle above the passenger door as the front wheels hit a speed bump, wheeching them into the air like something off the Streets of San Francisco . ‘Yeeeeeeee-ha!’

The car slammed down onto the tarmac again, with a grinding groan.

Sitting in the back, Logan reached out and slapped Wheezy Doug over the back of the head. ‘What did I tell you?’

‘Sorry, Guv, urgent threat to life and that.’ He kept his foot down.

Mrs Black’s thick leylandii hedge appeared in the middle distance, rushing up to meet them as Wheezy screeched the car to a halt, nose in to the kerb. He grabbed a high-viz waistcoat and jumped out, struggling into the thing as he ran across the pavement.

Logan scrambled after him, charging up the path to Mrs Black’s house as Wheezy slid the front down on his body-worn video, setting it recording.

BANG — Justin Robson battered his bare foot into his neighbour’s front door. ‘YOU BITCH! YOU BLOODY VINDICTIVE BLOODY BITCH!’ His Bagpuss sweat pants billowed as he drew back for another kick, camouflage T-shirt stained beneath the armpits. The same dirty big kitchen knife as last time, clutched in one hand. ‘COME OUT HERE!’

Logan stopped, a good six foot shy of the huge blade. ‘Mr Robson? I need you to calm down for me.’

BANG . Another kick. ‘I’LL BLOODY KILL YOU!’

Wheezy dragged out a canister of CS gas. Held the other hand out in front of him, palm out. ‘Mr Robson, it’s the police. Drop the knife. Now .’

Robson turned. Chest heaving. Mouth a wet wobbly line. Glasses steamed up. ‘Did you see what that BITCH did to my car? Did you?’ Back to the house. ‘YOU RANCID, VINDICTIVE, BLOODY BITCH!’

Wheezy raised the canister. ‘Ever been gassed, Mr Robson? It’s not nice. And you’re going to find out what it feels like if you don’t drop the bloody knife !’

He looked down at the cleaver, as if seeing it for the first time. Then let go. Backed up a pace, hands up as it clattered on the paving slabs. Cleared his throat. ‘OK, OK, there’s no need for that. This is all a big misunder — ulk!’

Wheezy grabbed him by the camouflage and spun him into the closed front door. Shoved his head against the UPVC. Stuffed the canister of CS gas back where it came from as he whipped out the cuffs. Snapped them on Robson’s wrists. Dragged him away down the path.

‘Get off me!’ Robson shook his head left and right, like a dog with a rat. ‘It’s her you should be arresting, not me. Look what she did to my car!’

Logan pulled a blue nitrile glove from his pocket and snapped it on. Bent and picked up the fallen knife. Carried it out to the kerb.

‘Look at my car...’

Justin Robson’s white BMW wasn’t so white any more. What looked like gloss paint Jackson Pollocked across the roof, windscreen, and bonnet in bright splatters of pink and yellow and blue, running in rainbow tears down the wings. The words ‘Drug Dealer!!!’ were scratched into the bodywork, over and over again, gouged deep enough to crease the raw metal underneath.

‘Look at it...’

The sound of someone sooking on a tube appeared at Logan’s shoulder, followed by a puff of vapour. Steel did a slow circuit of the vandalized BMW. ‘No’ the colour I would’ve chosen, but it makes a statement.’

Logan took the knife around to the pool car’s boot, unzipped the holdall in there and pulled out a knife tube. He slipped the cleaver inside the clear plastic tube and sealed it. Marched back to where Wheezy held the sagging man. ‘Right, Justin Robson, I’m arresting you for breach of the peace, possession of a deadly weapon, attempted breaking and entering, attempted—’

‘We get it.’ Steel worked her e-cigarette from one side of her mouth to the other. Nodded at Robson. ‘You: Bagpuss. Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee here tell me you’re on a feud with her next door.’

‘She’s insane .’

‘Don’t care.’ A yellowed finger pointed in Logan’s direction. ‘Tweedle Dee — get this wifie...?’

He stared back at her. ‘Marion Black.’

‘Don’t care. You get Wifie Black out here and we’ll see if Saint Roberta of Steel can’t pour some baby oil on these troubled waters. Amen, and all that.’

He didn’t even try to suppress the groan. ‘Seriously?’

‘Finger out, Laz, got bigger fish to fry than this pair of idiots.’ She checked her watch. ‘Got to be on telly in an hour. Chop, chop.’

Fine. Wasn’t as if they didn’t have to take Mrs Black’s statement anyway.

He turned and marched back up the path. Gave the front door the policeman’s knock — three, loud and hard. ‘Mrs Black?’

A thin voice came from the other side of the door. ‘Who is it?’

‘It’s the police.’ As if the pool car sitting out front with its blue lights flashing wasn’t enough of a clue. ‘I need you to open up.’

‘Not if he’s still out there. Is he still out there?’

‘Mr Robson is in custody at the moment, so if...’

The door sprang open. Mrs Black stood on the threshold in her dressing gown and jammies, even though it couldn’t have been much more than twenty past five. She had a fire iron in both hands, clutched against her chest. ‘He’s a menace. I told you he was dangerous!’ She grinned up at Logan. The whites were visible all the way around her bulging eyes. ‘I told you, but you wouldn’t listen. Said there wasn’t any proof.’ The words rolled out on a cloud of second-hand alcohol. She shifted from one slippered foot to the other. ‘Is this proof enough for you? Is it?’

‘I need you to come talk to the Detective Chief Inspector.’

At that, Mrs Black pulled herself up straight, shoulders back. ‘About time I got to speak to someone in authority.’ She brushed past him, shuffling up the path.