Стюарт Макбрайд - 22 Dead Little Bodies and Other Stories

‘And in light of this morning’s actions?’

Logan raised one hand and rocked it from side to side. ‘The aggravated assault and vandalism got no-crimed. I doubt the PF would let us go back and do the pair of them retrospectively.’

‘Going to try that again.’ Steel took another huge breath and scrunched her face up.

Young frowned at her for a while. ‘Has she always been this bad?’

‘No, she’s getting worse.’

He poked her again. ‘We’ve got twelve different news organizations camped outside the front door, do you think you could try acting a bit more like a grown-up?’

She scowled at him. ‘Doing everything we can, OK?’ She held up a hand, counting the points off on her fingers. ‘National appeal in the media. Whole team going through all Heidi and Toby’s friends. Posters up at every train station, bus station, airport, and ferry terminal. We did three complete door-to-doors where they live. And...’ Steel wiggled the one remaining finger. ‘Erm... This little piggy’s being held in reserve in case of emergency.’

‘Piggies are toes.’

‘Whatever.’ She put her hand away. ‘If you’ve got any helpful suggestions, I’ll take them under consideration.’

Young shifted in his seat.

‘Aye, didn’t think so.’

He stood, slid his chair back into place. Straightened his T-shirt. Stuck a huge, warm, scarred hand on Logan’s shoulder. ‘And make sure you’re getting every encounter with Mrs Black on video. I’ve got the nasty feeling this is going to blow up in our faces.’

DS Rennie popped his coiffured head around Logan’s door. His mouth stretched out and down, like someone had stolen his pony. ‘Guv, you got a minute?’

Logan shoved the keyboard to one side. ‘If it’s more interesting than budget projections for the next quarter, I’ve got dozens of them.’

‘Cool.’ He stepped into the office and sank into a visitor’s chair. Unbuttoned his suit jacket, then pulled out his notebook. ‘I spoke to the janitor at Heidi and Toby Skinner’s school, and—’

‘Going to stop you right there.’ Logan held up a hand. ‘Don’t tell me, tell Steel. She’s running the case.’

A shrug. ‘Yeah, but she’s doing a press conference, and this was sitting on her desk.’ He held up a sheet of A4 with, ‘OFF BEING A MEDIA TART — ANYTHING COMES UP, TELL DI MCRAE.’

Typical. Couldn’t have given the reins to one of her minions, could she? No, of course not. Not when she could make Logan’s life more difficult.

‘Anyway...’ Rennie went back to his notebook. ‘So I spoke to the janitor, the professor from Aberdeen Uni who runs the Saturday maths club, and a really camp Geordie who takes the ballet class. All say the same thing: John Skinner picked Heidi and Toby up at midday.’

‘Damn it.’ Logan frowned at the screen, ignoring the spreadsheet and its irritating little numbers. Skinner picked up the kids. Did he do it before, or after he killed their mother? Did he make them watch? ‘What about family and friends?’

Rennie flipped the page. ‘Teams been going through them all morning, but no one’s seen the kids.’

And John Skinner’s car was still missing.

‘OK: if you haven’t already done it, get a lookout request on Skinner’s BMW. Tell traffic and every patrol-car team it’s category one. I want it found. Might be something in there that’ll tell us what he’s done with Heidi and Toby. Make sure the SEB sample any dirt in the footwells — get it off for soil analysis.’ He tapped his fingertips along the edge of the desk, frowning at those horrible little numbers. ‘Maybe it’s parked on a side street somewhere near where he dropped the kids?’ After all, that’s how they’d found Emma Skinner. Not that it’d done her any good.

‘Yes, Guv.’ Rennie stood. ‘So... you in charge till Steel gets back?’

Logan folded over and banged his head on the desk a couple of times.

‘Guv?’

Of course he sodding was.

Because DCI Steel had struck again.

‘OK, thanks Denise.’ Rennie put the phone down.

Logan looked at him. ‘Well?’

‘Sod all.’

‘Pffff...’

The Major Inquiry Team room was a lot grander than the manky hole CID had to work out of. New carpet tiles that were all the same colour, swanky new computers that probably didn’t run on elastic bands and arthritic hamsters, electronic whiteboards, a colour printer, a fancy coffee machine that took little pods, and ceiling tiles that didn’t look as if they’d spent three months on the floor of a dysentery ward.

How the other half lived.

A handful of officers were on the phones, talking in hushed voices and scribbling down notes.

Logan picked up one of the interactive markers and drew a circle on the whiteboard. There was a small lag, then a red circle appeared on the map of Aberdeen that filled the screen, taking in a chunk of the city centre around the casino. ‘John Skinner didn’t park in the Chapel Street multistorey and walk the length of Union Street to kill himself. He was clarted in blood — someone would’ve noticed.’

DS Biohazard Bob crossed his arms and poked out his top lip, as if he was trying to sniff it. It wasn’t a good look: with his sticky-out ears, bald patch, and single thick hairy eyebrow, he bore more than a passing resemblance to a chimpanzee at the best of times. ‘What about the NCP on Virginia Street? It’s just round the corner.’

Rennie shook his head. ‘The one on Shiprow’s closer.’

‘Pair of twits. It’s the same car park.’ Logan drew a red ‘X’ on the screen. ‘Doesn’t matter — logbook says it’s been searched. No dark-blue BMW M5.’

Biohazard had a scratch. ‘There’s a council one on Mearns Street, that’s pretty close too. Or Union Square?’

‘Or...’ Rennie pointed at the map. ‘What if he had a long coat on? Like a mac, or something. Could cover up the bloodstains and no one would notice. Dump it when he gets onto the roof of the casino.’

‘Nah.’ Biohazard shook his head. ‘We would’ve found it on the roof.’

‘Not if the wind got hold of it. Could be in Norway by now.’

‘True.’

Logan took the pen and marked on all the public car parks within a fifteen-minute walk. ‘Rennie — get down to the CCTV room and tell them to go over the footage from Saturday. Any route to the casino from any of these car parks. See if they can find John Skinner.’

‘Guv.’

‘Biohazard — grab some bodies and work your way through the car parks, find that BMW. Start with the closest, work your way out.’

‘Guv.’

The pair of them turned and marched off, leaving nothing but a cloying eggy reek behind.

Logan gagged, wafted a hand in front of his face. ‘Biohazard!’

Giggling faded away down the corridor.

‘That’s us done Union Square. Got a dark-blue beamer, but it’s not his. I’m... Hold on.’ Biohazard Bob’s voice went all muffled, barely audible. ‘I don’t care. You should’ve gone before we left the station.’ Then he was back. ‘Sorry, Guv, logistical problems.’

Logan drew a red cross on the whiteboard, eliminating Union Square. ‘Might as well try College Street multistorey, while you’re there. Then hit the Trinity Centre.’

‘Guv.’

The MIT office was nearly deserted. A handful of plain-clothes officers were bent over phones, taking sightings from members of the public. A whiteboard by the fancy coffee machine bore a list of possible locations that now stretched from Lerwick to Naples. A woman with bouffant hair and pigeon toes put her phone down, shambled over, and added ‘Port Isaac’ to the roll.

She puffed out her cheeks, then turned to Logan. ‘I know they’re only trying to help, Guv, but why do they all have to be nutters ? Oh, here we go.’ Her eyebrows climbed up her forehead and she pointed over Logan’s shoulder. ‘Showtime.’