Стюарт Макбрайд - 22 Dead Little Bodies and Other Stories

Logan looked over her shoulder, taking in the assembled slouch of wee-small-hours drinkers. ‘This Alec in tonight?’

She checked. ‘Nah. Doesn’t usually come in till five or six, though. Think he works up the hospital or something, doesn’t get off till then.’ Elaine smiled at Logan, exposing a lopsided jumble of brown teeth. ‘If we’re waiting, any chance of another voddie?’

Something buzzed in Logan’s pocket. ‘Hold on.’ He pulled it out: text message.

I love Dundee!!!

Yes: 57 %!!! Wee dancers!

I’m never making fun of Dundee ever again.

Dundee! Dundee! Dundee!

That would be Steel, hijacking someone else’s phone again. Well, at least she was happy for a change. The phone vibrated in his fingers.

Well, maybe not never ever, it is Dundee after all.

And again.

Sodding Renfrewshire is No: 53%

Tossers.

How could she type so fast with her thumbs?

He put his phone on the table and Elaine jerked her head towards the bar.

‘So... Vodka?’

‘Nope: station.’

That brown smile died. ‘But—’

‘A quarter kilo of cocaine, remember?’ He stood. ‘You need to make a statement, or you need to go to prison. Your choice. But either way there’s no more vodka in it.’

She slumped right down, until her top half rested on the table. ‘Noooo...’

‘How about this: you help me catch the guys who beat up the drug dealer, and I’ll buy you a whole bottle?’

There was a small pause, then she dragged herself to her feet. ‘Better than nothing.’

There was a knock on the interview room door, then Stoney appeared. ‘Guv?’

His moustache was slightly... lopsided. He had a scrape on his cheek and what looked like the beginnings of an excellent shiner spreading beneath his right eye.

Logan frowned. ‘Detective Constable Stone enters the room.’

Sitting on the other side of the table, Elaine slumped to one side. ‘Can I go for a pee?’

‘In a minute.’ Logan pointed. ‘What happened to you?’

‘Gah...’ His mouth stretched out and down. ‘Jane Taylor happened. Had to drop her off at the hospital, couldn’t even stand, she was so drunk. Didn’t stop her though.’ He fingered the bruise beneath his eye. ‘Like a blootered Mike Tyson.’

‘Yeah, Janey always did take after her dad.’ Elaine’s feet drummed on the grey floor. ‘Seriously, I’m bursting here.’

What the hell. ‘Interview suspended at four twenty-two. DC Stone, can you escort Miss Mitchel to the bathroom and back again. Ten minutes.’

He backed off a pace. ‘She doesn’t bite, does she?’

That brown smile was back. ‘Not unless you pay extra.’

Logan took a sip from his polystyrene cup on the way back to his office. The coffee from the machine wasn’t great at the best of times, but there was something about drinking it out of expanded hydrocarbon foam that really classed it up. Could always sneak into the MIT office and help himself to their stash. After all, they’d all have gone home for the night.

He dumped the cup in the nearest bin and made for the stairs. Taking them two at a time up to the next floor. Pushed through the door into the Major Investigation Team’s domain.

Stopped.

So much for sneaking a go on their fancy coffee machine in secret.

Half a dozen plainclothes officers lounged in office chairs, all facing the large flatscreen TV at the front of the room, watching the BBC’s live coverage. The interactive whiteboard was divided up into a grid — percentages and numbers across the top, the name of each Scottish region down the side.

The office was easily six times bigger than the grubby hovel that CID had been relegated to. Here they had new desks. New chairs. New ceiling tiles. A carpet that didn’t look as if a herd of incontinent sheep had rampaged across it for twenty years. New computers. State-of-the-art tech kit. And right at the back, one of those fancy coffee machines that took wee pod cartridges and produced something that didn’t taste of boiled slurry.

Steel had pride of place, surrounded by her minions, a bottle of Grant’s Whisky open on the desk beside her, next to a pizza box containing a couple of congealed slices. She took a sip and scowled at him. ‘West Dumbartonshire: fifty-four percent “Yes”, forty-six “No”.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ Might as well brass neck it. He wandered over to the coffee machine and plucked a cartridge at random. Stuck it in the machine.

‘No’ good enough. Sodding Stirling was sixty percent “No”. Sixty .’

The machine churned and groaned and chugged.

Steel pointed at a bloke in a stripy shirt and undone tie. ‘Colin?’

He nodded, blinked in slow motion, then squinted at the whiteboard. ‘Midlothian fifty-six percent “No”. East Lothian: sixty-two percent “No”. Falkirk: fifty-three percent “No”.’

Steel waved a hand. ‘Shut up, they’re doing Angus. Come on Angus, do it for Aunty Roberta...’

Up on the screen, a man with almost no hair above his ears stood behind a podium, in front of an Angus Council display board. ‘... the total number of rejected votes was sixty-six and the reasons were, for rejection, were as follows. Seventeen for voting for both answers—’

‘How? How could anyone be that stupid? It’s a yes or no sodding question!’

‘The total number of votes cast in relation to each answer to the referendum question, in this area, was as follows...’

‘Stop milking it and read the sodding result!’

‘“Yes”: thirty-five thousand and forty-four. “No”: forty-five thousand one hundred and ninety-two. That concludes this evening’s count.’

‘Nooooooooooo!’ Steel buried her head in her hands. ‘Sodding hell.’

Logan grabbed his coffee and slipped out before she resurfaced.

Elaine yawned, showing off those crooked brown teeth again. Most of them boasted a shiny grey chunk of dentist’s jewellery. She sagged in her seat. ‘We about done?’

‘Just a couple more things.’ Logan turned the ID book around so it faced her. ‘Can you identify the fourth man?’

She sighed, then jabbed a finger at the page, selecting a hairy man with tiny squinty eyes and a nose that pointed at his left cheek. ‘Him.’

‘And you’re certain?’

‘Said so, didn’t I?’

‘Right.’ Logan copied Captain Hairy’s name into his notebook. ‘For the record, Miss Mitchel has identified Dominic Walker as the fourth assailant. And that’s it?’

She nodded. ‘Can I sod off now?’

‘One more.’ Logan closed the book, then checked his notes. ‘I need an ID for Alec Hadden — the guy who paid you to lie about Chris Browning being one of your regulars.’

Elaine shrugged. ‘Tell you what, Regents Arms is open till nine. How about we go back there and wait till he turns up?’ She licked her lips with a pale, dead-slug tongue. ‘Get a couple of drinks. Get a bit friendlier...?’

Sitting next to him, Stoney flinched. ‘Gah!’

Logan frowned at him. ‘You OK?’

Colour rushed up his cheeks. ‘She’s playing footsy under the table, Guv. Came as a bit of a shock.’

Took all sorts. ‘Interview suspended at four forty-five so Constable Stone can assist Miss Mitchel with the production of an identikit picture of Alec Hadden.’ Logan switched off the recorder and stood. ‘No funny business.’

‘Guv, it wasn’t—’

‘Now: none of that. You keep your galloping hormones to yourself.’ He left them to it, pulling out his phone and dialling with his thumb as he made his way back to the office. ‘Guthrie? It’s Logan. My office: I want you to run some PNC checks.’