Стюарт Макбрайд - 22 Dead Little Bodies and Other Stories

‘Guv.’

By the time he got there, PC Guthrie was already waiting, like an expectant golden retriever. Logan scribbled down names for each of the four thugs Elaine Mitchel had IDed then added ‘ALEC HADDEN’ at the bottom. ‘Full check on the lot of them. Then get onto the hospital and see when they think Jane Taylor will be sober enough to interview.’

‘Guv.’ He stood there, clutching the sheet of paper.

‘Run along then.’

‘Oh, right.’

Logan settled behind his desk and pulled over the phone. Put in a call to Aberdeen Royal Infirmary. But no one there had heard of Alec Hadden. Was he sure he’d got the name right? Not really. Ah well, better luck next time.

Worth a try though.

He logged back into his computer, getting the paperwork started for a warrant to arrest the guys who’d battered the drug dealer from Edinburgh. Assuming they could get Jane Taylor to corroborate her sister’s IDs, that was. Be hard to convince a sheriff to give them a warrant on the say so of a single addict. Two: yes, one: no.

There was a knock on the door, and Stoney stuck his head in. The shiner was darkening nicely beneath his eye. ‘Guv?’ He held up a printout. ‘Alec Hadden.’

Wow.

‘That was fast.’

‘Used my initiative, Guv, and googled him.’ Stoney put the printout on the desk. It was a photo of a thin man with shoulder-length brown hair and a broad grin, underneath the headline, ‘LOCAL MAN IS WORLD PORRIDGE CHAMPION’.

‘ World porridge champion. La-dee-dah.’

‘Bet he keeps the trophy where everyone can see it too. Looks the type, doesn’t he?’

‘OK. He’s supposed to be at the Regents Arms sometime after five. Probably better keep it low key — last thing we need’s a brawl kicking off in there.’

Stoney grimaced. ‘You sure we can’t call in the Riot Brigade? Regents Arms isn’t exactly cop-friendly.’

‘Low key does not mean shields, battering rams, and crash helmets. We’ll go with you, me, and Wheezy Doug... What?’

‘Wheezy’s got court tomorrow. Went home at midnight, remember?’

‘OK, when Guthrie’s done with the PNC checks, tell him to change into civvies. We’re going down the pub.’

‘Dear God, it’s Action Man!’ Stoney rocked back on his heels as PC Guthrie appeared in the corridor.

He’d changed out of his police-ninja black into a pair of cargo pants, green jumper with patches on the elbows and shoulders, and finished the ensemble off with a pair of big black boots. ‘What?’

‘Go on, do the kung fu grip thing.’

Logan hit Stoney. ‘Don’t mock the afflicted. Everyone ready?’

All three of them produced their handcuffs, and wee CS gas canisters. Then Guthrie dug into one of his many trouser pockets and came out with a canister of Bite Back. ‘Just in case.’

‘Good boy.’ Logan put his cuffs away. ‘Right, let’s do it. We can... What?’

Stoney was staring over his shoulder. ‘Guv?’

A smoky voice of doom grated out behind. ‘Gah! It’s all ruined .’

Logan didn’t bother turning around. What was the point? ‘Detective Chief Inspector Steel, I presume.’

She sniffed. ‘Sodding Aberdeen City. How could you?’ The words were a little slurred at the edges. ‘Cowardly bastards.’

Stoney winced. ‘More “No”s?’

‘The sodding BBC have called it. Twenty-six out of thirty-two local authorities so far, and only four voted “Yes”. Four . Two hundred and thirty thousand votes down. No way we can come back from this. It’s over and Scotland bottled it!’ A hand slapped down on Logan’s shoulder. ‘Laz, I think we need to go get very, very drunk.’

Stoney grinned. ‘Funny you should say that, we’re off to— Ow! You kicked me!’

Logan kept his eyes on Steel. ‘We’re away to pick up a suspect.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re a lying wee sod.’ She poked him in the chest and leaned in, enveloping him in second-hand whisky fumes. ‘Where are you off to?’

Guthrie stuck up his hand. ‘The Regents Arms. Going to arrest someone.’

Steel beamed and threw her arms wide. ‘Perfect! I’ll come supervise.’

‘Oh no you don’t.’ Logan backed towards the exit. ‘You’re off duty, and you’ve been drinking. You’re supervising nobody.’

‘Fine.’ She dropped her arms and narrowed her eyes. ‘Be like that.’ Then she turned and marched off down the corridor. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

Wonderful.

The same auld mannie was standing outside the Regents Arms, smoking another furtive cigarette, in his slippers. He nodded as Logan stepped up to the door. ‘Inspector.’

‘Donald.’

Inside, the number of patrons out for a pre-dawn booze-up had swelled to twenty. All nursing drinks. Their sour faces turned to watch as Logan, Stoney, and PC Guthrie marched in. Then slowly drifted back to the TV.

The usual suspects were up there on the screen, pontificating as the ticker crawled along at the bottom of the picture. ‘“No”: 1,402,047 — “Yes”: 1,171,708’

Stoney had a quick look around. ‘No sign of Hadden. Maybe he’s been and gone?’

Guthrie pulled up his combat trousers. ‘Might be in the bogs?’

Logan pointed. ‘The pair of you go check.’ Yes, it might look a bit odd, the two of them going in together, but this way they were more likely to make it out again alive.

As they marched off, Logan wandered up to the bar. ‘Two tins of Irn-Bru, and one Diet Coke. Don’t need glasses.’

The barman sighed, then turned and took their drinks out of the fridge. Placed them in front of Logan. ‘You vote today?’

‘Yup.’ He pulled out the photo Stoney had downloaded. ‘You seen this guy?’

A pause. Then a raised eyebrow. ‘World porridge champion?’

‘Has he been in?’

‘Don’t remember.’ The barman turned and picked up a tumbler. Pressed it against an optic of Bells. Placed the whisky in front of Logan, along with the tins. ‘That one’s on the house for participating in the democratic process.’ Delivered without a hint of a smile.

OK...

Logan paid for the other drinks and carried the lot over to the same table he’d had last time. Back to the wall. Good view of the rest of the bar and the entrance.

Two minutes later, Stoney and Guthrie emerged from the toilets and joined him.

‘What took you so long?’

Guthrie twisted a finger through an imaginary lock of hair. ‘Doing our makeup and talking about boys.’

Stoney shifted in his seat, having another look around. Then cracked the tab on his Diet Coke. ‘Don’t look now, but: six o’clock. That not Kurt Murison?’

‘Where?’ Guthrie turned right around and stared.

Stoney hit him. Dropped his voice to a harsh whisper. ‘I said, don’t look!’

‘How am I supposed to know if it’s him if I don’t look?’

Logan scanned the interior. Six o’clock. Even sitting down the man towered over the table. Broad shoulders. Shaven head. Ears that looked as if they’d been designed for someone a third the size. Huge hands.

He looked up and for a moment their eyes met.

Not romantic.

Logan glanced at the television instead. Kept his voice low. ‘Yup, that’s Kurt Murison.’

‘Crap.’ Deep breath. ‘What do we do?’

‘Nothing. We sit here and we drink our fizzy juice and we wait for Alec Hadden to turn up.’ He had a sip of Irn-Bru. ‘And if Kurt makes a move, the two of you follow him and arrest him.’

Guthrie pulled a face. ‘You sure? Because I remember what happened the last time someone tried it. DS MacEachran was in traction for six weeks.’