Стюарт Макбрайд - 22 Dead Little Bodies and Other Stories

‘OK, you can look now.’ Steel stood and raised her free hand like the Statue of Liberty. The duvet cover was wrapped around her in a makeshift toga. ‘Tres stylish, nes pa?’

‘I feel like a complete dick.’ Two floral pillowcases, tied together, didn’t make a great loincloth, but it was better than nothing.

‘Look on the bright side — I can’t see yours, so we’re good to go.’ She paused to nudge Alec Hadden with her foot. ‘We’ll be back for you, Chuckles. Don’t get too comfy.’

As if that was possible, lying on a pee-stained wooden floor, trussed up with chains.

Logan led the way over to the door, the other handcuff dangling from his ankle — scrapping along the boards.

‘Hoy!’ Steel hit him. ‘What did I tell you about shoogling and these sodding cuffs?’

He closed his eyes. Counted to three. ‘Fine.’ Then took her hand again. ‘OK?’

She looked down at their hands, then up at his naked torso, then down at his makeshift loincloth and the pale, pasty legs poking out underneath it. ‘Don’t think George Clooney’s got much to worry about.’

Why bother?

He opened the door. Peered out. A stairway reached down two storeys, new looking, with magnolia walls and framed prints of wildflowers. That would make this an attic conversion then. Another doorway opened off the small landing onto a room crowded with boxes.

Steel sniffed. ‘What if there’s another one of him?’

‘Think they might just have heard us destroying the bed.’

Down the stairs, carpet soft and warm underfoot. A window looked out on the back garden. A whirly washing line sat in the middle of a square of green, heavy with clothes. Their clothes. Getting dark out there, the sky heading from clear blue to navy.

First floor. Three white-panelled doors led off the landing.

‘Shhh!’ Steel stopped, head cocked to one side as something growled. ‘Starving.’ She pointed downstairs. ‘Kitchen — food. Then out the back door and get our sodding clothes.’

‘Think you can keep your stomach in check for five minutes while we get dressed? Not that much to ask, is it?’

‘Hungry.’ She straightened her toga. ‘And in case you’re wondering: Detective Chief Inspector still outranks Detective Sergeant.’

‘Detective Inspector .’

‘Acting Detective Inspectors don’t count.’ She took a step down the stairs, hauling him with her. ‘You want to play with the big girls? Get a proper promotion.’

God’s sake...

He followed her down to the ground floor. Didn’t really have any option with his wrist still cuffed to hers. Holding hands as if they were on some sort of horrible, deviant date.

The kitchen lay at the end of the hallway — a pristine expanse of shiny tiles, stainless steel, and polished-wooden work surfaces.

Steel made straight for the fridge. ‘Sandwich would do... Oh.’ Her shoulders drooped. ‘All they’ve got is a carton of fake butter and an onion. And that doesn’t look too fresh.’

Logan stretched out an arm and opened the bread bin. Pulled out a loaf of sliced white and dumped it on the counter next to the toaster. Stuck a couple of slices in and pushed down the handle. ‘OK? You happy now?’

She sniffed. ‘Think if you’re going to abduct someone, the least you could do is get a bit of cheese in. Some smoked ham. Few eggs.’ Steel grabbed the butter and clunked the fridge shut again. Tried one of the cupboards. ‘Pot Noodle would do at a push.’

Steel chomped on her toast, melted buttery-spread glistening on her chin. ‘Hurry it up, going full-on football studs here.’

Gloom enveloped the back garden. Two small patches of light spilled out through the kitchen window and the open back door, just enough to make their breath shine in the cool evening air.

Logan unpegged his pants from the whirly. ‘Close your eyes.’

Steel raised an eyebrow. ‘In this cold? It’ll be all shrivelled up like a half-chewed wine gum anyway. Get a move on.’

He hauled his pants on, then took his trousers off the line and pulled them on too. Then ditched the Laura Ashley loincloth. The shirt was more of a challenge — could only get it on over one arm, buttoning it up across his chest as far as possible, the other sleeve hanging limp at his side. Same with the jacket.

Steel popped the last chunk of toast in her mouth, then sooked her fingers clean. ‘Where’s mine?’

‘You were eating.’

‘Make with the bras and pants, you unchivalrous wee sod.’

He passed her the underwear, trying really hard not to see how red and lacy it was. Then stood there, cheeks like barbecues, as she struggled into both. Shifting around, handcuffed wrist twisting so she could fasten her bra behind her back.

Don’t touch her bare skin, don’t touch her bare— Agh... too late.

The figures reflected in the kitchen window looked like something from a Cohen Brothers movie. Steel with her random hair — fully suited, except for the one bare arm and shoulder — Logan her taller, slightly less scruffy, mirror image.

She scowled, then scratched at her naked armpit — where the rogue bra strap dangled. ‘Off-the-shoulder’s no’ a good look for you. No’ with those pasty arms.’

‘How am I supposed to know what he’s done with our keys?’

‘Still,’ she shrugged, ‘on the bright side: there’s no risk of you flashing your horrible man bits any more. Thank heaven for tiny wrinkly mercies.’

‘Yes, because you’re Keira Knightley meets Marilyn Monroe, aren’t you?’ He tightened his grip on her hand and pulled her through into a utility room, just off the kitchen. It smelled of warm laundry. The contents of their pockets were piled up on the work surface above the washing machine: phones, keys, cash, wallets, warrant cards, and all the other bits and bobs. ‘Yes!’ He grabbed the keys and flicked through them. ‘No.’

She peered at the silvery collection in his hand. ‘No what?’

‘No handcuff key.’

‘Must be. Give.’ She did exactly the same thing that he had. With exactly the same result. ‘Bugger.’

‘I told you, didn’t I? Honestly.’

‘Blah, blah, blah.’ She picked her e-cigarette from the pile of stuff and clicked it on. Sooked hard on the mouthpiece. Closed her eyes and sighed. ‘Ooooh, God, that’s better...’

Logan powered up his phone. ‘I’ll give Stoney a ring and—’

A thump came from somewhere above.

They both looked up at the ceiling.

Steel curled her free hand into a fist. ‘If that wee scumbag’s wriggled free, he’s getting a flying lesson out the nearest window.’ She dragged Logan back into the kitchen, then out into the hall.

His left thumb skiffed across the screen, never hitting the right button. ‘Would you slow down?’

‘No.’ Up the stairs to the first landing.

‘How am I supposed to—’

‘Shhh...’ She put a finger to her lips. ‘Listen.’

Another thump. Not overhead this time, but off to the left.

She pointed at one of the three doors. Mouthed the words, ‘Three. Two. One.’ Then a nod.

Logan grabbed the handle and twisted. Threw the door open. ‘POLICE! NOBODY... Oh.’

It was a single bedroom. And there was a man on the bed. Well, not so much ‘on’ as ‘chained to’ by the arms and legs. Naked except for an adult nappy, with a ball gag in his mouth. Middle-aged, pasty skin, with receding brown hair, wide sunken eyes, and a stubbly beard.

Steel pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow. ‘Aye, aye, someone’s been naughty.’

He writhed on the bed, mumbling behind the ball gag.

Logan hauled her over to the bed. Then glanced down at his own half-on-half-off clothing. ‘I know it doesn’t look like it, but we’re police officers. I’m going to unbuckle the gag, OK?’ He reached forward, pulling Steel’s arm with him, and fiddled with the buckle.