Стюарт Макбрайд - The Blood Road

‘There are people out there you can talk to. Domestic abuse isn’t—’

‘Christ, you don’t listen, do you? It wasn’t Brian. It wasn’t anyone.’

‘Ah...’ Logan nodded. ‘The first rule of Fight Club.’

More silence.

Chalmers dabbed at the scrape beneath her right eye. ‘And you shouldn’t be here.’

‘Huge Gay Bill’s? Bill and I go way back. One of his ex-boyfriends broke into his mum’s house while she was in hospital and cleaned her out. Bill got his hands on him. Was going to rip the guy’s arms and legs off, till I talked him down. He’s always had terrible taste in men.’

She limped over to the driers and patted at her face, ignoring him as they roared at her.

Logan stretched out on the chaise longue, making himself comfortable. ‘You’ve been avoiding me.’

She tucked in her torn shirt. ‘Are they firing me?’

‘I’m not your enemy, Lorna.’

‘Could’ve fooled me.’

‘I’m here to help. We can—’

‘Then keep them off my back, OK?’ She limped back to the mirror and took out a small make-up kit. ‘Tell them everything’s fine. I’ve apologised and promise to be a good little girl from now on.’

Logan sighed. ‘It doesn’t work like that. You’ve been disappearing when you’re meant to be on the job. Ducking assignments. Not doing what DI Fraser tells you.’

‘DI Fraser’s an idiot.’

‘No she isn’t. And you know what? Even if she was, right now she’s your superior idiot and if she tells you to go interview someone you actually have to go interview them.’

A wodge of foundation got slathered on, covering up the scrapes and bruises. Wincing as she did her best to blend it in. You could still tell, though.

Eventually she stood back and stared at the result. Grimaced. ‘It’ll do.’ Her make-up clattered into the bag again. ‘Russell Morton’s alibi’s sound. He was where he said he was, when he said he was. I spoke to the guy who delivered one fourteen-inch four seasons with extra anchovies, one mushroom feast, a spicy American, two garlic breads, and three six-packs of Peroni.’

‘A lot of food.’

‘Morton paid him from a big roll of cash. Ten-quid tip, too.’

‘Flashy.’

‘Especially for someone on the dole.’ She examined herself in the mirror again. ‘So you can tell DI Kim Fraser I’ve been doing my job. Did it yesterday before she even asked. Just because I’m not grubbing around her feet, begging for titbits like those idiot sidekicks of hers, doesn’t mean I’m slacking.’

‘No one’s asking you to grub about, Lorna, but this is the police . You have to follow procedure. The chain of command’s there for a reason!’

She stared at him from the mirror, face blank. ‘Are we done, Inspector?’

‘Have you forgotten what happened with the Agnes Garfield case? You could’ve died . You very nearly got me and PC Sim killed! All because you couldn’t stand the thought of sharing the glory.’ Logan stood. ‘Police Scotland doesn’t need lone wolves, Lorna. That’s not how this works!’

Nothing back. Not even a flicker.

Then, ‘If it’s all right with you, I’d like to have a wee now. Or do you want to follow me in there as well?’ She turned and barged into one of the cubicles. Slammed the door. Clacked the latch.

Logan knocked on the cubicle door. ‘They’re going to suspend you. Is that what you want?’

The sound of piddling hissed out from inside. Accompanied by what might have been muffled sobs...

Great. That went well.

Bill shook his head. ‘...so Shoogly Dave says, “Wasnae me, it was like that when I found it.” And he’s staggering about the stock room surrounded by two thousand...’ Bill pointed over Logan’s shoulder. ‘Your friend’s back.’

Logan turned and there was Chalmers, coming out of the ladies. Grimacing as she saw them.

He went back to his cappuccino, watching her in the mirror behind the bar as she marched over.

She stopped right behind him. Put on what was probably meant to be a reasonable voice. ‘You can’t let them take this away from me. Do you have any idea what I’ve sacrificed for this job? Not just the hours: I barely see Brian. I’ve put everything on hold for this. Everything .’

‘We all make sacrifices, it’s part of—’

‘Oh that’s easy for you to say, isn’t it? You didn’t even have to have your own kids, did you? You farmed them out to someone else!’

‘That’s not—’

‘If you really want to help, keep Fraser off my back for a couple of days.’ A frown. ‘Better make it three.’

Funny.

He took a sip of warm milky coffee. ‘Twenty-four hours.’

She gave him a pained smile in the mirror. ‘No, it has to be seventy-two. I need—’

‘It’s not an offer, it’s the cliché.’ Putting on an American accent for, ‘“Ya gotta give me twenty-four hours to crack the case, Lieutenant.”’ Then back to normal again. ‘And no. If you’ve got information that might save Ellie Morton, you tell me or you tell DI Fraser. You do not keep it secret so you can grab the glory. A wee girl’s life is at stake!’

‘I know what’s at stake!’

Logan thumped his mug down. ‘Then grow up and stop playing Sam Sodding Spade!’

She glared at his reflection in the mirror. Turned. And marched out the front door.

Logan shouted after her. ‘I mean it, Lorna, this isn’t a game!’

The door slammed shut.

Bill stared at it. ‘Told you — great in the sack, but they’ll screw you over every time.’

Patronising, holier-than-thou, big-eared, wanker . Lorna stared through the windscreen at Huge Gay Bill’s Bar and Grill, teeth bared. Blood fizzing in her ears as the rain battered down and—

A boot thuds against the small of her back, another one into her shoulder. Lorna curls up tighter, arms wrapped around her head as the pair of bastards lay into her. First it was shoving. Then fists. Now boots.

Two against one.

‘Aaaargh!’ She bites it down. Don’t scream. Don’t give them the satisfaction .

More kicks, on her arms and legs. One to the kidneys that erupts around her torso like it’s full of angry wasps. Another to the hand covering her face and the world tastes of rust and hot batteries.

Lorna coughs and splutters out a spattering of bright scarlet.

And the beating stops.

She can hear them backing away. Panting.

Then Danners leans in close, her breath warm on Lorna’s skin. ‘Take a telling, you two-faced bitch . Next time we won’t be so polite.’

There’s the scuffing of feet on tarmac and she flinches, waiting for the blows to start again... But they don’t. Instead the sound of a Portakabin door slamming booms out into the rain.

She risks a look.

They’ve gone.

They’ve gone . She almost laughs, but her ribs hurt too much. So instead she struggles up to her knees, setting the wasps off again, then to her feet. Lurching across the car park to her little Fiat. Fumbling her keys from her pocket with fingers that are already starting to swell and stiffen. Unlocks the door and does her best not to fall inside.

Rows and rows of Northfield tenements drone by the car window, bricks and harling stained by the downpour. Everything aches.

Lorna’s mobile phone buzzes in her pocket, then launches into Radiohead’s ‘The Bends’. She pulls it out with one aching hand and squints at the screen: ‘BRIAN’.

Sod off, Brian.

She hits ‘IGNORE’ and keeps on driving.

Should get him a ringtone of his own. Something good. Then at least she can enjoy ignoring his calls.