Stuart MacBride - Flesh House

Logan sent the list of names to the CID office printer. He’d dump them on Insch’s desk and slope off before anyone noticed.

Chance would be a fine thing.

DI Steel stopped him on the stairs. He was going down: clutching his folder full of sex offenders, she was going up: clutching her left breast through her charcoal-grey blouse. ‘Where’s your boyfriend, Faulds then?’

‘He... er...’ Trying not to watch what she was doing.

‘Got this new bra from Markies, it’s all weird bits of plastic. Feels like a ballistic missile.’

‘Er... he’s off back to Birmingham. Rennie’s taking him to the airport.’

‘Oh aye?’ She stopped fiddling with herself. ‘So how come you’ve no’ sloped off early then?’

Logan held up his folder. ‘Going through the sex offenders list for Insch, trying to find an alternative suspect.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Steel, faking a swoon, ‘Fatty McFatfat’s considering other suspects? Did a herd of pigs just fly by the station window?’ She helped herself to the folder and riffled through the printouts, then tossed the lot back at him. ‘Waste of sodding time, but I suppose it’ll keep Chief Constable Knobjob happy.’

She turned and started back down the stairs again. ‘Well, come on then — after you slap your pervy bastards on Insch, you and me are going on a little field trip.’

Logan followed her, trying to get his list back in some sort of order. ‘Is it to the pub? Because if it isn’t—’

‘Have I ever steered you wrong?’

He didn’t answer that.

Insch was in the main incident room, surrounded by a blizzard of paperwork. The phones were going non-stop, harassed support personnel answering them, taking details, and moving onto the next caller.

DI Steel skulked in the doorway while Logan snuck in, slipped the file into Insch’s in-tray, and turned to leave.

A deep bass rumble caught him before he’d gone more than a couple of feet: ‘And where do you think you’re going?’

Damn. ‘My shift finished twenty minutes ago, sir.’

‘Ah, I see,’ Insch opened the folder and pulled out the list of names. ‘You are remembering that there’s a madman out there, aren’t you, Sergeant?’

Oh for God’s sake. ‘Yes, sir. I am remembering. But this—’

‘Good, then you can get onto INTERPOL–I want the search widened to include other countries. We’re looking for anything that matches the MO between 1990 and 2006. And while you’re at it—’

Steel settled herself on the edge of Insch’s desk. ‘Nice to see you’re taking Faulds’ suggestion to heart. All that fixation on Wiseman’s no’ healthy.’

The inspector scowled. ‘Wiseman is still my chief suspect. I’m just—’

‘Doing what you’re told. Good for you.’

Insch was starting to go scarlet. ‘This investigation—’

‘Nice to see you taking guidance for a change. Doesn’t make you any less of a man.’ She stood. ‘You’ll no’ mind if I borrow McRae here, will you?’

‘You...’ Scarlet was turning to purple. ‘Thought no’.’ A saucy wink. ‘When Faulds gets back we’ll put in a good word for you.’ She dragged Logan away, before Insch could do anything more than splutter.

DI Steel waited till they’d got all the way down the stairs before hooting with laughter. ‘Did you see the look on his face? Thought he was going to have an aneurism.’

‘But...’ Logan looked back over his shoulder. ‘What did you have to go winding him up for? He’s bad enough as it is.’

‘Ah, relax.’ She hauled one of the double doors open and made for reception. ‘I like to see how fast I can get him to change colour. He’s like a really angry chameleon. Besides...’ the inspector paused at the end of the corridor, peering through the glass at a crowd of people in the front lobby, all looking very, very upset. ‘Second thoughts...’ She turned round and headed back towards the stairs. ‘You got any money on the sweepie?’

‘Tenner on him punching someone Saturday.’

She nodded. ‘I’ve got Monday. It’s no easy keeping him at just the right level of pissed-off-ishness. Too much and he snaps early — no dosh for Auntie Roberta. Too little and the bugger won’t lamp anyone.’

‘What if you’re the one he thumps?’

Steel grinned. ‘I’ll fucking kill him.’ She marched out onto the rear podium car park, sparking up a cigarette and blowing out a cloud of smoke that glowed in the security spotlights. ‘Oh, Christ I needed that.’ She shuddered happily and puffed her way over to an unmarked pool car. ‘Right, we’re off up the hospital.’

‘You said we were going to the pub!’

‘Oh come on, no’ like you’ve got anything better to do is it? Go home and mope in an empty flat? Wah, wah, wah, my girlfriend’s in Glasgow playing cops and robbers and I’m not getting any. Wah, wah, wah...’

Silence.

She tapped ash from the end of her fag, little flecks of orange sparkling amongst the grey. ‘It’ll be good for you, get you out a bit, stop you developing wanker’s elbow.’ Still nothing. ‘OK, OK. Insch’ll no’ admit it, but he’s up to his ears in shite and sinking fast. He needs a hand. The ACC wants us to go up to A&E and interview that bloke whose wife disappeared yesterday. Take a bit of the pressure off.’

Logan kept his mouth shut.

‘Buy you a pint after?’

As the inspector said, what else was he going to do?

They’d put Mr Leith in a semi-private room, between a man with lymphoma and a boy with two broken legs. According to the ward sister Leith was doing better than expected — given the shock and his injuries. They’d probably be letting him out in a couple of days. Steel gave the PC stationed outside the door permission to sod off to the canteen for a cuppa, then got Logan to pull the curtains round Leith’s bed.

The man’s head was nearly invisible beneath a thick layer of white bandages, a faint yellow stain leaking through where Wiseman had tried to open his skull with a cleaver.

Steel settled herself down on the visitor’s chair, and asked Leith if he was awake. The man groaned, opened a pink eye and blinked. A morphine drip snaked into the back of one hand. A tremble, then he was still again.

‘We need to ask you some questions about what happened yesterday, Mr Leith.’

‘I... I told the other one. You know...’ he frowned, trying to remember, ‘Big. Bald. Fat...’ The words slurred and misshapen by drugs.

‘I know, but you need to tell me as well.’

‘Out shopping... Sainsbury’s, something for tea... came home... he was waiting for us...’ It took a while, but eventually they got the whole story. How Valerie had unpacked the shopping from the car while he checked the answering machine. And then she was screaming and he ran into the kitchen and there was Wiseman, killing her...

Leith stopped, hand fumbling for the button that would pump another dose of morphine into his veins as he told them how he’d tried to stop Wiseman, but the man was too strong. The flash of a meat cleaver, blinding light, darkness... When he came round he was alone in the house, and the kitchen was covered in blood.

Steel checked with Logan, making sure he was getting all of this down. ‘And did you hear him say anything?’

‘He said... he said we were smoak with blood... we’d be sacrificed on the altar...’ Leith’s thumb hammered the button again, but it didn’t seem to do any good. ‘Oh God, Val... I should... I should have fought harder! I never should have let him take her...’

‘Christ that was depressing.’ Steel took a deep swig at her white wine, sat back and watched Logan work his way through a bag of Scampi Flavour Fries. Half past eight and the pub was starting to liven up, the murmur of conversation rising as more people drifted in out of the rain. ‘What do you think Wiseman does with the bones?’