Stuart MacBride - Flesh House

Logan tried not to sigh, he really did. Then he dug out the relevant paperwork from the ever-expanding mound on his desk. ‘Two incisors, three pre-molars, nine molars. They checked against the known victims’ dental records — they’re probably Hazel Stephen’s.’

‘Probably? What bloody use is—’

‘They’ve been bashed about and boiled to death. “Probably” is as good as we’re going to get.’

Steel blew a wet raspberry. ‘Lazy bastards hedging their bets, more like. Next: Polish workers, dead body? Connections?’

‘Nothing back from the Polish police yet so we don’t know about priors, but most of them only came over to Scotland six months ago. They can’t have taken part in the 1987 killings.’

‘But...?’ Looking hopeful.

‘There is no “but”. Wiseman’s never been to Poland, he doesn’t speak Polish, and according to Alaba’s security logs he’s never been to the abattoir either.’

‘Bugger.’

Logan turned his head to the death board, looking at the aftermath of pain and suffering. ‘It’s beginning to look like Wiseman isn’t the Flesher. Not now, not twenty years ago: it was all a figment of Brooks’ imagination.’

Steel slapped him on the shoulder. ‘For God’s sake don’t let Insch hear you say that.’ She was peering into her cleavage again. ‘Silly sod’s come in today and he’s in enough of a grump as it is... Do these look droopy to you?’

She wasn’t kidding about Insch’s mood — by the time Logan bumped into the inspector, he looked as if someone had stuffed a hand grenade up his bum and pulled the pin. The explosion was imminent. Fire in the hole.

Logan paused in the doorway of the muster room; maybe he could just sneak out again without the fat man noticing—

‘And where do you think you’re going? ’

Bugger.

Logan forced a smile. ‘Sir, I heard you were in, did—’

‘Apparently I demonstrated severe lapses in judgement.’ Insch scrawled another item on the muster room whiteboard. ‘I had my meeting with Professional Standards. Severe — lapses — in — judgement.’ The pen creaked and squeaked as he mashed the words out with his huge fist. ‘Should’ve called the Environmental Health; should have recognized the risk of infection from eating human flesh; should have searched that bloody septic tank; should have figured out that McFarlane’s butcher’s and that cash and carry got their meat from the same — bloody — place.’

He rammed the cap back on the pen and stood there: trembling, purple-faced. ‘Tried to make me go home: “Compassionate leave’s there for a reason, Inspector .” “We’re concerned about your wellbeing, Inspector .” “You’ve been under a lot of pressure.” “You’ve suffered a terrible loss...” Like I don’t already bloody know that! What am I supposed to do? Go home to an empty house? They wouldn’t even let us bury her!’ Insch hurled the pen down on the desktop. It bounced, sending a small stack of crime reports fluttering to the floor.

‘How...’ Logan looked away. ‘How are the girls holding up?’

‘How would I fucking know? Miriam won’t let me see them.’

‘I’m sorry.’ It didn’t seem like enough.

The inspector ground his teeth for a moment, breath hissing in and out of his nose as he slowly returned to a more normal shade of pink. ‘With everyone running round like headless chickens trying to catch the Flesher, the crime statistics are going through the roof. Muggings, rapes, assaults, shoplifting, vandalism, extortion... The whole city’s going to hell.’ He sniffed. ‘ Someone has to hold the fort. You’d think that’d be obvious to anyone with half a brain, but I had to argue for two bloody hours till I got them to see sense.’

‘They let you come back to work ?’

Insch bent to pick up the pen from the floor at his feet; his knees popped like gunshots on the way down. When he came up again it was with a grunt. ‘Just because I’m dealing with all this shite, doesn’t mean you’re off the hook: anything happens with Wiseman I want to know about it. Understand?’

‘I gave him your message.’

‘Do — you — understand?’

Logan nodded.

‘Good. Now get out there and find me some bloody evidence.’

‘Hello?’ A voice in the darkness. Small and hesitant.

Heather rolled over onto her side. ‘Duncan?’

‘ What? ’ Definitely not Duncan or Mr New. She was hearing things again.

She sat up, peering into the Dark. Trying to pick out a shape to go with the voice coming from the other side of the bars. ‘Are you real?’

A pause.

‘Am I real?’ It was a woman.

‘Or are you dead like the others?’

Silence.

And then the voice said. ‘I’m cold.’

Heather gripped the duvet closer around herself.

‘ Heather ,’ Mr New stepped through the bars, ‘ share, it’s only fair .’

‘But what if she dies?’

‘Dies?’ The new voice tried again: ‘What if who dies?’

‘ Heather ...’

Sigh. ‘I’ve got a duvet.’ Heather clambered out of bed and dragged the mattress over to the bars, then poked half the duvet through a gap between two of them. ‘Happy now?’

She’d been talking to Mr New, but it was the woman who answered. ‘Thank you.’ A scuffing sound, then Heather heard her settle back against the bars. There was a tug as the new girl wrapped the other half of the duvet around herself.

A long pause.

‘My name’s Kelley... Kelley Souter.’ A shaky hand was extended between the bars, brushing Heather’s shoulder.

‘Heather Inglis.’

‘I... I read about you in the papers.’

Silence.

The new girl, Kelley, said, ‘You have a little boy.’

‘Justin. He’s... he was three...’ She bit her lip to hold back the tears.

‘I had a little boy too. They took him away from me in the hospital... said I was too young.’ And so it all came out: how she was only thirteen, but it didn’t matter because her boyfriend promised to stand by her. How he was nearly twenty years older than her. How one day he just vanished, never to be heard from again...

Heather listened quietly, then told Kelley about how Justin was born four and a half weeks early. ‘He was so small, like a tiny doll, all purple and red... They let me hold him for a minute before he went into the incubator. Lying there with all those tubes and wires...’ She wiped her nose on the back of her hand. ‘Mother told me he’d never survive and I shouldn’t get too attached. That it was probably Duncan’s fault because he smoked pot.’

‘ What a bitch! ’ Duncan paced back and forth, the blood light pulsing from the hole in his head. ‘ Why didn’t you tell me? ’

‘But Justin showed her — grew up into a big strong boy... I miss him so much.’

Kelley’s hand wriggled through the gap again, taking hold of Heather’s. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

Two living people, in the kingdom of the Dark.

‘ You shouldn’t get too friendly with her,’ said Duncan, still pacing. ‘She’ll die, and then you’ll have to eat her, and you’ll feel guilty about it. ’

‘Go away, Duncan.’

‘ I’m just saying, OK? It’s for your own good .’

‘Who are you talking to?’

Heather didn’t really want to go through it all again. ‘My husband. He’s dead. And a selfish arsehole.’

The grip on her hand tightened: ‘You can speak to the dead?’

‘ Thanks. That’s very nice. Selfish arsehole. Jesus, Heather, after everything I’ve done for you! ’

‘Piss off, Duncan. I’m not in the mood.’