Stuart MacBride - Dying Light

‘Well then,’ said Logan, pulling the cardboard box out from behind his back. ‘You must be a hardworking little bunny! Flipping all those burgers at Burger King.’ He pulled out another uniform. ‘McDonald’s,’ another uniform, ‘the Tasty Tattie,’ another uniform... There were work clothes from half a dozen fast-food places in Aberdeen, each one of them complete with ‘HI MY NAME IS’ badges, none of which read ‘JAMES MckINNON’.

DI Steel looked confused, so Logan spelt it out for her: ‘Jamie’s the one been helping himself to tills all over town. Turns up in uniform, no one pays any attention to the new boy. After all: who puts on one of these things for fun? He cleans out the till after the lunchtime rush, and gets changed to do the next place.’

DI Steel dropped her cigarette to the floor, grinding it out against the carpet. ‘Aye, very good, Sherlock,’ she said, sounding completely unimpressed. ‘But we’ve got bigger fish to fry. James Robert McKinnon, I’m detaining you on suspicion of the murder of Rosie Williams.’

Jamie started shouting that he hadn’t killed anyone, but Steel wasn’t listening. She just finished reciting his rights then told Rennie to frogmarch the suspect to the car. And all the time, Jamie’s sister stared at the carpet, picking at the hole in the settee.

‘And, Suzie, thanks for your help,’ said Steel with a wink. ‘Couldn’t have done it without you.’

Jamie was booked in at FHQ, given a once-over by the duty doctor and stuck in interview room number three. Where he announced, ‘Jesus, it’s like a fuckin’ oven in here!’ He wasn’t kidding. Even with the sun cracking the cobbles outside, the radiator was belching out heat. But all the other interview rooms were taken, so they were stuck with it.

Grumbling and sweating, Logan set up the interview tapes: audio and video, then did the introductions: date, time and attendees, and settled back to let DI Steel conduct the interview.

Silence.

Logan cast a glance in Steel’s direction. She was looking at him with a puzzled expression. ‘Well,’ she told him at last, ‘get on with it. It’s too hot for buggering about.’ Bloody typical. Once again he was going to have to do all the work.

With a sigh, Logan pulled out a handful of Rosie’s post mortem photographs. ‘Tell us about Rosie Williams.’

Jamie scowled at them. ‘I’m no’ sayin’ anything till I’ve seen a lawyer.’

Steel groaned. ‘No’ again! How many times do I have to say this? Under Scottish law you have no right to legal counsel until we’ve finished with you . No lawyers. Interview first, lawyer later. Comprende?’

The scowl on Jamie’s face didn’t shift. ‘You’re lyin’, I’ve seen the telly. I get a lawyer.’

‘No you don’t.’ Steel peeled off her charcoal-grey jacket, exposing large patches of sweat beneath the arms of her red blouse. ‘The telly lies to you. It shows you the English legal system. Not the same. Up here we do not fuck about waiting for some slimy bastard to help you with your lies. Now get your finger out and tell us why you killed Rosie Williams, so we can all get out of this bastard hothouse.’

‘I didn’t kill no one!’

‘Stop fucking about, Jamie — I’m not in the mood.’

He slumped back in his seat, chewing things over. ‘I really don’t get a lawyer?’

‘No! Now tell us about Rosie Bloody Williams before I pull that stupid-looking chin-warmer off your face, one hair at a time!’

Jamie held up his hands in self-defence. ‘OK, OK! We’re... you know... I stayed with her for a bit...’

‘You were her pimp.’

‘We’re having fun, you know...’

‘Fun? Rosie was old enough to be your granny! She’s out there shaggin’ for cash, every night, while you’re what? Staying home looking after the kids?’

Jamie stared down at his hands. ‘Isn’t that old.’

‘Yes she fucking was! Ugly as hell too!’

‘She is not!’ Jamie’s voice was getting louder with every word. ‘She isn’t ugly!’

A sly smile blossomed on Steel’s face. ‘You loved her didn’t you?’

Jamie blushed and looked away.

‘You did, didn’t you? You loved her and she was out there every night, some stranger’s dick in her mouth. Screwing them in doorways. Your precious Rosie, out there with—’

‘Shut up! Fuckin’ shut up!’

‘That’s why you killed her, isn’t it? You were jealous she wasn’t all yours. Anyone could have her for the price of a burger.’

‘Shut up...’

Steel settled back in her chair, scratching vaguely at the damp patch under her left arm. She nodded in Logan’s direction and he asked Jamie where he was between eleven o’clock Monday night and two o’clock Tuesday morning.

‘I was at home. Asleep.’ But there was something in his eyes. ‘Suzie’ll tell you. She was there.’

DI Steel raised an eyebrow. ‘No’ in the same bed, I hope.’ Jamie just scowled at her. ‘We’ve got Forensics turning your flat upside down: they’re going to find her blood, aren’t they? You beat her so bad, you must’ve been clarted in it.’ She leaned forwards in her seat, tapping the table with a nicotine-stained finger. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time you beat her up either, would it? She kicked you out ’cos of it.’

‘I didn’t mean to hurt her!’ The tears were starting.

Steel’s smile turned into one of triumph. ‘But you did, didn’t you? You didn’t mean to, but you hurt her really bad. Was it an accident? Come on, Jamie, you’ll feel better if you tell us.’

An hour later they still hadn’t managed to get anything else out of him. And as Steel said, it was too hot in the interview room to bugger about any longer. So down to the cells went Jamie McKinnon and down to the canteen went Logan and DI Steel. Chilled tins of Irn-Bru all round. ‘Christ, that’s better,’ she said, standing outside on the rear podium two minutes later, surrounded by the patrol and pool cars, drink in one hand, cigarette smouldering away in the other. ‘We’ll get the PF in to look at the tape. “I never meant to hurt her,” my arse, all we need is a couple of witnesses and we’re laughing.’ She smiled and knocked back a mouthful of Irn-Bru. ‘Knew it was about time my luck changed.’

Unfortunately Logan’s hadn’t. When DI Steel said, ‘All we need is a couple of witnesses,’ what she actually meant was that Logan had to change shifts and spend the next couple of nights wandering around the docks chatting up prostitutes. The first time in ages that his shift pattern was the same as Jackie’s, and the inspector wanted it all changed again. Jackie was going to kill him.

‘You’re young,’ Steel told him when he complained, ‘you’ll get over it. Better bugger off home after lunch. Get some kip. In the meantime, let’s get the PF down here...’

The Procurator Fiscal and her new deputy sat through the recording of Jamie McKinnon’s interview in silence. The tape was a good start, but it wasn’t enough to secure a conviction, for that they’d need some real, hard forensic evidence. ‘Speaking of which,’ said Rachael Tulloch, deputy PF to the stars, ‘how did you get on with those contraceptives?’ The Fiscal looked momentarily flustered as Logan explained about the two hundred and thirteen second-hand prophylactics sitting in the morgue’s specimen freezers; it looked like this was the first she’d heard of her deputy’s spectacular plan. At least Rachael had the decency to blush and admit it was a lot more condoms than she’d been anticipating, but now that they had a suspect under arrest, couldn’t they match his DNA to them? Prove he was there? The Fiscal went quiet for a minute, considering it, and then agreed it probably couldn’t hurt. Logan tried not to groan. Isobel was bound to blame him for all the work she was about to get. He consoled himself with the thought that she didn’t like him much anyway.