Stuart MacBride - The Missing and the Dead

Inspector McGregor’s face didn’t move for a moment. As if she’d pulled on a mask. ‘I’ll put in a request and see what the Big Boss says. Staffing levels are tight across the division as it is.’ She stuffed the stack of complaints back into their folder. ‘But we’ll do what we can.’

‘Thank you.’ A nod. ‘Good to see you again, Logan. Remember what I said. Keep your head down and your nose clean. Don’t give Napier any more rope than he already has.’ Young paused on the threshold. ‘And phone him back. If there’s one thing Napier hates, it’s being ignored.’

The Inspector waited till the door swung shut behind Detective Superintendent Young before sagging in her seat. ‘How, exactly, am I supposed to magic up an extra body to go stand in front of someone’s house? Do we not have enough to deal with as it is?’

Logan curled forward and thumped his forehead against her desk. ‘They’re letting him go …’

A sigh. ‘Had two people hand in their notice this month already. The Mire’s a plague ship and we’re dropping like flies.’

‘How can they let Graham Stirling go? Did you see what he did to Stephen Bisset?’

‘Logan, we-’

‘And he’s not going to stop at one, is he? Not now he knows he can get away with it!’ Another thump. ‘Gah …’ Logan sat back, rubbed at the line above his eyebrows. ‘How could they let him go ?’

She grimaced. Swivelled her chair around and stared out of the window.

Blue sky, blue sea, herring gulls making lazy swirls in the sunlight.

Should’ve been raining.

Logan slouched further into the seat. Stared at the ceiling tiles. ‘I’m completely screwed, aren’t I?’

No answer.

Eventually, the Inspector cleared her throat. ‘They got the post-mortem report in, late yesterday. Most of our little girl’s recent injuries appear to have happened after she died. Probably caused by rocks as she got chucked about by the waves.’

‘Completely and utterly screwed …’

‘Logan!’

A sigh. ‘Thought it wasn’t our case any more.’

‘Humour me.’ McGregor didn’t look around, kept her face to the window where he couldn’t see it. ‘A dead six-year-old girl washes up on our doorstep and no one reports her missing. Why?’

‘OK … Cause of death?’

‘Someone stove her head in with a length of metal pipe. Then dumped her in the water. Young says there’s evidence of abuse too. Probably long term.’

Poor little soul.

Logan puffed out his cheeks. Let the breath escape slowly. ‘Which brings us back to Neil Wood.’

‘How do we prove it? The sea’s not that forgiving with DNA and trace. We don’t even know where she went into the water. Official line from the pathologist is a child of our victim’s size and weight would have neutral buoyancy — she could have been dumped where she was found and the tide washed her out and back in again. Or she could have come down the coast on the current. Impossible to tell.’

‘That’s a big bag of no sodding help.’

The Inspector stuck one foot up on the windowsill, laced her fingers behind the back of her head. Stared out at the expanse of rolling blue. ‘I know you’re hacked off about what happened with Graham Stirling, but grumping about it isn’t helping. You want me to give you some time off?’

‘Yeah, because that’s going to look good when Professional Standards get here. Suspended without pay, pending investigation.’ He covered his face with his hands. Groaned. ‘Brilliant. I should have let Stephen Bisset die in the woods. I should’ve been a good little boy, stuck to procedure, and left him to die.’

‘No one’s saying that.’

‘No?’ Logan sat up. ‘That’s exactly what they’re saying. Do what you’re told, be a parochial plod, don’t think for yourself. We’re nothing but robots in peaked caps and itchy bloody trousers. No wonder they won’t trust us to run our own drugs investigation.’

She didn’t turn around. ‘Are you finished?’

‘Sorry, Guv.’

‘OK: it’s frustrating that we don’t get to pursue the drugs bust, but that’s the world we live in now. Deal with it.’

‘Not just the drugs, though, is it? There’s no point talking about the dead little girl, because they took that off us too. Every time we turn up something big, someone comes in and takes it off us.’ He knocked on the desk with his knuckles. ‘And at least I got a result! More than Young’s MIT can say.’

Outside the gulls drifted and screamed.

Waves made thin white lines against the shore.

A car drove by on the road below, music bellowing its distorted ‘Bmmmmtshhh-bmmmmtshhh-bmmmmtshhh’ as it passed. Fading into silence.

Inspector McGregor frowned at the ceiling. ‘So why hasn’t anyone reported her missing? Who doesn’t miss a dead little girl?’

Back to that again.

Fine.

‘Well …’ Logan frowned, dredging stuff up from the black, inky depths. ‘I had a case, years ago, back when I joined CID: unidentified dead wee girl. Turned out her mum was trafficked into prostitution from the Eastern Block. She was dead by the time the kid went missing, so no report.’

‘Not a lot of help.’

‘Our victim could be staying with friends or relatives while her parents are out of the country? Or … what if she has been reported missing, but it was a long time ago?’

‘Hmm …’ Inspector McGregor chewed on the inside of her cheek for a bit. ‘If it was you, why would you dress her up as a schoolgirl, then kill her?’

‘You mean, apart from the obvious? These people like little girls to look like little girls.’

‘True.’

He stared at the thick file of complaints on the Inspector’s desk. ‘But why kill her? Why not keep her and … keep doing what you’ve been doing?’

‘Accident maybe? Or maybe she tried to escape? And maybe she’s not dressed up, maybe she is a schoolgirl.’

Logan took out his notebook. ‘It’s term time. Even if she was staying with relatives, the school would know she wasn’t in class. Might be worth chasing up?’

Inspector McGregor nodded. ‘Well, the MIT have probably thought of that, but let them know anyway. And when you’ve finished writing up this morning’s raid, let’s have a chat about how you’re going to achieve your appraisal development actions. All that community liaison stuff.’

Wonderful.

‘Don’t suppose Young gave you a time of death?’

‘On the girl? Probably sometime over the weekend. Friday at a push. Water’s still pretty cold, even in May.’

‘What was the point of doing a post mortem if they couldn’t come up with anything useful?’

‘You’re a little ray of sunshine, Logan. Did anyone ever tell you that?’ The Inspector took her feet off the windowsill and swivelled back round to her desk. ‘Anything else?’

‘My Chiz — the one who gave us Klingon and Gerbil — when we picked her up she was in possession of Class A and B drugs, and a heap of stolen property too.’

‘I see.’ McGregor pulled a notepad out from beneath a pile of forms and opened it. ‘And this Covert Human Intelligence Source of yours, is she on the books?’

‘Not yet. She’s got a wee girl of her own. Doesn’t get to see her very often. If we do her for the drugs and stolen goods …’

‘You’ve promised her something?’ Inspector McGregor rummaged through the piles on her desk again. Then sat back and scowled at her notepad. ‘I don’t believe it. That’s three pens Hector’s had off me this week and it’s only Wednesday.’

‘I haven’t promised my Chiz anything. Mind you, today her intel netted us at least eight grand’s worth of heroin, so …?’