Stuart MacBride - The Missing and the Dead

The last pot got added to the clean pile. ‘Can I see it?’

‘See what?’

She took the first plate from the stack and slipped it into the foamy deep. Kept her face turned away from him. ‘The swimming pool. Where they found her.’

Logan pulled up at the brow of the hill. From here the North Sea was a polished slab of blue slate, edged with white where it hushed against the pebble beach below.

The coastline stretched away ahead — the reaching cliffs paling and turning blue as they faded into the distance. Stone fingers reaching for the horizon.

Tarlair Outdoor Swimming Pool’s nest of white cubist buildings nestled in the depths of the rocky bowl, walls shimmering in the morning sun.

His rusty Clio’s engine sounded like a screwdriver scraping along a breezeblock.

‘You sure you want to do this?’

Helen nodded.

‘OK.’ He put the car into gear and slid them down the hill, around the dog-leg bend, and onto the patchwork stretch of potholes and rutted tarmac.

A Police Pod sat in the car park, in front of the burned-out remains of the bin, but the door was shut. No sign of life.

He parked next to it. ‘If you feel uncomfortable, or sick, or anything like that, let me know and we’ll get you out of here. It’s not a problem.’

‘Right. Yes.’ She unclipped her seatbelt. Blew out a breath. Brushed the curls from her face. ‘You can do this …’ Then opened the door and stepped out into the sun.

Logan joined her. Locked the car — as if anyone would be desperate enough to steal a rattly heap like that.

A line of blue-and-white ‘POLICE’ tape stretched across the gap in the rock that acted as a gateway to the site. He pulled it up and ushered her through.

She glanced back at the pod. ‘This is all right, isn’t it? We’re not going to get into trouble?’

‘I called DCI Steel — they’ve finished the search. The barrier tape’s there to stop weirdoes and grief-tourists snooping.’

She picked her way along the path, past the pebble beach with its stone archway and kelp bones. Stopped in front of the Aberdeenshire Council sign:

She stared at it for a while. Then took a deep breath and walked past, making for the boxy art deco buildings.

‘You’re sure you’re OK?’

A nod. ‘It’s fine. I’m fine.’ She wrapped her arms around herself. Holding it in. Stopped at the top of the apron.

Three wide tiers of dark concrete, edged in white, led down to the inner pool. Little more than a rock-strewn swathe of cracked grey.

Helen puffed out her cheeks. There was no inflection in her voice at all. ‘Where did you find her?’

He pointed at the corner of the outer pool. The water level had gone down since Monday evening — evaporated in the sun, or drained out through cracks in the sea wall.

She followed him, past the main building with its grime-streaked walls, around the edge of the amphitheatre space, and out onto the side apron.

‘Watch your footing.’

The walkway got worse the closer they got to the outer pool, crumbling away to expose massive holes strewn with rock and pebbles. Bits of broken glass and sun-bleached crisp packets nestled amongst the weeds.

Logan came to a halt at the corner of the outer pool. ‘This is it.’

The whole place obviously got battered with huge storm surges, going by the size and the number of rocks that made a drift against this side of the pool. The force needed to shift them must’ve been massive.

Helen sank down on the edge of the pool, feet dangling over the stones. Stared down into the water. Closed her eyes. Bit her bottom lip. Her shoulders quivered. A sniff. Then the tears came.

Logan swallowed. Looked away.

Stood there in silence and listened to her grief.

‘Look, all I’m saying is light a fire under them, OK?’ Logan leaned on the roof of the car. ‘She needs to know if it’s her daughter or not.’

On the other end of the phone, Steel sounded as if she was crumpling tinfoil. ‘Oh aye, and how come you’re so interested all of a sudden? Yesterday it wasn’t your case. You had beddy-byes to go to.’

‘How would you feel if it was Jasmine?’

‘Don’t you sodding dare.’

‘Well, give the lab a kick then. It’s a dead wee girl we’re talking about.’

‘Anyone touches Jasmine, I’ll make the Spanish inquisition look like a WRI meeting. Doesn’t matter how fast or far they run, I’ll find them and skin them alive.’

‘And how could you not find Helen anywhere to stay?’

‘Make them wear their arse for a face.’

‘She slept on my couch last night. It was that or stick her in the cells.’

Helen stood on the pebble beach, at the water’s edge, staring out to sea.

‘Oh, I see. You’ve taken her in and now finding the wee kid’s killer’s a top priority, is it? What, did she polish your truncheon for you last night?’

‘She thinks her daughter’s dead. And you find it funny ?’

A sigh. ‘No.’ Steel took a deep breath. ‘Look, I told McKenzie to sort it out — accommodation, contact details, next of kin, the lot. I’ll get it done. And I’ll tell the lab to get a shift on. OK?’

‘Thanks.’

‘Going to be a right pain in the backside though. His Royal Finnieness has decreed there’s no point having all these bodies on the ground up here. Operational priorities.’

‘Doesn’t want to pay the overtime?’

‘Half the team’s back to Aberdeen tomorrow. They won’t even let me keep Rennie, you believe that? Rennie! He’s about as much use as a cardboard dildo, but he’s better than DS Sulkypants McKenzie.’

‘Don’t be such a moan. And make sure you give the lab a kicking, OK? I’ve got to go.’ He hung up. Put the phone back in his pocket.

The pebbles scrunched beneath his feet.

Helen’s eyes were bloodshot and swollen, the tip of her nose flushed and pink.

Logan shuffled to a halt beside her. ‘You all right?’

She nodded, then wiped her eyes with the heel of one hand. ‘Sorry. Being stupid.’

‘They’re going to chase up the DNA match. See if they can’t get the lab to bump it up the list.’ Way out to sea, a scarlet fishing boat carved a line of white across the blue. ‘They’re sorry about the mix-up with the hotel. DCI Steel says she’s going to make sure they get somewhere organized for you, so you don’t have to crash on my couch.’

‘Oh.’ Helen picked at the corner of a fingernail. ‘That’s very kind.’ Her shoulders curled in.

‘You sure you’re OK?’

She looked away. ‘I don’t want to be a burden. It’s just … I don’t want to be on my own. I’m always on my own, in B-and-B’s and hotels and buses and trains and it’s really nice to have someone to talk to. Someone who understands what it’s like.’

Logan stared at her.

Pink bloomed on the back of her neck. Spread to her cheeks. ‘And I could help out — my father was a painter and decorator with Glasgow City Council …?’ She cleared her throat. Looked down at her feet. ‘Sorry. Being stupid again.’

He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ve got to go see Samantha. You any good at stripping wallpaper?’

A massive supply vessel dragged a wake of white behind it, making for the horizon. The sky made a perfect blue dome, wrapping around the jagged coastline, punctuated with the wheeling slashes of herring gulls. Faint screeches and craws drifting down to the balcony.

All the wheelchairs faced out to sea, their occupants slumped and slouching against their chest restraints. Propped up in the sunshine.