Stuart MacBride - The Missing and the Dead

‘Discussing? Is that meant to be a joke ?’ His hands made fists, the knuckles hard, skin stretched tight. ‘Samantha hasn’t spoken a word in four years.’

‘Did you discuss-’

‘ No .’ Go on, swing for him. One last glorious act as a police officer — batter Napier’s head clean off his bloody shoulders.

‘Inspector Gibb?’

She reached into her folder again and came out with two sheets of paper, stapled together. ‘We have a statement from a Mr Kevin Cooper, an orderly at Sunny Glen. On the twenty-first of May he heard you talking to Miss Mackie about the collapse of Graham Stirling’s trial. He quotes you as saying, “I’ll go to Graham Stirling’s house in the middle of the night, and bash his head in with a crowbar.”’

Napier sat back and crossed his legs. He wasn’t wearing a nice solid pair of black boots — like everyone else in uniform — instead his tiny leather brogues were polished to an onyx shine. Couldn’t be more than a size six. Probably didn’t need anything bigger to cover his cloven hooves. One hand made a lazy circle in the air. ‘Do you remember saying that, Sergeant McRae?’

‘No. Maybe. I don’t know. If I did, it was-’

‘The reason I ask, is that Graham Stirling’s missing. His sister went to his house at nine o’clock this morning and, in her words …?’ Napier gave Inspector Gibb a smile.

She picked up a sheet from her folder. ‘“I let myself in using my key. I shouted for Graham, but there was no answer. I went into the kitchen and it was like a bomb had gone off. There were broken cups and plates, and a chair with its legs all snapped. And there was blood on the floor and on the fridge.”’

Ah …

Logan sat down again. ‘I had nothing to do with that. Nothing .’

‘But you can see why we’d be interested in talking to you? Here you are,’ one hand described a brief circle, taking in the room, and presumably the whole of Banff station and the area beyond, ‘reduced in circumstance, downgraded from a high-flying career in CID to Duty Sergeant in the back of beyond-’

‘I have not been downgraded. This was Chief Superintendent Campbell’s-’

‘Don’t interrupt. I understand you’ve been complaining that certain investigations have been removed from your remit and assigned to Major Investigation Teams better suited to completing them. So: reduced, downgraded, and frustrated.’ The fingers steepled again. Chin resting on the tips. That Cheshire Cat smile welded in place. ‘And then the case against Graham Stirling collapses, because you seem to think that following procedure is beneath you. Why not mete out a little justice of your own? Judge, jury, and executioner.’

‘I did not kill Graham Stirling!’ Logan shoved his chair back. Stood with his fists curled on the conference table. ‘And if you had any evidence we wouldn’t be having this little chat up here, we’d be in an interview room with a lawyer and a Federation rep. So you can take your accusations and shove them!’

Napier didn’t flinch. His smile didn’t waver. He sat there, watching.

Logan stood back. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got real police work to do.’ He turned and marched for the door.

He was reaching for the handle when Napier’s voice cut through the room.

‘What would you say if I told you we know who killed Stephen Bisset.’

Logan wrenched the door open. ‘If you’re implying it was me, you can-’

‘Hoy!’ Steel barged into the room, hoicking up her trousers with one hand, holding a mobile phone in the other. She glowered at Logan, then at Napier. Then at the little digital camcorder. ‘Someone going to clue me in?’

Napier held up a finger, ‘Sergeant McRae has been assisting us in understanding the slick of destruction he seems to leave behind him like a leaky oil tanker. Dead bodies. People in comas. Things like that.’

‘Well … keep it down. Some of us are trying to work up here. And you ,’ she poked Logan in the chest, ‘you’re meant to be helping me catch a wee girl’s killer, so say goodbye to your little friends and get your arse in my office. Now.’

Napier stood, the smile never wavering. ‘You didn’t answer my question, Sergeant. Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts last night?’

Steel had another haul at her trousers. ‘Sergeant McRae was with me last night. We were painting his manky house. Magnolia, I think it was.’

Inspector Gibb scribbled down another note.

Her boss licked his lips. Lowered himself back into his seat. ‘I see. Well, in that case, by all means get on with some “real” police work, Sergeant. Our business is concluded for the moment.’

‘Should think so too.’ Steel shoved Logan out of the room, into the corridor. ‘And keep it down in here.’ She thumped the door shut. Then crept along the grey carpet to the next office. Ushered Logan inside.

She closed the door behind her and slumped back against it. Dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Christ on an emu, that was close.’

Steel’s office was furnished with two ancient lockers, a filing cabinet, an office chair, and a desk covered in stacks of paperwork. A laptop, with a screensaver that seemed to consist of kittens peeking out of boots and teapots, sat between the piles and every available inch of wall space was covered in maps and pinboards. The latter plastered with index cards, connected by lines of red twine.

She pulled out her phone and poked at the screen as she made her way behind the desk. ‘You know I’m missing Jasmine’s dance competition for this, don’t you?’

‘How is it my fault?’

‘If you hadn’t found that dead wee girl, I’d be sitting in a school gym right now, surrounded by other parents, watching their stinky kids lollop around the floor like drunken elephants …’ A sniff. ‘So it’s not all bad.’ She sank into her chair. ‘Sit.’

The only other seat in the room was a blue swivel job, but the backrest was missing, leaving the support poking up like a broken spine. She pointed at it. ‘Bum. There.’

He did, sticking to the front edge. ‘Thanks for backing me up with Napier. How did-’

‘Shhh!’ Finger to lips. ‘Nosferatu next door’s got ears like an NSA listening station.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What did I just alibi you for? What are we saying you’ve no’ done?’

‘Kill Graham Stirling.’

Her mouth collapsed, till it was a round, wet, cave. Then snapped shut again. Her eyes widened. ‘You didn’t, did you?’

‘Of course I didn’t!’

‘Pfff … At least that’s something.’

Muffled voices came through the wall. Then what sounded like laughter.

Logan turned and stared.

Should march right back in there and introduce Napier’s teeth to Napier’s rectum.

There was the thunk of a door closing, then Napier and Gibb’s voices faded down the stairs. The pair of them off to blight someone else’s life.

Logan sank back in his chair. Froze. Yanked himself upright before he went over the broken spine. ‘Gah …’

Steel grinned. ‘Good, isn’t it? Stops the lower ranks from drifting off when you’re bollocking them.’

‘How did you know?’

‘Been doing it to Rennie for months. Sometimes I try and be extra boring, to see if I can get him to cowp over backwards. All you’ve got to do is wheech out a couple of screws and the back comes right off.’

‘No, I meant how did you know I was painting?’

‘Did I no’ say you need someone to protect you?’ She pulled a blank index card from the box on her desk, frowned, then went rummaging through the drawers. ‘Sodding hell, no’ again . Place is like the Bermuda Triangle for pens …’