Stuart MacBride - The Missing and the Dead

‘Aye probably best no’.’ She took the fake fag from her mouth and waved it up the street towards Frankie Ferris’s house. ‘You been visiting across the road there? Number fifteen? Manky house with the lime-green door and funky smell?’

Logan stepped up behind him, blocking any escape. ‘Is there a problem, Mr Baker?’

‘Look at what those little bas-’

‘Baker? Hang on,’ Steel popped the e-cigarette back in, ‘he told me his name was Mycar. Don’t you know it’s an offence to give a false name to the police, Mr Baker?’ She flashed a smile at Logan. ‘I think that’s just cause for a stop-and-search, don’t you, Sergeant?’

Logan snapped on a pair of blue nitriles. ‘If you can put your arms out for me, Mr Baker.’

Steel took a long slow drag as Logan patted Baker down. ‘Didn’t answer my question, by the way. Have you been visiting your friendly neighbourhood drug dealer? Maybe picking something up, or dropping it off?’

If that jaw clenched any tighter, one of those spotty Vesuviuses was going to blow. ‘You arresting me?’

‘Depends what my Sergeant finds, doesn’t it?’

Logan finished running his hands down Martyn-with-a-‘Y’’s legs. ‘Have you got anything in your pockets I should know about? Anything sharp — knives, needles, blades?’

He bared his teeth. ‘This is harassment.’

‘Paul?’ A woman appeared from the same doorway, with a Brummie accent thick as a breezeblock. Cut-off jeans and a ‘BARNEY MUST DIE’ T-shirt. Her bare toes made little feet fists as she stepped out onto the path. ‘Everything OK?’ A toddler wobbled up behind her and stood clinging to her leg, thumb firmly planted in mouth.

The scowl faded, and Baker turned his head to her, face stretched in a smile. ‘It’s OK, Elsie. You and Mandy go back inside and stick the kettle on, yeah?’

‘Paul?’

The fake smile slipped a bit. ‘I said it’s OK. Someone vandalized the car and these … officers are being a bit jobsworth. Go back inside.’

A little nod, then she disappeared back into the house. The toddler froze on the top step, looking back at them. Then Martyn-with-a-‘Y’ gave her a little wave and she followed her mum. The door swung shut.

Martyn Baker assumed the position again. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

‘So who’s Paul when he’s at home?’ Steel turned to peer through the back window as the Big Car headed off down the road. ‘Well, no’ “at home” so much as “slumming it in Teuchter Town with some leggy blonde tart”.’

‘Alias.’ Nicholson took them straight through the roundabout onto Whinhill Terrace, hands slip-sliding around the wheel in proper I’m-trying-to-pass-my-driving-test manner. ‘Martyn Baker also goes by Paul Butcher and Dave Brooks.’

‘So the poor cow he’s shagging doesn’t even know his real name? That no’ a wee bit sad?’

Sitting in the back, Logan stuffed his blue nitrile gloves into an old Tesco carrier bag and stuffed that into one of the pockets on his stabproof. ‘Can’t believe he didn’t have anything on him.’

Nicholson shrugged. ‘Maybe next time?’

‘Would it no’ be really weird for him as well, though? There he is, humping away, and she’s screaming, “Oh, Paul, you magnificent stallion. Harder, Paul, harder!” and he’s thinking, “Who the hell is Paul ? … Oh, right, it’s me.” You’d think that would put him off his stroke.’

Logan’s Airwave bleeped. ‘Shire Uniform Seven, safe to talk?’

‘Thump away, Maggie.’

‘Are we still looking for a Charles “Craggie” Anderson? ’Cos we’ve got a sighting this morning of him getting off a bus in Inverness.’

Steel took a sook on her e-cigarette, setting the tip glowing. ‘Do you think the wee kid’s his? Imagine growing up no’ knowing your dad’s real name.’

‘We sure it’s Charles Anderson?’

‘Not really. You know what it’s like. Someone sees someone that vaguely looks like someone on a missing person poster they can barely remember, so they call us.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Deano and Tufty got themselves an overdose in Keilhill, ambulance is on the scene.’

‘Thanks, Maggie.’

Nicholson took them right, onto Castle Street. It was busy with couples and families. Baby buggies and carrier bags.

Nicholson slammed on the brakes. Pointed. ‘There! It’s definitely him this time!’

A chunky middle-aged man, balding at the back, lurched along the pavement, carrying a pair of wooden kitchen chairs with the labels still attached.

She undid her seatbelt. Hopped out of the car. ‘Liam Barden?’ No response. ‘HOY, LIAM!’ Still nothing. She grabbed her bowler hat, wedged it on, and hurried after him on foot.

Steel half turned in her seat. ‘Why are you lot obsessed with this Liam bloke?’

‘It’s not him.’ Logan shifted forward in his seat. ‘So, come on then, you’re getting a lift back to the station. What did your DI Porter say?’

A blank look wafted across her face, then it must’ve clicked. ‘Aye, Porter. She’s in charge of the day-to-day on that big drugs bust — what is it, Kevin and Gherkin?’

‘Klingon and Gerbil.’

‘Takes all sorts.’ Steel had a long drag on her fake cigarette. ‘You wanted to know about Kevin’s mum.’

‘ Klingon’s mum. She’s supposed to be in Australia for a couple of months, but word is she’s not been at her home address for a long, long time.’

‘So?’

‘So I want to know if Klingon or Gerbil said anything about Klingon’s mum.’

Another puff. ‘Why?’

‘You didn’t see the state of the place. No way they caused that much mess in a couple of weeks. That house has been a slum for months . She’s a neat freak. And according to the Council, even though the place is still in her name, Klingon’s been paying the rent for nearly a year. So what happened to her?’

‘That’s what you’ve got? The place is dirty?’ Steel pointed a chipped red fingernail at her cheek. ‘Does this look like a face that gives a toss about two junkies’ housekeeping skills? By the time the pair of them get out of prison, she’ll have tidied it all up anyway.’

A family of five shambled past the patrol car, the father and mother looking as if they’d never seen a happy day in their lives.

Logan lowered his voice. ‘What if she never went to Australia in the first place?’

‘Still not caring.’

‘What if she’s dead?’

Steel clicked her cigarette off and slipped it back into her pocket. ‘You think this Kevin’s the kind of bloke to kill off his dear old mum?’

‘For God’s sake, it’s Klingon . Kevin is Gerbil’s real name.’ Logan sat back in his seat. ‘Maybe they killed her, or maybe she had an accident, but something’s not right.’ He drummed his fingers on the driver’s headrest. ‘Wonder if she’s still drawing money from her bank account? Think we can find out?’

Steel produced her phone and poked away at the screen for a bit.

Logan poked her. ‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

God’s sake. ‘What did DI Porter say? About Klingon’s mum?’

‘Nothing. Never came up.’ She held out her phone. A photo of Susan and Jasmine glowed on the screen. The two of them were in a school hall, Susan in a floral dress that could’ve walked straight off the set of a Doris Day film, Jasmine in a black leotard with a green tutu — grinning away, clutching a tiny golden trophy. That would be at the dance competition. ‘She came third. Think I should ask them to come up to Banff for a couple of days?’

‘They didn’t mention his mum at all?’