Stuart MacBride - The Missing and the Dead

Martyn Baker’s jaw clenched and ground, the muscles writhing beneath the skin. Making the spots ripple. His feet made restless patterns on the grey floor, following the steps of some obscure, guilty dance. His eyes flicked from side to side, never meeting Logan’s. ‘I want my lawyer.’

‘I’ll bet you do.’

Logan rinsed the empty mug under the hot tap, then added it to the pile on the draining board. A couple of support staff sat around the TV in the canteen, having a deep and meaningful conversation about the new series of Danger Mouse .

A buzzing sensation worked its way into Logan’s thigh, followed by the tell-tale sound of a new text message arriving. He dug his phone out of his pocket.

Srry for being all wierd at lnch I just didnt expect all the ppl Im not usd to all th family anymore Still gt steak fr tea if U want it? I cn make chips

How could any gentleman refuse an offer of chips?

He hit reply, then stopped. Put his mobile away and headed back along the groaning corridor to the Sergeants’ Office. Picked up the internal phone.

‘Cellblock.’

‘Hi, it’s Sergeant McRae. Any word on our friend Martyn Baker yet?’

‘Still on the phone to his solicitor. Takes a while to remember to say “no comment” to everything. Takes practice.’

‘OK, well I’m heading out for a bit. Give me a shout soon as he’s ready.’

Out the door, down the stairs, and onto the rear car park.

Slivers of blue jabbed their way through the grey cloud. The leaching drizzle and unforgiving rain had gone, leaving the windscreens and bodywork of the parked patrol cars and van dulled to a pewter sheen.

He pulled out his mobile, found Helen’s number, and-

‘Sarge?’ Tufty.

Logan froze. ‘Martyn Baker said something?’

‘Well … No. PCSO said you were heading out. So, you need backup? Shall I get the Big Car?’

Yes, because that was going to make it so much easier to phone Helen.

Think fast.

A patrol car rocked over the speedbump and into the car park. There had to be a job out there that needed seeing to.

Logan turned to watch the officer behind the wheel make a pig’s ear of parking. ‘Actually, I’m going to wander down to Broch Braw Buys. See if the owner’s got any idea why the Cashline Ram-Raiders picked him instead of another Co-op.’

A nod. ‘Right, I’ll get my hat.’

‘No, you’re all right. You stay here and …’ Come on — what could he get Tufty to do instead of playing gooseberry? ‘Do me a favour — Helen Edwards. If she is our Tarlair little girl’s mother, I want to know about the father. See what you can dig up.’

‘Sarge.’

‘… possible drugs death in Peterhead. Ambulance is on its way.’

Next door to Fraserburgh police station, the houses were grand and granite. Bungalows on one side, two-storey jobs with bay windows on the other.

Logan wandered down Finlayson Street, mobile phone to his ear as the Airwave cackled away to itself. ‘I don’t really know. They’ve still not got a replacement for Sergeant Muir, so unless they can find someone else I’ve got to pull another green shift. Officially two, maybe half-two tomorrow morning?’

Helen’s voice sank a bit. ‘That’s a shame.’

‘Sorry.’ He crossed the road. ‘I don’t know if I’ll get home for dinner, but I’ll do my best. It all depends what happens this evening. If something kicks off or not.’

‘Well, I can always put the steaks back in the fridge and eat all the chips myself.’

He groaned. ‘Don’t tempt me with chips, that’s police kryptonite.’

On the left, the houses gave way to the car park outside Riteway. The homeware store’s boxy frontage was stained dark grey. A handful of kids rattled skateboards up and down in front of it, doing low-level tricks and falling off.

‘Helen: you’re sure you’ve not heard anything from your ex-husband? Nothing at all?’

‘One postcard. It was the Cathedral Church of Saint Martin, in Ourense. It was three months after he took her.’

‘And nothing since?’

‘“Don’t bother trying to find us. You had your shot poisoning her against me. You’ll never see her again, you jealous frigid bitch. You’ll die alone, because no one could ever love a useless ugly cow like you.”’ A shuddering breath. Then a pause. ‘It was postmarked Ourense. My private investigator spent two weeks there, looking for them.’

Logan stopped at the crossroads, where Finlayson Street met Gallowhill Road. ‘Brian sounds like a proper charmer.’ And in need of a good sodding kicking.

‘I paid for adverts in the local papers, from A Coruña to Zamora, but no one recognized Brian’s photo, or Natasha’s. Like they’d vanished …’

On the other side of the road, Broch Braw Buys was sandwiched between the betting shop and the chipper. The boards over the shattered window had gone, replaced instead by a nice sheet of shiny new glass, already disappearing under a plastering of offers and notices.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I know it makes me a bad person, but if I got my hands on Brian, I’d kill him. I wouldn’t care about going to prison. I’d kill him.’

A Fiat Panda growled past, followed by a motorbike, a rusty Land Rover, and a Council Transit with rusty wings.

Yeah … Probably best to change the subject.

‘Helen, about today, before Steel and Susan and Jasmine-’

‘It’s OK. Really. I shouldn’t have …’ Deep breath. ‘Look at me, wittering away. I should let you get back to work.’

‘Yes. Right. Well, I’ll see you for dinner. If I can.’ He forced a smile. ‘You know, if there’s chips?’

Nothing.

‘Helen?’

She was already gone.

He sighed. Put his phone away. Waited for a break in the traffic, then crossed over.

A couple of old men stood outside the Kenyan Bar and Lounge, smoking rollups and moaning about getting booted out at three, yet again, same as they were every Sunday.

‘All units, be on the lookout for a Raymond Goldmann, IC-One male, grey beard and bald head. Apprehension warrant issued for indecent exposure.’

Speaking of apprehension warrants. He unhooked his Airwave. ‘Shire Uniform Seven. Has there been any update on David or Catherine Bisset?’

The two old men eyed him for a moment, then shuffled off.

‘Roger that, we’ve had a dozen sightings from Dundee to Oban, via Edinburgh and Kilmarnoch. Local officers are looking into them. You want me to put you on the update list?’

Why not? ‘Thanks.’

Wouldn’t have thought it was that easy to kill two people and then disappear, but apparently it was. He hooked his Airwave in place and turned back to the shop.

Broch Braw Buys was deeper than it was wide, with racks of breakfast cereals barely visible through the blizzard of notes and signs. The one offering a thousand quid to anyone who helped ID the Ram-Raiders — so the shop owner could break their legs — had pride of place in the middle, over the Coco Pops.

The door bleeped as Logan stepped inside.

Rows of shelves, aisles of shelves, everywhere: shelves, all heaped with food and tat. The smell was a strange mixture of fust and dust, overlaid with fresh paint and glazier’s putty. Big circular mirrors were dotted about above head height, presumably arranged so that whoever was behind the counter could see every nook and cranny in the shop from there. A CCTV camera sat not far below the ceiling in every corner, red lights glowing.

‘I help you?’ A wee man with a tweed waistcoat and post-box eyes appeared at Logan’s elbow. Stubble covered his nub of a chin, the hair on his head trimmed into a bowl around a smooth shiny crown.