Stuart Macbride - Blind Eye

Steel stuck her hands in her pockets. 'What do you think's going to screw your kids up more: the fact you got arrested, or the fact you made the poor little sods watch?'

Kevin's mum hit him again. 'What did he do this time?'

'Ow! I told you, I never did-'

'We've got a petrol bomb with his fingerprints all over it. Found it in the burnt-out remains of a betting shop.'

'Kevin!' His mother belted him across the back of the head, then dragged him out of the armchair by the ear.

'Aaagh! Let go! Ma, you're hurting-'

'Kevin Murray, you swore on your father's grave you'd behave if I took you in! What sort of example are you setting for Britney and Justin?'

Britney and Justin didn't even turn around as their grandmother hauled their father out into the hall and started battering the living hell out of him: raining slaps down on his head as he cowered in the corner by the front door. 'What — ' slap '- did — ' slap '- I — ' slap '- tell — ' slap '- you?'

Steel closed the lounge door, shutting out the singing animal noises. 'Actually, Mrs Murray, we kind of like to beat up our own suspects. So if you don't mind…?'

Kevin's mother delivered one last ringing slap. 'Go on, tell them what happened. The truth, or so help me I'll swing for you!'

'But I didnae-'

His mother raised her hand again.

'OK, OK! I did it.' He glanced up at Logan and Steel, then back to the floor. 'It wasnae… I didnae want to. But they said they knew where I lived and they'd come round and cut my kids and my Ma if I didn't torch the place.'

Logan pulled out his notebook. 'Who were they?'

Kevin kept his eyes on the carpet. 'Don't remember, do I.'

His mother hit him again.

'Stop it! It was the guys what did this…' He pointed at the mass of bandages covering his slashed nose. 'So yeah, I chucked a petrol bomb into the bookies.'

Steel whistled. 'They'd have to be pretty damn scary people, Kevin. Firebombing the Turf 'n Track? Did you no' think the McLeods would be a wee bit annoyed when they found out?'

'Aye, but the McLeods are old school. I do somethin' to them: they come after me, no' my kids. Or my Ma. What choice did I have? Eh?' He stood tall as his mother patted him on the arm. 'If you had kids, you'd understand.' While DI Steel wrestled Kevin Murray into the back of the car, Logan phoned Finnie, telling him that they'd arrested the man responsible for firebombing the Turf 'n Track.

'Excellent.' The DCI demanded a blow-by-blow account then asked the big question: 'Is he going to give us the Manchester Muppets who put him up to it?'

Logan watched Kevin Murray arguing with Steel.

'Probably not.'

There was a pause that went on and on and on and…

'Sir?'

'I want you to call me as soon as you get him back to FHQ. Understand? The minute you get him back here, you let me know.'

'OK, I'll-'

Steel stuck her head out of the car window. 'We haven't got all sodding day, Sergeant — move it!'

'I'll call you back.' Logan parked the CID pool by the back doors to FHQ. The rear podium lay beneath a veil of blue shadows, the security lights already on, even though it was only half past eight. Up above, the sky was the colour of varnished duck eggs, and down below, DI Steel was still arguing with Kevin Murray as she dragged him out of the back seat:

'Yes you bloody well will!'

Kevin shook his head. 'No. Nu-huh. No way. I'm no' sayin' nothin'. I arsoned that place on my own. No one else involved.'

Logan pulled out his phone and called Finnie — as instructed — letting him know they were back.

'OK,' said Finnie, 'give me five minutes, then get him to number three.'

Steel poked Kevin in the ribs as Logan hung up. 'Don't be such a moron. They'll throw the book at you. And when you get out… in about four years, the McLeods'll hammer your kneecaps into the middle of next week.'

'You deaf? I'm no' sayin' nothin'! The bastards'll come after my kids if I grass them up.'

'Don't be so melodramatic.' Steel gave him a shove towards the battered back doors, where a couple of support staff were eating crisps and smoking cigarettes.

'No! It never happened! I was lying, OK?' His voice was getting louder and louder. 'I burned the place down coz I was pissed at Creepy. You can't prove nothin'…'

'You really don't know me very well, do you?'

'I'm no' grassin' them up!'

He kept it up all the way through processing: while his photo was being taken, and his fingerprints — the only time he shut up was when Steel stuck the DNA swab in his mouth. Kevin was still complaining as Logan hauled him along the corridor to interview room three.

'I told you, I did it. Me. On me own. No one forced me to do bugger all.'

The inspector had another go. 'Protective custody: you, your mum and the kids. No one could touch you.'

'Aye, like I'd trust you lot. Protective custody? I seen what happened to Big Rob Barkley, and it's no' happenin' to me.'

Steel poked him in the arm. 'That was an accident.'

'Gets talked into grassin' up Malk the Knife and the next thing you know: splat, he's under an articulated lorry.' Kevin glanced up and down the corridor, and the next time he spoke it was in a whisper. 'Look, most of you bastards are on the take, right? I mean, everyone knows it. So how about you make this go away and I'll give you two… no, three grand. Eh?'

This time Steel did more than poke him in the arm, she shoved him up against the wall. 'I'm going to pretend you didn't say that, Kevin. Because no' even you could be thick enough to think you can buy me for three-' She bounced him off the wall. 'Lousy-' Again. 'Grand!'

'I was only saying.'

'I'm no' for sale, you manky sack of crap!'

The interview room door opened and there was DS Pirie, dragging a handcuffed man out into the corridor. Short spiky haircut, designer stubble goatee, eyebrow ring, a gauze pad taped over one ear, a dark red stain on the shoulder of his white T-shirt, broad Mancunian accent: 'Let go of us! You Fookin' haggis-munchin' bastards is all the same…'

The man trailed off into silence, staring at Kevin Murray. 'You! You dirty fooker!'

Kevin scrambled backwards. 'No-no-no-no-no…'

The guy in the T-shirt lunged, but Pirie stopped him short.

'You Fookin' told, didn't yez? You grassed us up.'

'I never said nothin', I promise! It-'

T-Shirt's left foot lashed out, probably aiming for Kevin's balls, but the trainer slammed into his thigh instead. 'Yer Fookin' dead, you hear me? Dead. You and your whole Fookin' family! Yer-'

DS Pirie twisted him round, and sent him crashing to the floor. Accidentally bouncing his head off the green terrazzo.

'Aaagh… dirty bastard…' And then Pirie was on top of him, knee pressed into the small of his back. 'Gerroff!'

'Shut up and hold still, you ugly wee shite.' Pirie grinned up at Logan and Steel. 'We caught this one battering the living hell out of a doorman on Bon Accord Street. Didn't take kindly to being chucked out.' He leant harder, getting a squeal of protest in return. 'Trying to flog heroin to a bunch of drunk girlies on a hen night, weren't you?'

Logan couldn't make out T-Shirt's response, but it sounded filthy. Kevin Murray's interview didn't go very well. After running into the thug from Manchester, it was all he could do to confirm his name and address for the tape. After that it was nearly impossible to get anything out of him.

DI Steel gave it an hour before giving up, then told Logan to get him out of her sight.

Down in cell number six, Kevin Murray limped up and down the side of the bed — little more than a thin plastic mattress slapped down on a concrete platform built into the wall. 'You have to tell him,' he said as Logan pocketed the handcuffs, 'I didn't grass them up, yeah? You'll tell him?'