Stuart Macbride - Blind Eye

'Ah,' he went back to his report, 'DS McRae, how good of you to join us today. Let me guess: you were too busy interrogating your duvet this morning to bother showing up at my morning briefing?'

Pirie sniggered. 'Heh, "Interrogating your duvet", that's-'

Finnie cut him off. 'If I wanted someone to repeat everything I said, I'd buy a parrot.'

The tips of Pirie's ears went bright pink. 'Sorry, sir.'

'Now, DS McRae, care to tell me what was so important?'

Here we go: 'Tracey Hamilton wants to retract her statement. Says it wasn't Colin McLeod who bashed Harry Jordan's head in after all.'

He filled them in on the details, but instead of shouting and swearing, Finnie just sat back in his seat, steepled his fingers and said, 'Excellent.'

'It is?'

The DCI pointed at Pirie. 'How long have I been after the McLeods? Five years, six?'

His sidekick nodded. 'At least.'

'And now it's all paying off. Sod the witnesses: we've got enough forensics on Creepy Colin to send him down for at least fourteen years. Simon's out of commission and blind as a bat. And if your pet tart's been forced to change her story

— we've got a crack at the McLeods' mum for attempting to pervert the course of justice.' He played a little drum roll on his desk. 'This is going to be a good day, gentlemen!'

'Yeah, about that…' Pirie cleared his throat. 'Those paramedics from yesterday made a formal complaint. They say we obstructed-'

'Eggs and omelettes; eggs and omelettes.' The DCI spun his chair round and stared at the Oedipus board, then round to a smaller board with 'CARAVAN FULL OF GUNS ~ TERRORISTS? ~ DRUGS? ~ BANK JOB?' written on it. The word 'DRUGS' had been underlined three times.

'Pirie: I want you to get onto your contacts. Yardies, Triads, Northfield Massive, Kincorth Groove Brigade, and anyone else you can think of. I want to know who's trying to move in on the McLeods' territory. McRae: we picked up a tosspot from Manchester last night, trying to flog heroin to a hen night. Steve Preston. Get him in an interview room, and we'll see what he's got to say for himself.'

Logan didn't move. 'I thought Pirie interviewed him last night.'

'No, I had Pirie drag him into an interview room, so he could accidentally bump into your Kevin Murray. Wasn't that a nice surprise for everyone involved?'

'You did it on purpose?'

'Our friend Mr Preston has form for drugs and knife crime. You said Murray was being leant on by drug dealers from Manchester who cut his face.' Finnie held up both palms. 'Hardly rocket science is it?'

'But they threatened to kill Kevin Murray's kids!'

'You just get Steve Preston into room three and let me worry about that.'

'Actually, sir,' said Pirie, 'I was kinda hoping to sit in on the interview-'

'You've got more important things to do.' The Detective Chief Inspector was on his feet and heading for the door. 'We've got a drugs war on its way and a caravan full of automatic weapons. I will not have a bunch of incomers turning my city into downtown Basra.' 'Don't play stupid with me,' Finnie leant on the tabletop and glowered at the prisoner, 'we know you did it.'

Logan got the feeling Steve Preston wasn't playing stupid at all, he was the real deal.

'I'm not saying nothin' without me brief.' The Manchester accent sounded a bit rough at eight o'clock in the morning, but it went with the grey face and bloodshot eyes. Whatever he'd been on the night before was long gone, leaving him to cope with reality all on his own.

Finnie folded his arms and pulled his rubbery lips into a pout. 'Oh, I'm sorry, did I confuse your little brain the first four times I explained this? You'll get a lawyer when I say so, not before.'

'Naw, I been arrested loadsa times: I knows me Fookin' rights.'

The Chief Inspector closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. 'For God's sake… McRae?'

Logan tried again: 'The Scottish legal system's different, Steve. You'll get to see your brief when we're done here.'

'I knows me rights!'

Finnie: 'Why did you want Kevin Murray to torch the Turf 'n Track?'

'Never 'eard of no Kevin Mornay.'

'Really? Because that's not what Kevin Murray says. He says you and your mates threatened to kill his mum and kids if he didn't do what you said. Got his statement right here…' Finnie produced a sheet of paper from a manila folder and slapped it down on the chipped Formica.

Pause.

'Fookin' tosser's lying, ain't he?'

Logan tapped the tabletop. 'You don't remember me, do you, Steve? I was there the night you and your hoodie mates slashed Kevin Murray's face.'

Steve shifted in his seat. 'Nah… I wasn't nowhere near nothin'.'

Logan stared at the man's hands. There was a DIY tattoo in the webbing between the thumb and forefinger. It was far too small and on the wrong hand to make him Hoodie Number One, but what the hell: 'Sure you were. In fact, I think you were the one who cut him.' Logan turned to Finnie. 'What are they giving people for assault with a deadly weapon these days?'

Finnie thought about it. 'Eight years. Ten if you get Sheriff McNab, he's a real bastard.'

'I didn't stab no one!'

'Yes you did,' said Logan. 'And you know what? Detective Constable Rennie saw you too. Two police officers as witnesses, that'll be good enough for any jury.'

'It weren't me! It were Baz…' And then his eyes went wide, and he clamped his mouth shut. 'I mean, I weren't there. And neither was nobody else.'

Logan made a show of writing: 'IT WAS BAZ' in his notebook in big block capitals.

'What? No, you can't write that: I never said it were Baz.'

'We can rewind the tape and check if you like?'

Finnie pulled another sheet of A4 from the folder. 'Where are you staying, Steve?'

'I never said it were Baz! Tell 'im.'

'According to this you're supposed to report to your parole officer every Wednesday morning. In Manchester.' Finnie checked his watch. 'Ooh, looks like you're not going to make it. Do you think he'll be disappointed when I tell him you've been picked up for drug dealing and attempted murder in Aberdeen?'

'Attempted murder? Wha? No, it weren't me, you said I only stabbed the bastard-'

'The suspect said, "I only stabbed the bastard…"' Logan wrote it down in his notebook.

'Make 'im stop doin' that!'

Finnie sucked a breath through his teeth, like a mechanic about to deliver bad news. 'Not looking good, is it Steve?'

'I didn't do nothin'!'

'Tell you what: why don't we pick up your good mate, Baz, AKA: Barry Hartlay… oh don't look so shocked, when I spoke to Manchester Police they gave me a list of your known associates.'

'What? No, I-'

'When we play him that bit of the tape where you grass him up, think he'll do the decent thing? Own up and let you off the hook? Like a good mate?'

Steve was sweating, eyes going from Logan to Finnie and back again. 'I… I… You can't… No… He…'

Logan watched him stammer for a while, then a thought occurred. He reached across the table and patted Steve on the arm. Steve flinched.

'Did you know that Polish guy's shop had CCTV?' It was a lie, but there was no harm in trying.

Finnie and Steve both said, 'Polish guy?' at the same time.

'Must've been fun, that: smashing the place up. Looked fun anyway. Jars exploding, pickles going everywhere.' Logan whistled. 'That stupid look on the Polish guy's face when the display cabinet hit the deck… Sweet.'

The sudden change of subject seemed to confuse Steve for a second, and then an appalled look crawled all over his face. 'There was cameras and that?'

'Oh, yeah.' Logan leant forward and dropped his voice to a loud whisper, 'Got a great shot of you smashing stuff.'

'There wasn't supposed to be no cameras…'

'Mind you, the shopkeeper told me you were all a bunch of Jessies; said he could take you with one hand tied behind his back. Not going to give you a penny.'