Stuart Macbride - Blind Eye

Logan ignored her.

She stuck the cup back on her desk. 'Anyway, thought you'd be playing with your new boyfriend Finnie this morning.'

'Nope. I questioned Gilchrist last night, Finnie's doing this morning, and we're going in mob-handed with Dr Goulding this afternoon. Keep him off balance.'

Logan sank down in one of the visitor's chairs. 'I found something yesterday you might be interested in.' He tossed a freshly minted DVD onto the inspector's desk. 'Got the lab to make you a copy.'

'Oh aye?' Steel examined it suspiciously, then slipped the silver disc from its clear plastic wallet. 'It's no' you and Lydia the Tattooed Lady humping in the broom closet, is it? Only I've just had breakfast.'

'A: no. And B: shut up.'

'Don't push it.' Steel stuck the DVD into her computer and fiddled about with the mouse for a while. 'How do I get it to play?'

'Shift over.' Logan got it going and they sat and watched the opening sequence. There wasn't much to it — a woman bound hand and foot, with a pillowcase over her head, being thrown onto a tan leather couch. That was as far as the foreplay went.

It had been filmed in someone's living room: cream carpet, red walls, glass and chrome coffee table, a framed print of some not-very-talented artist's impression of Union Street on the wall.

The inspector frowned. 'You brought porn to work?'

'Just watch.' Logan sent the picture into fast forward, hitting pause when one of the dog-mask men pulled the pillowcase off the woman's head. She'd been gagged with silver duct tape. The camera went in for a close-up as Bulldog slapped her around the face with his erection. And then he ripped off the gag.

Logan hit pause. 'It's definitely her. Look…' He dropped a glossy photograph on the inspector's desk: a young woman posing in a studio somewhere, wearing nothing but her underwear and a smile. 'Krystka Gorzalkowska.'

Steel squinted at the photo, then at the screen.

Her mouth became a hard, angry line. 'Where the hell did you get this?'

'Ricky Gilchrist. He was watching it when I picked him up.'

'I want his arse in an interview room now, so I can kick the crap out of it!'

Logan shook his head. 'Finnie won't let you anywhere near him.'

Steel jabbed the screen with a nicotine finger. 'This isn't porn, this is rape.' She sat back again, worrying at her disaster-movie hair. 'Fine,' she said at last, 'Finnie won't let me near Gilchrist but he'll no' stop you, will he? No' now you're best mates.' Quarter to ten and Logan was hanging about outside interview room one, waiting for Finnie to call a break. The DCI was in there now with Ricky Gilchrist, going over the same ground again and again. Trying to pick holes in Gilchrist's story, making sure his confession would stand up in court. Logan had watched half an hour's worth in the observation suite, crammed in with four CID officers — one of whom really needed to cut down on the garlic.

If Gilchrist was angling for an insanity plea he was going the right way about it. Once given the opportunity to open up and tell his side of the story he disappeared into a fantasy world where he was some sort of dashing white knight and the Polish community were all bastards.

Logan wouldn't be surprised if he started chewing on the furniture soon.

But in the end the reek of second-hand garlic was too much, and Logan abandoned the viewing suite for the corridor. He pulled out his Airwave handset, punched in DS Pirie's badge number and listened to it ring.

And then: 'McRae? What, you called up to gloat?'

'No I-'

'We'd have got him sooner or later, you know that, don't you?'

'Krystka Gorzalkowska.'

Pause. 'What about her?'

'I got them to do a rape kit when she was in hospital.'

'So? That's my case, remember? Finnie took you off it.'

'Don't be a dick: what was the result?'

'Fine…' The sound of far-off rummaging came from the earpiece. 'Not that it's any of your business: evidence of vaginal bruising… traces of spermicide… no DNA. Why?'

'She say anything about who attacked her?'

'I don't know, I forgot to ask her.' Pause. 'Of course she bloody didn't. If she had, I would've arrested the bastard. She won't talk about anything, she's terrified. Why do you want to know?'

'Because-' The interview room door was opening. 'Oops, got to go.' Logan hung up as Finnie stepped out into the corridor.

The DCI frowned at him. 'What's up?'

'Nothing, I just-'

'Is this because you're not in on the interview? I thought we agreed on this? What, is your ego so fragile, Sergeant, you can't stand to be out of the spotlight for two minutes? Hmm? You'll get to play this afternoon, remember?'

'Actually, sir,' said Logan, trying not to rise to it, 'I wanted to keep you up to date on the Krakow General Store shooting. They've managed to pull a fingerprint off one of the shell casings fired by the gunman. The one with the mullet?'

'Oh…' Finnie took a moment to process that. 'Sorry. Get the feeling I'm banging my head against a brick wall with our lunatic friend in there. Right, so-'

Ricky Gilchrist's voice sounded inside the interview room. 'I'm not kidding, I'm really desperate!'

Finnie raised his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, then shouted over his shoulder. 'Just tie a knot in it for two minutes!' He turned back to Logan. 'Where was I? Ah, OK: what did the database say?'

'No match.'

'Then we-'

Gilchrist shouted, 'I'm bursting!'

'I told you to tie a bloody knot in it!'

'But I can't!' It was like the wail of the damned.

'OK, OK: I'll get someone to take you to the toilet.'

Logan glanced up and down the corridor. 'I'll do it if you like? You know, enforce the Good Cop empathy thing? Might help when we go back in with Goulding this afternoon if Gilchrist thinks he's got a friend?'

'Good idea. Just make sure he's back here in…' Finnie checked his watch, 'fifteen minutes. That'll give me time to make a couple of calls.' Logan leant back against the cell wall, reading the advert for Crimestoppers painted on the ceiling above the bed, while Ricky Gilchrist peed his little heart out.

'Ah, Jesus…' It sounded as if he'd swallowed a reservoir.

'You know,' said Logan, when the Niagara Falls impersonation came to a dribbling halt, 'you've never said why she was there.'

'Oh God, that's better…' Zip.

'The woman, in the office building: Krystka Gorzalkowska.'

There was a clunking sound. 'It's still broken! It wouldn't flush last night — I told them. They said they'd fix it.'

'The toilets aren't supposed to flush. That way prisoners can't get rid of evidence they've swallowed or cheeked.'

'But they said they'd fix it!' Gilchrist lurched out of the toilet alcove, wiping his hands on his jeans. 'Not hygienic, is it?'

'Tell me about Krystka Gorzalkowska.'

Blank look.

'The woman in the DVD? The one you left in the office building when you blinded Lubomir Podwoiski?'

Gilchrist sank down onto the blue plastic mattress, knees up against his chest. 'Never bother with names. They don't deserve names. They're just bloody animals…'

For some strange reason, Logan had the sudden urge to grab the little shit by his ginger hair and bash his head off the wall a couple of times. 'Where did you get the DVD, Ricky? Did you film it? Or are you one of the men in the dog masks?'

'They take everything. Polish bastard down the street falls over drunk and breaks his leg — ambulance is there in ten minutes. My mum had a fucking stroke and where was her ambulance? Eh? Half an hour.'

'Did you rape Krystka Gorzalkowska?'

He looked up at Logan, face covered in freckles and utter disgust. 'Are you mad? I'd never filthy myself like that. Do you have any idea how many diseases they carry? I told you: they're animals!'