Stuart Macbride - Blind Eye

'We could probably get Rennie? He already knows about Rory anyway.'

'And,' said Steel, 'it'll really annoy Detective Inspector Beardy Beattie if we take his plaything off him, so it's win-win!'

Logan scowled and wrote a very rude word on the whiteboard.

She sighed. 'It's no' like I didn't try, OK? Apart from anything else, I'd've won a fortune if they'd promoted you.'

'Beattie. They promoted Beattie. He couldn't investigate his own arse with toilet paper!'

'I argued with Bain till I was blue — aye, and so did that frog-faced tit Finnie — but…' She shrugged.

'Who caught Gilchrist? Who found Rory Simpson? Who ID'd the guys that blinded Simon McLeod? What about those gonzo porn makers? Who caught them?' Logan slashed the whiteboard with the tip of the pen, underlining the filthy word over and over again. 'What's Beattie ever done? Eh? What's he-'

'Enough, OK? I get it: Beattie's a complete nipple. I agree. But you…' She looked away. 'All that shite last year with the Flesher, and the seven-month bad patch, and the whole… attitude thing.'

'But Beattie-'

'You're a good officer, Laz, you really are, but you've got a high fuck-up to brilliance ratio. And Bain…' She stopped. Frowned. Made a face that looked as if she'd just soiled herself. 'Oh God, what time is it?'

Logan rammed the cap back on the whiteboard marker. 'Don't change the subject.'

Steel went scrabbling for her watch. 'Aaaagh!'

She grabbed her jacket and sprinted for the door, screeched to a halt on the threshold, then grabbed Logan by the sleeve. 'We've got to get back to my place!'

'What? But-'

'Rory Simpson: what's Susan going to say when she gets home and there's a bloody paedophile in the living room?' 'It's not my fault they're digging up half of Aberdeen!' Logan followed Steel up the path to her house.

'Should've stuck on the siren like I told you!'

High overhead, a plane left a snail-trail of white across the blue sky. From the nearby houses came the sound of lawn-mowers and the smell of freshly cut grass. And from DI Steel came a long stream of muttered obscenities as she rummaged through her pockets for a key.

'If he's lying on the bathroom floor with his nuts ripped off, you're taking the blame, understand?'

She unlocked the front door and hurried inside, 'Susan? Susan, I can explain!'

Through the hall, past the living and dining rooms, past the staircase, past the downstairs bathroom, into the kitchen…

Rory Simpson was sitting at the breakfast bar, sharing a pot of tea with DI Steel's wife. She was still in her work suit, Rory was still in his yellow and pink ensemble, and still camping it up from the look of things.

He threw his arms wide and said, 'Inspector, darling, so nice to see you again!'

Susan smiled. 'Explain what?'

'I… We…'

'It's all right,' Rory winked at her, 'I told Susan all about it.'

'You did?'

Susan tutted, then filled three mugs from the teapot. 'I don't know why you've got to be so secretive sometimes. It's not like I'm going to tell anyone we've got a key witness in a big London gangland case staying with us, is it?'

'It… London?'

'Personally I think Rory's very brave: informing on the people who gunned down his boyfriend must take a lot of courage.'

Rory simpered for a bit. 'Oh, well, I wouldn't say courage, per se, I just want to make sure my Barry didn't die in vain. We've got to stand up to these people Susan, or what's going to happen to society?'

Steel plastered on a smile. 'Rory, can I have a word, please. In the hall. Now.'

The old man hopped down from his stool. 'Certainly. And when I come back, Susan, you just have to give me the recipe for that fabulous carrot cake!'

The inspector dragged him out of the room, leaving Logan behind.

'So…' Susan handed him a mug of tea. 'How have you been? We've not seen you since before… well, Poland.' She placed a hand on his arm. 'Are you OK?'

Logan pointed at his face, the patchwork of scabs and butterfly stitches, the bruises, the heavy purple bags under his eyes, the stubble. 'Looks worse than it is.'

'You'll stay for dinner?'

'Thanks, but I can't.'

'Nonsense: you're staying, and that's final. You look like you haven't eaten in a week. I'm doing fish pie.' She frowned. 'You still eat fish, don't you?'

'I really-'

The door flew open and Rory struck a pose. 'Did you miss me?… Hey!'

Steel shoved past. 'Alright if Laz stays for his tea? Maybe crash here tonight?'

'What? No, I can't, I-'

Susan nodded. 'It's already settled.'

'But I can't-'

'Aye you can.' Steel's smile wasn't pretty. And as soon as Susan's back was turned, she grabbed Logan and pulled him over to the patio doors, her voice lowered to an angry whisper: 'You're no' buggering off and leaving me with Rory Sodding Simpson all night! Any more of his gay stereotype act, and he's spending the night in the morgue.'

'Rory's just trying to be funny, you know what he's-'

'I will kill him.' She stepped back and slapped Logan on the shoulder, raising her voice for, 'We'll make up the other spare room, you can sleep there.'

'But I've got plans.' Which was true — he was going to go home and sit in the dark drinking vodka until he passed out. Same as he'd done every night since getting back from Poland.

'I don't care: you're sodding well staying!' Rory shuffled off to bed almost immediately after dinner, and as soon as the kitchen door swung shut, Steel was on her feet. 'OK…' She coughed, licked her lips, fidgeted. Shared a look with Susan. 'How about some vodka?'

They abandoned the dishes and headed out to the patio to drink shots of neat vodka. The bottle was fresh from the freezer, covered in a thin film of frost, steaming in the evening air as Steel and Logan sank three shots to Susan's one.

A citronella candle fizzed and crackled as midges and flies committed suicide in the hot wax.

The inspector filled their glasses up again, proposed a toast, 'To good friends!' then threw it back.

'Actually,' said Susan, fiddling with her hair, 'we…' She ground to a halt.

Steel filled Logan's glass. 'They won't let us adopt.'

Logan froze, vodka halfway to his lips. 'Do we have to-'

'We can't get IVF on the NHS,' she said, 'and we can't afford to go private.'

Susan sniffed. 'Well, we could sell the house.'

'We're no' selling the house!'

'I'm just saying-'

'Been in my family for three generations.'

'Well, there won't be any more generations if we can't get pregnant!'

There was an awkward silence.

Steel downed her vodka and poured more for everyone. 'I ever tell you about the Sperminator, Susan? Goes about smearing his spunk on handrails in shopping centres. All you'd have to do is take your knickers off and slide down every banister in Aberdeen — probably get pregnant somewhere between Markies and John Lewis's.' She laughed, trailing off into silence as Susan's face went pink, tears glinting in her eyes.

'I have to tidy up.' She snatched up the plates, clattering them together, not saying a word, then marched back into the house and slammed the patio doors.

Logan helped himself to more vodka, then pulled out his cigarettes, the lighter sparking in the fading light.

Steel slumped back in her chair. Closed her eyes. And swore. 'Great, isn't it? That's what I have to live with.'

He didn't say anything, just poured them both another glass. Threw it back. Already working on a nice numb haze.

'You know…' Steel took a sudden interest in the shed over Logan's shoulder. 'We could… ahem… threesome. I mean, it's what all you men fantasize about isn't it?'

Logan spluttered, vodka exploding from his nostrils, making his eyes water. 'I… With…'

Steel threw a coaster at him. 'Oh thanks. That's very sodding flattering, that is!'