Stuart MacBride - Shatter the Bones

DS Bob Marshall appeared through the throng, carrying a fresh pint of something dark. ‘You can come home with us, if you like, Doors? You me and Deborah can re-enact the Swinging Sixties.’ He gave her a big leering wink.

‘Urgh…’ Doreen shuddered. ‘I think I just threw up a little.’

‘Charming.’ He dragged a seat over. Paused, wrinkled his top lip and sniffed. ‘Why can I smell cheese?’

Logan pulled on his stained jacket. ‘Don’t worry, I’m leaving.’

Bob hump-shuffled his chair closer to the table. ‘Surprised I can smell anything at all: Stinky Tam was like… Actually, you don’t want to know. But Jesus , what a stench. Found him in the bushes at the side of the road, all bloated and leaky and bits falling off. Pretty sure the rats had been at him too.’

Doreen scowled. ‘You were right, we didn’t want to know.’

‘How can someone drop dead in the middle of the city, and no bastard notices, eh?’ A slurp of beer. ‘I’d’ve been here ages ago, but those GED bastards dragged me off to some poor sod who’d topped himself. General Enquiries Division my arse — Gormless Evil Dickheads more like.’ Another slurp. ‘Anyway, so come on then: who’s the bird with Steel?’

‘With the dark hair?’ Big Gary peered over Doreen’s head towards the bar.

Logan turned and did the same. DI Steel was just visible through the throng, her hand on the small of some woman’s back. Curly dark hair shot through with grey; jeans and a tight silk shirt; glasses perched on the top of her head; party hat set at a jaunty angle.

Steel leaned in and said something. The woman laughed, setting an impressive set of bosoms jiggling.

Logan edged his way out from the table and made for the door. Stopped. Then turned and waded through the crowd to the bar. He tapped Steel on the shoulder. ‘That’s me away.’

She turned, her eyes narrowing for a moment. ‘Good for you.’ Then back to whispering something in her new friend’s ear.

The woman threw her head back and gave another cleavage-wobbling laugh. ‘Oh, Honey, you are priceless .’ American accent.

Logan forced a smile and grabbed hold of Steel’s arm. ‘Excuse us a minute.’ He pulled her away to the nearest alcove. ‘What are you doing?’

Steel shook herself free. ‘Fuck does it look like I’m doing? I’m talking to-’

‘You’re married , remember?’

The inspector’s mouth became a hard thin line. ‘Since when is it any of your bloody business what-’

‘You really need me to answer that?’

Pink flushed up her cheeks. Then she looked away. ‘I’m just having a bit of fun, OK? It’s no’ like I’m going to shag her or anything.’ Steel stuck both hands against her forehead, pulling the wrinkles away. Sighed. ‘Susan says she’s still no’ ready. Been nearly a year. A year , and she’s still won’t… I’m only fucking human, Laz.’

‘Just… Just don’t do something you’re going to regret.’

‘Aye.’ She patted him on the arm. ‘Thanks.’

Logan stepped out into the bustle of Union Street: the rumble of buses, the wailing screech of seagulls, that idiot with the ‘JESUS!’ sign singing some sort of hymn in a broken falsetto. The streets were still wet from the last downpour, shining in the evening light.

He sidestepped a teenager with a cigarette dangling out the corner of her mouth, a mobile phone clamped to her ear, and a wee kid strapped into a buggy.

‘Yeah… Yeah, I know, but he’s a total wanker, so what can you do?’ Click-clacking on too-high heels.

Logan glanced back through the Athenaeum’s windows, and there was DI Steel, back at the bar, with her arm around the buxom party girl.

Christ’s sake…

You know what: he wasn’t her mother. If she wanted to screw everything up, she was on her own.

‘You’re a big baby, there’s nothing to see.’ Samantha settled back on the couch.

‘You sure?’ Logan peered at his right arm… ‘There, that’s a bruise.’

‘That’s dirt.’ She clapped her hands, once. ‘Come on then, let’s see the other one.’

He slipped the shirt all the way off and turned around. The little square of wadding was frayed, the surgical sticky tape peeling and dirty around the edges. ‘Should it not stay-’

‘Can’t believe you’re still wearing that.’ She bounced off the couch, grabbed the wadding and tore it off.

A sudden sting of ripped out hair. ‘Ow!’

‘There.’ She nodded. ‘Looks good — told you the Reverend was an artist. You happy with it?’

‘Steel says they’re investigating the IB, in case any of you lot kidnapped Alison and Jenny?’

‘It suits you. Very minimalist.’

‘Can’t see it myself. Criminal masterminds? Half your team couldn’t tie their shoelaces without adult supervision.’

‘Let it breathe a bit: the redness will go down quicker. And for your information , we could run rings round you CID carpet-shaggers.’

He sat on the arm of the sofa. ‘Did you know Alison McGregor was a horror when she was young?’

‘Well … duh . Everyone knows. Then she met Doddy, and he swept her off her feet and she got pregnant, and vowed to put her life back on track for her husband and her little girl. Tres romantic.’

‘Found a big pile of love letters when we searched her house on Friday.’ Logan picked at a tuft of thread, sticking up from one of the sofa’s seams. ‘Does it bother you?’

‘What?’

‘That I’ve … well, I’ve never written you any?’

‘Oh dear Jesus, no. I read the bloody things when Bruce brought them back to the lab last week.’

‘You read them?’

‘Who do you think put them back in the bottom drawer? Someone had to check her mail for threats, or secret lovers.’ She clasped her hands to her chest. ‘“Oh how the embers of my heart burn with the heat of a million suns !” Pffff… “Million suns.” I’d have more respect for the man if he’d said he burned with the heat of a summer’s day in Banchory. Or a bag of chips.’ Samantha tilted her head on one side, and stared at him. ‘If you ever write something like that at me, I’m going to kick you in the nuts and leave. Understand?’

‘Yeah, well, I wasn’t planning-’

‘Anyway,’ she pointed at his arm, ‘that means a hell of a lot more to me than some cheesy moon-in-June bollocks.’

She unfastened the thick leather belt from her jeans, popped the top button, unzipped the zip, then pulled her T-shirt up. ‘So…’ There was a little patch of wadding, not much bigger than a beer mat, stuck to her stomach, just beside her bellybutton. She peeled the sticky tape off. ‘What do you think?’

It was the number twenty-three, reversed out of a circle made up of squiggles. The ink was black, the skin slightly swollen, angry red fading to pasty-Scottish-white. It sat not far from the topmost spines of the tribal spider thing that reached all the way down to her knee; equidistant from a teddy bear with an axe in its chest, and a sort of bramble-twined rose.

‘Twenty-three?’

‘Yup. Call it a reply to the love note on your arm. See,’ she pointed at the squiggles, ‘now I’ve got twenty-three little scars. Just like you.’

Logan put a hand against his own stomach. Squinched up one side of his face. ‘Thanks … I think.’

She pulled her T-shirt back down again. ‘You don’t like it.’

‘No, it’s not that… I…’ He frowned. ‘I just … can’t decide if it’s a really sweet gesture, or a little creepy.’

Samantha grinned. ‘Can’t a girl be both?’

‘Dunno, she’s no’ looking that good.’