Stuart MacBride - Shatter the Bones

The silence on the other end of the phone kept on getting colder.

He took a sip of tea, watching as the macaroni cheese and chips congealed on his plate. Killing time with Goulding, waiting for the Metropolitan Police to call and say they were ready to question Gordon Maguire.

The canteen was quiet, just a couple of the back shift in for bacon rolls and strong coffee.

‘Sam, it’s the only break we’ve had in nearly two weeks, I can’t-’

‘It’s half nine ! We were supposed to book a holiday tonight, remember?’

‘Yes, but you know what the job’s like, I-’

‘Don’t you dare play the “job” card with me, Logan McRae. Every time there’s a big case on you disappear up there and never come home. Well, if you’d rather hang out with that wrinkly lesbian mother-substitute of yours than come home to me, you-’

‘She’s not even here! It’s just me and Finnie and Goulding. We’re waiting-’

‘It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just now and then, but it’s all the sodding time.’

‘-Gordon Maguire, because he lied and-’

‘And I know there’s a little girl and her mum missing, but killing yourself isn’t going to change-’

‘-video conference. I’ll be home as soon as I-’

‘And you can pick up a bottle of wine as well.’

‘It’s…’

She’d hung up.

Wonderful. Logan stuck the phone back in his pocket. Goulding leaned forward. ‘So, do you fancy Aberdeen’s chances against Toulouse this weekend?’

‘Don’t even pretend.’ He stabbed a chip and dragged it through the wrinkly cheese sauce. ‘And before you start: I know she’s right, OK? I’m knackered, I’ve not had a day off in ages, and Big Gary keeps moaning about the overtime bill.’ The chip was cold, the sauce lukewarm. ‘But what am I supposed to do: sod off home and miss Gordon Maguire’s interview?’

‘Well,’ the psychologist dabbed the napkin at the corners of his mouth, ‘I suppose that depends on what you feel’s more important. Doesn’t it?’

Guilt — even better. ‘I’m not…’ His phone was ringing again. He pulled it out and hit the button. ‘Sam, I’ve been thinking: how about-’

‘All your fucking fault.’ Shuggie Webster. ‘It’s all your fucking fault!’

Not again. ‘It’s getting old, Shuggie. We know about Trisha, OK? If your mates Jacob and Robert have got her we can help. But you’ve got to stop-’

‘I want them fucking drugs back, and if you won’t give us them…’

‘Stop sodding around and turn yourself in. OK?’

‘I warned you. I fucking warned you.’

‘Shuggie-’

‘Consequences…’

Consequences? Silly bugger. This wasn’t the bloody Godfather , and Shuggie Webster was no Al Pacino. Logan hung up on him.

‘You know what?’ He pushed his plate away. ‘I’m getting sick and tired of…’

His phone. Again .

He stabbed the button. ‘God’s sake: what ?’

‘Logan?’ Samantha. ‘Look, I’m sorry … it’s been a crappy day. I didn’t mean to be a nag.’

‘Sam, I-’

‘If you’ve got someone for the McGregor thing, nail the bastard to the wall by the balls.’

Pause. ‘You sure?’

‘Spent the whole day scraping bits of brain and skull off the roof of some poor sod’s bedroom. I hate suicides.’

Logan smiled. ‘Well, at least you’ve finally got something in common with Biohazard.’

‘Urgh… Great: now I feel dirty and depressed.’

‘How about I take you out to dinner tomorrow night? And I’ll be home as soon as I can. Promise.’

‘Love you.’

‘Love you too.’

‘Well I sodding hate you!’ DI Steel stood at the end of the table, arms folded, face creased into a scarecrow scowl.

‘Sam? I’ve got to go…’ He put the phone back in his pocket. ‘What the hell were you thinking?’

Dr Goulding pulled on a smile. ‘Good evening, Inspector.’

‘Fuck off, Ringo.’ She stabbed a finger at Logan. ‘He’s gone. Done a runner.’

‘Who’s-’

‘Frank Sodding Baker, that’s who. Didn’t turn up for work this morning — the Diddymen went round tonight and his flat’s a tip. Packed his clothes, his toothbrush, and sodded off!’

Logan stared at her. ‘That’s not my fault. How’s that my fault?’

‘You and that cock-burger Green! Charging about like-’

‘Oh, no you don’t.’ He stood, chest out, shoulders back. Goulding groaned. ‘Logan, maybe now’s not the best time to-’

‘One: Green was the one doing all the shouting. Two: I tried to stop him! The bastard wouldn’t listen-’

‘Oh, don’t give me that, you-’

‘I put in a formal complaint about it. In writing !’

The psychologist held up his hands. ‘I really think you should both-’

‘Shut up.’ Steel ran a hand across her eyes. ‘Are you telling me you put in a formal, written complaint about Stupidintendent Green?’

‘ Yes . I had nothing to do with-’

‘Are you mental ? Never go on the record moaning about a superior officer, no matter how much of a tosser they are!’ She clenched her fists at the ceiling. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘I-’

‘The minute you made it official, you gave that arsehole Green a target.’

Goulding stood. ‘I really think-’

Steel glared at him. ‘What part of “shut the fuck up” do you no’ understand?’

The psychologist just pointed over her shoulder.

Oh … bollocks. Logan turned.

Superintendent Green was standing in the canteen doorway with DCI Finnie. The man from SOCA stuck his nose in the air, turned, and stormed from the room.

‘Well, that could have gone better , don’t you think?’ Finnie settled into the chair on the other side of the boardroom table, then shuffled around until he was facing the screen.

Logan doodled a little skull and crossbones in the corner of his notepad. ‘I didn’t know he was there.’

‘I hardly think that’s relevant. Do you, Doctor?’

Goulding shrugged. ‘Sometimes it’s better to get interpersonal issues out in the open. If we never let people know how we feel, how can we expect them to change?’

The TV flickered, then settled on a view of a small room. A round table with a chair behind it — facing the camera, two more on this side, facing away.

A voice boomed out of the speakers. ‘How’s that? Any better?’ Then a figure bent into frame and waved at them. He was too close for the camera to focus properly.

Logan clicked the button on the conference phone. ‘We can see you now.’

‘I bloody hate IT.’ He sat with his back to the camera, just the edge of his shoulder visible on the screen.

Logan let go of the button. ‘That’s DI Broddur, he’s the one’s been looking into Maguire for Mark.’

Finnie shifted in his seat. ‘Can they see us?’

‘Video link’s one way. The inspector can hear us, but only if you press the “talk” button. He’s got an earpiece so no one else in the room knows what you’ve said.’

Finnie drummed his fingers on the boardroom table. ‘You do realize that Superintendent Green is probably going to demand an apology?’

‘I told him threatening Frank Baker was would just make him run.’

Broddur’s voice crackled across the room. ‘We ready?’ Logan pressed the button. ‘Whenever you are, Inspector.’

A blurry hand waved across the screen. ‘Bring him in, Charlie.’