Stuart MacBride - Shatter the Bones

Gordon Maguire looked very shiny over a video link, his bald head flaring in the overhead light. He took the chair facing the camera and scowled. ‘You do know we’ve got a live update on the voting in fi fteen minutes, don’t you? Not to mention half a million other things that have to be-’

Broddur: ‘You’ve not been entirely honest with us, have you Mr Maguire?’

The producer licked his lips. ‘ This is all a big misunderstanding. Like I told those Aberdonian idiots: I can’t afford to have Alison and Jenny out of circulation. If I don’t get that album out soon I’m going to lose everything.’

Logan pressed the ‘TALK’ button again. ‘Then why did our witness see Alison McGregor getting into his car the-’

‘Yes, I was actually getting to that.’ Broddur leant forward, showing more of his back to the camera. ‘Then why do we have a witness that saw Alison McGregor getting into your car the night she went missing?’

‘Ah…’ Maguire looked off to the left. ‘Well, yes, but you see … we had to discuss some business. So I gave her a lift home.’

‘And you conveniently forgot to mention that fact, even though you’ve been questioned three times?’

‘Look, it’s … God.’ Maguire scrubbed a hand across his face. ‘We were … seeing each other. We went back to my hotel, had a few

glasses of wine, and…’ He cleared his throat. ‘Look, do I really have to spell it out for you?’

‘Some of my colleagues north of the border can be a bit dim when it comes to the social niceties, Mr Maguire. Better make it nice and clear.’

He sighed. ‘We met last year during the auditions for Britain’s Next Big Star. We got chatting, ended up having coffee, then dinner. We got on, liked each other.’ He rubbed a hand across his bald scalp. ‘If anyone found out I was … involved with one of the contestants there’d be people shouting, “fi x” and it’s not true: I didn’t infl uence the judges. I didn’t have to. She was brilliant.’

He shifted in his seat, scooting back and forward. ‘On Wednesday night we went to my room, and afterwards I gave her a lift home, then went back to the hotel to pack. Had to get the redeye back to London. That’s it, I swear: I know nothing about her going missing.’

He fidgeted in silence for a minute. ‘You won’t tell anyone about me and her will you? You know how the media like to blow stuff like this out of all proportion.’

‘Hey kiddo, how you doing?’ A robot voice in the darkness.

Eyes are all crusty… Jenny wipes the eye-bogies away and blinks, screwing her face up against the light. ‘Sleeping.’

‘I know, but it’s time for another shot, OK?’ SYLVESTER pulls up her sleeve, his white suit all rustly. ‘Should be getting good at this by now, shouldn’t we?’

The scratchy bee stings. Jenny bites her bottom lip and doesn’t cry. She is a Brave Little Girl.

‘OK, perfect, we’ll just give that a wee swab…’ He rubs a little cloth across the sting. ‘And a plaster…’ Small, round, and pale as Barbie’s skin. ‘And we’re done.’ He holds a lollipop in his purple-gloved hand.

Jenny takes the lollipop. Unwraps it. Sniffs it.

‘It’s cola-flavoured. Chewy in the middle too. Just don’t tell your mum.’

Never take sweeties from strange men. She puts the lollipop on the mattress, next to the chain around her neck.

The other monsters are in the corner of the room, DAVID, TOM, and another one — a woman. Jenny can’t read the name badge from here, but the new monster has a huge camera slung around her neck all wrapped up in clear plastic.

SYLVESTER reaches down and strokes Jenny’s hair, but she doesn’t even flinch. Brave. ‘It’s going to be OK. It’ll all be over in a couple of days, and you can go home with your mum. That’ll be good, won’t it?’

The other monsters are arguing.

DAVID: ‘…fucking police.’

TOM: ‘I know. But what are we supposed to do about it?’

The new monster gives herself a hug. ‘Poor Colin. I can’t believe he’d do something like that…’ She sounds the same as the others.

DAVID shakes his head, that horrible shiny plastic face all dead and glinty. ‘Get a grip, Patrick, fuck’s sake. He was a moron, OK? It’s his fault the police are sniffing round.’

TOM shrugs one shoulder. ‘Come on, the guy’s dead, it’s no’ like-’

‘Everything we’ve done, everything we’ve achieved,’ DAVID pokes him in the chest with a purple finger, ‘only matters if no bastard ever finds out.’ Another poke. ‘You got any idea what they’ll do to us if they catch us? Any idea what we’ll get in prison? The bastards that cut off Jenny McGregor’s toes?’

TOM backs off a step. ‘I’m just saying, OK? He killed himself.’

SYLVESTER strokes Jenny’s hair again. ‘Don’t worry about them, they’re just upset. It’s going to be OK. No one’s going to hurt you…’

PATRICK shifts her feet. ‘What if he left a note? What if he told them what we’ve done?’

‘Don’t be fucking stupid. If he did that we’d all be in a cell by now. He didn’t say anything about us.’

Silence. Then PATRICK tilts her head to one side. ‘How do you know?’

There’s a clunk, then Mummy comes out of the poopy room, and closes the door behind her. It’s not a toilet, not like in a proper house, it’s a cupboard with a bucket in it and it smells like nappies left in the bin for too long.

The chain around Mummy’s leg clanks and rattles as she shuffles across the bare floorboards. Then it pulls tight and she has to wait until SYLVESTER undoes the padlock holding it to the radiator, and fastens it to the bed again. She sinks onto the mattress next to Jenny, curls up on her side with her back to the room.

SYLVESTER stands over Jenny for a moment. Looking down at her. Then he goes to be with the other monsters.

Jenny watches him shuffling on the outside of the group, like a fat boy in the playground. Then someone’s pocket makes the Doctor Who music.

DAVID pulls out a shiny phone. ‘What? … Yes, I know, they spoke to us too. … No, I don’t know. … Because I’m not fucking psychic, that’s why!’

Jenny closes her eyes, grits her teeth, and struggles onto her side. The holes where her little toes used to be throb and sting. But she doesn’t make a sound. Brave Little Girl.

Someone was in the house. Someone was in the house, with a knife, standing over the bed and he couldn’t move, and-

Logan jerked awake. Lay on his back staring at the ceiling, heartbeat pounding in his ears. He held his breath, listening.

Nothing, just the faint-raspy sound of Samantha sleeping beside him.

A dim orange glow oozed in around the edges of the curtains, not enough to light the room, just enough to make the wardrobe and chest of drawers look like monsters looming in the shadows. Big rectangular wooden monsters. Full of socks.

The alarm clock radio glowed 03:00.

He let the breath out in one long hiss. Sodding hell… Why couldn’t he dream about a bouncy castle full of naked Page 3 girls for a change?

Logan settled back into the pillow and frowned at the ceiling. Gordon Maguire — what a dodgy baldy little sod, sleeping with one of the contestants on his show. Jammy too. What the hell did Alison McGregor see in him? Other than a TV company, of course.

And all that stuff about bankruptcy and evil investors: they only had his word for it. Might be an idea to call up someone in the Met’s fraud division first thing tomorrow morning, see if they couldn’t give Blue-Fish-Two-Fish Production’s accounts a going-over. Find out if Maguire was telling the truth.