Stuart MacBride - Shatter the Bones

Finnie glowered around the room. ‘When I find out which unprofessional, unscrupulous bastard talked to the press I will make Hannibal Lecter look like Tinky-Bloody-Winky. Do I make myself clear?’

Uncomfortable silence.

He curled his top lip. ‘Need I remind you boys and girls that we have less than twenty-four hours to find Alison and Jenny McGregor? Let’s try to concentrate on doing our jobs .’

Rennie stuck his hand up. ‘What if the kidnappers decide we haven’t raised enough cash?’

‘Mr Maguire from Blue-Fish-Two-Fish informs me that the official freedom fund now stands at just over six million pounds.’

Someone whistled.

‘If we fail to find these people it’s going to be open season on every D-list celebrity in the country. After all , if the guys who snatched Alison and Jenny can get away with six point three million pounds, maybe I can too?’

Finnie glowered at them all again. ‘Now tell me, ladies and gentlemen, do we really want to be responsible for that, because I don’t think we do. Do you?’

No one answered that.

He nodded at Superintendent Green and the man from SOCA stood. ‘As soon as Jenny and Alison McGregor are released, a report will be submitted to the Independent Police Complaints Commission asking them to review Grampian Police’s handling of the investigation, which is standard policy for high-profile cases like this.’ Green held up his hands, as if he was about to bless them all, instead of crap on them from a great height. ‘The Serious Organized Crime Agency will, at that point, move from an advisory capacity to an executive role.’

‘Let me guess,’ DI Steel hauled up her trousers, ‘that means you’re going to take over.’

Angry noises filled the briefing room.

Finnie banged his coffee mug on the nearest desk. ‘All right, that’s enough. Let’s try to behave like grown-ups and professionals .’

Superintendent Green sat back down again. ‘We have one last item of business.’ A smile spread across Finnie’s face. ‘You’ll have heard we made a significant seizure of drugs last night — thanks to DS McRae — and expect to make further inroads into the supply chain over the next few days. You’ll also have heard that DI McPherson met with an unfortunate accident yesterday. As he’s going to be out of commission for at least three weeks, I’m promoting DS McRae to the rank of Detective Inspector effective immediately. I’m sure you’ll all …’ he turned his smile on Green for a moment, then back to the rest of the room, ‘join me in wishing him every success in this challenging role.’

Logan stared. ‘What…?’

‘Woohoo!’ Rennie started a round of applause that rippled around the room, then grew.

Logan stared at his hands. The knuckles were still slightly swollen, the skin around them mottled with faint bruises. That was what they were clapping for — because he beat the crap out Shuggie Webster, a crippled junkie with his hands cable-tied behind his back.

Go Team Logan.

He should have resigned when he’d had the chance.

‘I know, OK?’ Logan covered his head with his hands, then slumped back in his seat in the make-shift office. ‘It’s not like I planned it, is it?’

He could hear Steel sighing. ‘You’re a sodding lucky bugger, Laz. But if Shuggie changes his mind…’

‘He won’t.’ Not unless he wanted to feel the wrath of Wee Hamish Mowat. And Jonny Urquhart had made it quite clear what would that would involve.

There was a pause. Then her voice went cold. ‘That what you were doing up the hospital yesterday afternoon? Threatening him to keep his gob shut?’

‘No…’ Logan crumpled forward until his elbows touched the desk. ‘I spoke to Trisha’s mum, I sat with Samantha. That’s all .’

‘You used to be…’ Steel grunted. He could picture her, standing behind him, shaking her head, eyes closed, chewing on her top lip. ‘Fuck’s sake, Laz.’

The door banged open. ‘Celebrations!’ Rennie danced into the room — a one man conga line. ‘Da-da-dada-da, da ! Da-da-dada-da, da !’

He grabbed Steel’s hips and kept on dancing. ‘Da-da-dada-da, da ! Da-da-dada-da, da !’

‘Get off me you daft wee sod!’ She smacked his hands away. ‘Oh, come on Guv, not every day one of our own gets bumped up the ranks.’ He performed a little curtsey. ‘Detective Inspector McRae, may I be the first to tell you how gargantuanly sexy you look as a DI, and if you ever need a sidekick-’

‘Thanks, but-’

‘I think Detective Sergeant Simon Rennie has a certain ring to it, don’t you? I mean, if you’re being promoted, they’ll need someone to fill in for you at the Wee Hoose, yeah?’ He grinned, his teeth sparkling white against the unnaturally orange tan. ‘Then I can get some poor sod to make the tea for a change.’

‘Good idea.’ Steel clicked her e-cigarette into life and sooked on it. ‘Latte: three sugars, extra chocolate, and some of that hazelnut syrup if they’ve got it. DI McRae’ll have decaf: two and a coo.’

Rennie’s grin slipped. ‘Can’t I get someone else to-’

‘If you’re no’ back in two minutes with those coffees, you’re going to spend the rest of the day as Biohazard’s bitch, understand?’

Rennie pretty much sprinted from the room.

Steel waited until the door was closed and they were alone once more. ‘I’m no’ going to say this twice, so pin back your lugs: you ever, ever do anything like this again, I’ll hang your arse out like a pair of scabby knickers, understand?’

‘Then let me quit .’

She thumped him on the shoulder. ‘You’re no’ getting off that lightly.’

Of course he wasn’t. ‘Now what?’

Steel sent a perfect smoke ring crashing against his computer monitor. ‘I mean it, Laz. I’ll no have wee Jasmine growing up with a bent copper for a dad.’

Logan logged into his email, scrolling through the backlog of messages. ‘Anything else?’ Not looking at her.

‘Yes.’

‘What?’ He clicked on an email from DI Bell — an update on the interviews conducted overnight with the ‘Marley brothers’.

‘I’m sorry about Samantha. If you need to talk to anyone…’

‘I don’t need to-’

‘’Cause if you do, you can call your pet psychologist. All that touchy-feely bollocks gives me the dry boak.’ She sniffed. ‘Now, maybe we should-’

Logan’s mobile burst into song. ‘Laz?’ Colin Miller. ‘We got another message from the wankers in the white sperm-suits. You near your computer?’

The email package chimed at him, a little window popping up in the bottom left corner of the screen: ‘COLIN MILLER.

FWD: ONE DAY TO GO.’

The door banged open and Rennie lurched over the threshold, breathing like a pervert, clutching his side. ‘They’ve… They’ve got a … got a … a new video!’

Logan opened the message: a link to YouTube. He clicked on it.

‘No’ more toes, is it?’ Steel pulled the fake cigarette from her mouth.

The video finally downloaded enough to start playing. Logan hauled the headphones out of the socket and the speakers crackled with static, then that cold computer voice boomed into the room.

Steel tapped the screen. ‘Play it again.’

‘You have twenty-four hours left to save Jenny’s life.’

On the screen a fuzzy image snapped into focus — Jenny McGregor lying curled up on a bare mattress. A chain was wrapped around her neck, the other end padlocked to the metal bed frame. Her Winnie the Pooh pyjamas were grubby, but the bandages on her feet looked fresh — a faint stain marking where her little toes had been hacked off.