Stuart MacBride - Shatter the Bones

Logan stepped into the office. ‘Did anyone get anywhere with the ex-police-officer angle?’

There was a moment’s silence. ‘ Tell me, DI McRae, do you really think I’ve got nothing better to do than sit here answering asinine questions? Or might I just have something slightly more important to do today?’

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘Should think so too.’ He turned in his seat. ‘Anything else, Sergeant McCormack?’

Big Gary produced a clipboard and held it out. ‘Need you to approve the overtime plan. Acting DI MacDonald’s got half the station down for a green shift: riot patrol.’

‘God help us…’ He signed the form.

‘Thank you, sir.’ Big Gary squeezed his way out of the room. Logan shut the door. ‘I think we’re being screwed with.’ Finnie didn’t even look up. ‘Inspector, this might surprise you, but I don’t have time to listen to you moaning about Superintendent Green today.’

‘The tip-off — the one that had us interviewing every sex offender in Grampian — I think it’s a fake.’

The head of CID picked the next report from his in-tray. ‘Some people think it’s fun to waste police time, Inspector. Like you’re doing right now.’

‘No, I mean it was the kidnappers trying to distract us. The tip-off note’s forensically neutral, just like everything they’ve ever sent us.’ Logan sank into the visitor’s chair. ‘And we found out who the big toe belongs to: five-year-old girl, car accident, they amputated her leg at ARI. It was supposed to be cremated. She’s not dead.’

A frown. ‘Are you sure it’s not-’

‘Just got a DNA match. Whoever they are, they’ve got access to Aberdeen Royal Infirmary.’

Finnie punched a button on his office phone. ‘Acting DI MacDonald — my office, now . And bring everything you have from the hospital investigation.’

‘But I’m-’

‘ Now , Mr. MacDonald.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Finnie pressed the button again and the phone went silent. I swear to God, these forensic students get younger every year. Logan scooted forward until he was leaning over the desk. ‘It’s a teaching hospital, right? What if they’re all students?’

Finnie shook his head. ‘MacDonald and McPherson both ruled out-’

‘Think about it: the medical student gets them the drugs and amputates Jenny’s toes. The IT student makes the videos and emails untraceable. And the forensic student keeps them all from getting caught.’ Logan pulled out his phone and dialled. ‘Bob?’

‘If you’re calling to complain, it wasn’t me, OK?’

‘I need to…’ Frown. ‘ What wasn’t you?’

‘…Nothing.’ A cough. ‘What can I do you for?’

‘Did you find the dealer who sold your suicide that morphine?’

‘“Stumpy the Dwarven Queen”? No one in Tayside’s ever heard of her. Why the sudden interest in Bruce Sangster?’

Of course no one had heard of her — she didn’t exist. Craig ‘Arrogant-Patronizing-Prick’ Peterson made her up. That’s why none of Bruce’s friends knew anything about his alleged drug problem. Sangster didn’t buy the morphine, he stole it from the hospital, along with some thiopental sodium and a little girl’s severed leg.

‘You still got that list of his friends?’

‘…Why?’

‘Did you take a note of what courses they were doing?’

‘Course I did. Now why do you-’

‘I’m looking for someone doing computer science and someone doing forensics.’

‘Hold on…’ Some rustling.

The door to Finnie’s office creaked open and Acting DI Mark MacDonald lurched in, arms loaded down with box files. He took one look at Logan and sniffed.

‘ Yeah, here we go: three computer scientists; and one Davina Pearce, BSc Hons, Forensic Science with Law. She’s doing Media Studies too. ’

Mark dumped the files on the corner of the desk. ‘That’s everything. But I’ve been through it all dozens of times. There’s nothing there.’

Logan stuck his phone back in his pocket and grinned at Finnie. ‘Bingo.’

Logan climbed out in to the warm evening, mobile phone clamped to his ear. ‘Any luck?’

The Woolmanhill halls of residence was a lopsided grey canyon of three five-storey buildings set at angles to each other around a lopsided car park, just off the Denburn roundabout.

Bob gave a big wet sigh. ‘Peterson’s not in.’

‘Anyone know where he’s gone?’

Rennie scanned the intercom entry system next to a freshly-painted stairwell door, then pressed the button for flat six. The intercom buzzed.

‘Flatmates say he’s out with his mates: cinema, pizza, pints.’

‘Mobile?’

‘Went straight to voicemail.’

A high, singsongy voice crackled out of the speaker. ‘Hel-lo?’ Very girly.

Rennie pressed the talk button. ‘Yeah, is Davina in? It’s Simon.’

‘What would you have us do now, your temporarily-promoted-to-inspectorship?’

‘See if he’s got a car, then get onto CCTV: I want every Automatic Number Plate Recognition camera in the north-east looking for him. And find out what he’s been doing for the last two weeks: where he’s been going, who he’s been talking to, that kind of thing.’

‘Hi, Simon. Yeah, Davina’s in her room, but she’s sulking.’

‘God, you’re not asking for much, are you? See when it’s my go at being DI-’

‘Yeah, “the wrath of Bob”. I know.’ Logan killed the connection.

‘Oh… Well, can I come up?’ The intercom buzzed again, and when Rennie leant against the door it swung open. ‘Ta.’ He winked at Logan. ‘We have lift-off.’

A plump young woman opened the door to flat six. She was growing her very own curly brown halo, held in place with a golden scrunchie. She smiled, showing off a mouthful of metalwork. ‘You’re Simon, right? So nice to meet you. I’m Robin, bet Davina’s told you all about me!’

‘Yeah, hi. She about?’

Robin rolled her eyes. ‘God, you know what she’s like; went storming off to her room yesterday, slammed the door, and hasn’t been out since; honestly, it’s like a soap opera in here some weeks; you want a cup of coffee? I’m making anyway, think we’ve got some biscuits too.’ All done in two breaths.

‘Cool. Can my mate have one too?’

The smile slipped a little as she caught sight of Logan, then she rallied with a cheery, ‘More the merrier.’ She turned and bustled down the hallway, pausing to knock on one of the internal doors. ‘Davina, your friends are here. Davina? I’m making them coffee, you want some?’ Pause. Another knock. ‘Davina?’

No response.

She did the eye-rolling thing again. ‘Some people, eh? Didn’t even go to lectures today, and we were doing blood spatter analysis; I love blood spatters, does that make me weird? Suppose it does, but then I am a bit loopy …’ She stuck her tongue out and circled a finger beside her head. ‘Now, coffee!’

Logan stopped outside Davina Pearce’s door. She’d decorated it with photos of a young Asian woman: big smile, serious glasses, long black hair. Some were taken in pubs, others at parties, a few in snow-smothered woods. He knocked as the human whirlwind dragged Rennie off to the kitchen.

‘Davina? Davina, we need to talk.’

Still nothing, but he could hear music coming from the other side of the door, something upbeat and rocky. ‘Davina? Can you hear me?’ He rested his ear against the cool wood. Not so much as a rustle, just that cheery music, then the sound of raucous laughter cackled out of the kitchen. Either Rennie had said something very, very funny or Little Miss Motor Mouth was desperate.