Stuart MacBride - Dark Blood

Someone spits, a thick glob of yellowy-white that flies through the falling snow and spatters against Richard’s chest.

‘THEY SHOULD STRING YOU UP!’

And then the van door thumps shut and everything is darkness again.

Someone says, ‘Thank fuck that’s over…’

And then the van starts to rock. People slamming their hands against the sides.

‘BASTARD!’

‘KNOX! KNOX! KNOX! OUT! OUT! OUT!’

It’s not over. It’ll never be over.

‘A complete disaster!’ DSI Danby stabbed his thumb on the remote, freezing the picture on the boardroom TV as someone slammed their placard down on Richard Knox’s bedspread-covered head: ‘DETH TO ALL RAPIST!’

The emergency MAPPA meeting wasn’t really going that well. They’d gathered in the boardroom at FHQ — Steel, Logan, DI Ingram from the Offender Management Unit, some hairy woman from the council, a Sacro supervisor, and DCI Finnie. Everyone trying to make sure they didn’t get blamed for anything.

Danby thumped the TV remote down on the boardroom table, and turned to glower out of the window at the snow slanting horizontally across Broad Street. ‘You couldn’t even keep his location secret for four days!’

Steel leaned over and whispered in Logan’s ear, ‘You want to tell him, or should I?’

Logan pretended he hadn’t heard.

DI Ingram ran a hand across his little military moustache. ‘I don’t think that’s entirely fair…The Offender Management Unit has done its best-’

‘Its best?’ Finnie frowned. ‘Well, that’s all right then, isn’t it? I must have imagined there was a riot outside Knox’s house this morning because his address was in the bloody papers !’

Danby poked the polished tabletop with a finger. ‘I want a full enquiry. I want to know which one of your lot went running to the media, first chance they got!’

Steel settled back in her seat, left hand scritching away beneath the desk. ‘Actually, Sergeant McRae has some information on that, don’t you Laz?’

‘Er…yes. We know who leaked Knox’s location to the press.’

‘Who? I want them up on charges, you know what I’m saying? I want them bloody crucified!’

‘The leak didn’t come from Aberdeen, it came from Newcastle. Knox’s old English teacher sold his school records to the papers. His granny’s address was in there.’

Danby backed off a step. ‘Ah…I see.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Right, well…contingency plan then.’

And that was it, no apology, no nothing.

DI Ingram went over the plan again, the alternative address they had in waiting, just in case things went horribly wrong.

He was droning on about cost models when the boardroom door creaked open and a rumpled corduroy man slumped in, dumped a little leather rucksack on the table and collapsed into one of the vacant chairs. He took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. ‘Sorry I’m late. Any chance of a coffee?’

‘Ah, how nice of Social Work to grace us with their presence.’ Finnie checked his watch. ‘We started twenty minutes ago!’

The newcomer polished his glasses on the edge of a hanky. ‘Good for you. I started twenty-four hours ago. One of my clients got the crap kicked out of him down the docks last night, and I’ve been trying to get things sorted out ever since.’

Danby’s face twitched. ‘I’d have thought Richard Knox would get your undivided attention, know what I’m saying?’

‘Yeah, that’s a great idea, I’ll just tell my thirty other clients they don’t matter any more. That how they do things in Newcastle, is it?’ He dug into his corduroy jacket and came out with a piece of paper. ‘Desk sergeant gave me a message for a Sergeant McRoy?’

‘McRae.’ Logan held out his hand. It was barely legible — which meant Sergeant Eric Mitchell was manning the desk — ‘THERE’S A TIM MAIR HERE TO SEE YOU + OVERTIME: WTF?!?’ and then a doodle of a skull and crossbones.

Steel leant over and squinted at the note, then put her lips against Logan’s ear. ‘I hope Social Work Boy’s no’ propositioning you for hairy bum sex in the toilets.’

‘Someone’s here about Polmont’s stash of electrical equipment.’

‘Well, don’t just sit there — bugger off and…’ Everyone was staring at her. Steel smiled. ‘I was just consulting with my colleague about the viability of Knox staying on in Grampian. Everyone knows he’s here, they’ll be on the lookout for him. He’s a target. Move him somewhere else and he might live to see his next birthday.’

DI Ingram cleared his throat. ‘Actually, there’s a lot of merit in the inspector’s suggestion-’

‘Course there is.’ She thumped Logan on the back. ‘Now, Sergeant, why don’t you run along and see if you can’t get a nice constable to whip us all up a wee cup of tea?’

Dildo, AKA: Tim Mair, was leaning on the reception desk downstairs, helping himself to Sergeant Mitchell’s bag of Revels. The bag’s owner had the kind of moustache that would have made walruses jealous, and it twitched as Logan tried to join in.

‘Hoy! Who said you could have one?’ Mitchell snatched the bag away. ‘Been trying to get you all sodding morning. Turn your bloody phone on!’

Dildo grinned, pulling his black goatee out of shape. ‘You tell him, Eric.’

Logan dug into his jacket pocket and let a handful of plastic shrapnel tumble onto the reception desk. ‘If you can figure out how, be my guest.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Oh, and Steel wants someone to make a load of teas for the MAPPA meeting.’

Sergeant Mitchell’s moustache bristled. ‘Well don’t look at me!’

‘Just get some PC to do it.’ Logan turned to leave. ‘Oh, and make sure whoever it is spits in DSI Danby’s mug.’

‘Right.’ Dildo wiped the steam from his John Lennon glasses. ‘Let’s see these dodgy goods you found.’

Logan pointed through the glass front wall, at the swirling snow. ‘They’re at the Water Lane store.’

‘Oh for Christ sake…could you not have brought them up?’

‘No room. We can take your car if you like?’

‘Left it at the office.’

‘OK.’ Logan swept the bits of phone back into his pocket. ‘We’ll go in mine.’

‘Piece of shite…’ Dildo hauled at the passenger door release. ‘Have you got the child locks on or something?’ The black plastic bag duct-taped over the missing window bucked and shuddered in the wind, the engine running on for a whole three seconds after Logan pulled the keys out of the ignition before it finally gave up and died.

‘Don’t be such a girl — got you here, didn’t it?’

‘Only just, would’ve been quicker bloody walking.’ It had taken them over twenty minutes to drive the quarter mile from the station, crawling through the snow and snarled up traffic.

‘Yeah, if you want to die of frostbite.’ Logan climbed out into the narrow lane. White flakes swirled around the car, battering against the rusty paintwork as Water Lane funnelled the wind into a teeth-chattering gale. He hurried round and hauled open Dildo’s door from the outside. ‘Well, don’t just sit there!’

They bustled through the keypad-locked door, into the little corridor on the other side. Stomping their feet to get rid of the snow. They signed in with a red-nosed, sniffly constable, and headed through to the evidence store.

If anything, it was even colder than it had been yesterday, their breath trailing behind them as Logan led the way through the minotaur’s maze of metal shelving. ‘Over here.’

Dildo took his glasses off, wiped them dry on a cloth, and put them back on again. ‘Where?’

Logan waved a hand, indicating the eight shelves packed with the stuff they’d taken out of Polmont’s flat.