Stuart MacBride - Dark Blood

She had no idea.

There was a clunk from the front of the house, a muffled voice saying, ‘Oh… boy that’s cold…’ PC Butler letting herself in. ‘Hello?’

Logan called back: ‘In here.’

The constable bumbled in, nose and cheeks bright pink. ‘What happened? I was knocking and everything.’

‘Get your notebook out.’ He pointed at Jimmy Evans. ‘You abducted Richard Knox and made it look like he raped you.’

‘We needed enough evidence-’

‘Evans!’ Bruce Lowe was on his feet again. ‘I swear to God, if you don’t-’

‘-make sure he’d go back inside for life this time. He-’

‘Don’t listen to him! We didn’t do anything, it was Knox!’

Logan grabbed Lowe by the scruff of the neck and hauled him back into his seat. ‘YOU SIT DOWN AND YOU KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT, UNDERSTAND?’

The man shrank back into the armchair.

Logan loomed over him. ‘What about Harry Weaver? Was he in on it too? Or did you put the poor bastard in hospital for fun?’

Lowe looked away. ‘It…Knox had…He was like that when we got there. Tied up on the bed, naked, blood everywhere. The woman too. We never touched them.’

Silence.

Logan turned to the rest of the room, ‘Where did they go? This woman who’s going to sell Richard Knox for you?’

The old man topped up his glass again. ‘She said there was some Edinburgh gangster who’d act as go-between…’

Logan stuck out his hand. ‘Car keys.’

They looked at him. ‘What do-’

‘Give me your car keys. All of them.’

A minute later he had two sets for the Mercedes, and one for the big black people carrier. The woman dropped her Clio key fob into his hand and Logan stuffed the lot into his pocket.

‘You will stay here and you will wait for a patrol car to collect you. Do you understand?’

‘Babe, pull over and I’ll drive.’

‘I’m doing it, all right? Can’t see a bloody thing out there, like.’

Julie sighs. ‘We’ll be all night at this rate.’

Richard Knox peers through the metal grille of the dog guard, over the back seats, and out at the road. Thick curtains of white, billowing down from the darkness.

He ducks back down.

The big car thumps over something and Danby groans. Turns out the tartan bag’s just a pillowcase, held in place by a thick cable-tie round his throat.

Knox’s hands are stiff from the cold, the left one barely working at all. Every time he moves the fingers it’s like being stabbed, but he manages to ease the pillowcase out from under the cable-tie, and up over the big man’s head.

Danby’s face is pale…well, except for the bruises, the black eye, and the swollen lip.

Richard strokes the superintendent’s face, feeling the stubble scratch beneath his fingertips.

Poor old soul…

Then the big man coughs, his whole body rattling, face going bright pink. A deep ragged breath and he slumps back. A thin stream of spit dribbles out the side of his mouth.

Richard takes a corner of Granny Murray’s quilt and wipes it away. ‘You sold us out. Said I could go away on me own, live me life somewhere.’

Danby closes his eyes, breath coming in deep wheezes. ‘You…raped him…’

Richard hangs his head.

‘You raped him, and he blew his head off with a shotgun.’

‘You said if I shared the cash with you, you’d help us escape. ‘Stead of which you set us up!’

Danby laughs, but it turns into another coughing fit. Big man like that, you’d think he’d have more insulation against the cold, wouldn’t you? And he’s got a dressing gown on, all Richard’s got is a tatty old quilt.

‘You…’ Wheeze, shiver. ‘You did the same to me, know what I’m saying?’

Got to admit he had a point there.

‘Don’t suppose it helps, but I’m sorry.’ Richard lies down again, wrapping himself around the superintendent, holding him tight. ‘They’re gonna kill us, aren’t they?’

The big man’s head sinks back against the plastic boot liner. ‘If we’re lucky…’

Logan slammed the front door shut and hurried over to the police Land Rover. He clambered into the passenger seat. Where the hell was Butler?

She appeared from behind the Mercedes and hunched through the blizzard to the Renault Clio. There was something red in her hand. And as Logan watched, the Mercedes seemed to sink a couple of inches. A minute later the Clio joined it, then the people carrier.

Butler climbed up into the Land Rover, a grin stretching her rosy cheeks as she folded a long blade back into a huge Swiss Army Knife. ‘Just in case anyone’s got a spare set of keys they’re not telling us about.’

Logan pulled out his mobile phone while the constable cranked over the huge diesel engine.

‘Yes, I want you to get a patrol car out to…’ He frowned, turned to Butler. ‘Where the hell are we?’ Then repeated the address to Control as she drove them out into the blizzard. ‘Three IC-One males, one female, I want them picked up and charged with perverting the course of justice.’

There was a pause. ‘Are you are aware it’s blawin’ a hoolie oot there?’

The headlights turned the world into a snow globe, with the Land Rover at the centre, shaken by the howling winds.

‘Yeah, I kinda noticed.’

‘Can you no’ bring them in yoursel?’

‘Don’t have time. Tell Finnie I know where Richard Knox and DSI Danby are. I need an armed response unit to the McLennan Homes development south of Balmedie.’

‘Jesus, yer no shy the day, are you? Hang on…’

Logan stuck the phone against his chest. ‘Does this thing not go any faster?’

Butler didn’t even look round, kept her face straight ahead, eyes narrowed, staring out into the driving snow. ‘It’s Scott of the Antarctic out there.’

The little country road twisted and turned, drystane dykes on either side disappearing under drifts of white.

‘Do your best, OK?’ Back to the phone. ‘So am I getting my ARU or not?’

But the voice on the other end wasn’t the wee Teuchter from Control any more, it was the head of CID. ‘Sergeant McRae, tell me, was it my imagination, or did I instruct you to be in my office at five? Yet here we are at half four and you’re asking for a firearms team?’

Logan filled him in on his visit to Bruce Lowe’s steading.

‘Hmm…Where are you?’

Logan peered through the windscreen. A signpost flared in the gloom, reflecting back the Land Rover’s headlights. ‘Just coming into Newburgh now. So: firearms team?’

‘I’ll get an ARU out to Camberwick Green as soon as I can. In the meantime, you are not authorized to take any action until they get there. If you get yourself killed just to avoid our meeting I will be highly pissed off, is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Newburgh wasn’t a big place. The A90 — the main road north to Ellon and Peterhead — ran through the middle of the little town, and as soon as they turned onto it Butler put her foot down.

Normally, at this time on a Wednesday, there would be a steady stream of traffic coming the other way, trying to beat the rush-hour out of Aberdeen, but today it was quiet. Just the occasional eighteen-wheeler crawling its way north.

Butler’s Airwave handset bleeped into life as they reached the outkirts of Balmedie — Control calling to say that the firearms team had just left FHQ.

Then it was Logan’s phone’s turn. He checked the display: DI Steel.

‘How is she?’

‘They’ll no’ tell me what’s going on …’ A sniff. Silence. ‘Should arrest the whole bloody lot of them.’