Stuart MacBride - Close to the Bone

‘ This is no’ a game, Laz — your nutjob’s killed three people. I’m no’- ’

‘And Chalmers is not going to be number four.’

‘For God’s sake! You’re no’ sodding Rambo, you can’t just-’

‘So stop wasting time shouting at me and get your firearms team organized.’ He hung up on her and stuck the phone in his pocket. Managed a whole three steps before the thing started vibrating. Tough, she could leave a message. ‘Everyone: phones on silent. Airwaves too.’

The barbed-wire fence at the end of the field was rusted and baggy, easy enough to climb over. On the other side a thicket of weeds and grass stretched away to the crumbled end of the steading. It grabbed at Logan’s legs as he waded through to the building.

Sim picked her way through the fallen masonry and down the side, where the undergrowth gave way to a gravel yard, enclosed by the L-shaped steading on one side and a sea of nettles on the other. She stopped at a window and peered inside, keeping her voice down. ‘Guv? ’

He joined her at the window. A red-white-and-blue Mini sat on its own in a disused cattle court. Its driver’s side wing was crumpled in, the windscreen a spider’s web of cracked glass. The number plate matched: it was Chalmers’s. ‘Damn. .’

At least now they knew they had the right place.

Rennie reached for the handle on the sliding wooden door.

Sim’s eyes bugged, then she shoved him out of the way, sending him tumbling onto the gravel. ‘Don’t!’

‘Ow!’ He stared up at her, holding on to the elbow of his left arm. ‘What the hell was that for? ’

‘Have you never raided a cannabis farm before? ’ She held out a hand and helped him up. ‘Sometimes they wire door handles and window latches to the mains — booby-trap the place against rival gangs and the police. First place we did, DI McPherson ended up flat on his back all the way down the bottom of the drive. Hair sticking out in all directions, smoke coming out the lace-holes of his shoes. Had black fingernails for months after that.’

Rennie rubbed at his elbow. ‘Jacket’s got a hole in it now and everything.’

‘Least you’re not dead.’ She glanced around the gravelled yard, then marched over to the nettles and picked up a length of blue plastic pipe — the kind they used to run water under the ground. She shoved it through the handle and hauled on the ends. The door creaked and groaned as she pulled it open.

Sim poked her head in through the gap, then out again. ‘You’re welcome.’

Logan stepped inside. A thick grey cable led from the inside of the handle to a plug set at chest-height on the wall. He snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves and flicked the switch off.

The Mini’s airbags were flaccid droops of white, the steering wheel cover missing. Dark-red spots stood out on the plastic dashboard, like tiny jewels.

‘Guv? ’ Rennie waved at them from the back of the cattle court.

A Ring Knot was painted across the dirt floor in black wax, a metal stake driven into the ground at each point of the pentagram. Dark stains littered the centre of the circle. No sign of the body.

Don’t let it be Chalmers. Not after all this.

A sliding door in the side of the cattle court led deeper into the building. Sim did the same trick with the blue plastic pipe. ‘Jeepers. .’

Logan joined her. It was a long room, about the width of a garage, with what had to be thousands of cannabis plants hanging upside-down from plastic washing line strung between the rafters. They’d discarded the bottom two-thirds of each plant — the leaves and the roots — leaving huge swollen buds clustered around a central stem, covered in frothy strands and speckled with purple. Why nick the whole thing when you could just grab the bit worth all the money?

Rennie reached out and rubbed one between his fingers. ‘This lot must be worth a fortune .’

A row of oscillating fans kept the air moving, filling it with the sweet sweaty smell of marijuana.

The next room was full of the stuff too. No wonder the McLeod brothers wanted to cripple whoever was in charge: they’d stolen a hell of a lot of cannabis.

Sim flicked the switch on another plug wired to a door handle, then pulled it open, revealing grass and swollen rhododendrons, old trees and the side of the farmhouse. They’d run out of steading.

Logan gave the signal and they split up — Rennie and Sim going one way, while he went the other, keeping low and close to the farmhouse wall. The downstairs windows at the front and side of the house were blacked out — the other side of the glass streaked with paint.

So no one could see them sneaking about.

They met up at the back door. ‘Suggestions? ’

Rennie pointed at the low drystane dyke behind the house. ‘We chuck one of those through the windows and dive in, Sweeney-style? ’

Idiot.

Sim rolled her eyes. ‘Batter the door in. It’s a classic for a reason.’

‘Or we could go for something less dramatic and just ring the bell.’

She wobbled the plastic pipe at him. ‘Or maybe we try the handle first? ’ It took a couple of goes, but eventually she got one end wedged over the doorknob then twisted.

Click, and the door swung open an inch.

Sim smiled. ‘See, boys, that’s the way the professionals do it.’ She pushed on the pipe. ‘Never send a man to do a-’

A loud boom tore through the wooden door, splinters ripping through the air like shrapnel. Sim flew backwards, arms and legs out in front of her, then slammed into the weed-flecked grass of the back garden and lay there, twitching.

A ball of smoke coiled up into the drizzle as Logan and Rennie dived to the ground. Then a moment of silence, broken only by Sim groaning.

The door lay half-open. A shotgun was fixed to the back, mounted in a makeshift metal frame, both barrels sawn off down to the wooden grip. Barking exploded from somewhere down the gloomy corridor. Then the scrabble of claws on tile and a gigantic Alsatian burst into view, going so fast it skidded into the wood cladding on its way around the corner. Big red mouth snapping around a million glittering teeth as it charged down the hallway at them.

‘Gah!’ Rennie lunged forward, grabbed the end of the blue pipe and hauled the door closed again.

THUD — the Alsatian slammed into the back of the door, barking and growling.

Logan scurried over to Sim, through the wet grass.

She lay on her back, both arms curled up and in, clawed hands covering her face.

He pulled them apart. . Blood trickled down her left cheek, more from her forehead. Little slivers of wood stuck out of her skin like quills.

‘Are you OK? ’

‘Oh. . poop !’

Logan helped her to sit up while the dog hurled itself against the door.

So much for the element of surprise.

The front of her stab-proof vest was a mess — the Kevlar torn and peppered with splinters. Logan undid the straps and hauled it off her.

The black T-shirt underneath was soaked with sweat, but other than that, she was fine. He sat back on his heels. ‘You lucky sod.’

‘Ow. .’ She stuck a hand in the middle of her chest and pushed. ‘Like being kicked by a cow. .’

‘Door must’ve taken most of the blast.’

‘Jeepers. .’

Rennie peered in through the hole in the door, then ducked back as the dog lunged, teeth snapping, at the gap. ‘Aaagh! Good doggy, nice doggy.’

‘Can you stand? ’ Logan pulled her to her feet.

‘Ow. .’

The whole bloody thing was a disaster.

‘Will you shut that dog up? ’

Rennie flattened himself along the side of the door. ‘If you’ve got any good ideas. .’