Stuart MacBride - Close to the Bone

‘Her boyfriend the complete scumbag.’ An onion ring disappeared in two goes. ‘He gets high all the time, plastered too, he cheats on her, and she’s still running around after him like a lovesick puppy. .’ More fries. ‘Makes you vomit, doesn’t it? ’

‘Takes all sorts.’ Another bite of burger. Chewing, staring out at the glittering blue sea. ‘We need to chase down this Stacey he was seeing on the side. Might still be at it.’

One of the wee girls turned to run away from the North Sea again, tripped, went sprawling on her face in the sand, and was swallowed by a tiny wave. Cue screaming and bawling.

Logan helped himself to one of Chalmers’s onion rings. ‘Why are they hanging about Aberdeen, though? If you’re going to run away, you run away, you don’t stay in the same place where people are going to recognize you. .’ He dipped a couple of chips into a dollop of mayonnaise. ‘What about the diary? ’

‘Next on my to-do list. Spent most of the morning going through CCTV footage.’ Chalmers tore the top off a sachet of salt and sprinkled it into her brown paper bag. ‘When I was little, Dad would load us all in the car and down we’d come from Inverness for a long weekend during summer holidays. Play on the beach. Go to Duthie Park. Eat ice cream and rowies.’

‘Maybe they’re not running away at all. Maybe they’re hiding? ’

‘Do they still have that petting zoo out by Hazlehead? ’

‘What if Anthony Chung isn’t just into smoking dope? What if he’s been selling it too? ’

Chalmers stuffed more fries into her mouth. ‘I used to love the llamas. Like mutant sheep on steroids.’

‘Run a PNC on the pair of them when we get back to the station.’

‘Already did it.’ She sooked her fingers clean, then pulled out her notebook and thumbed through the pages. ‘Here we are: Anthony Chung, done for drunk and disorderly behaviour twice, no jail time, just fines. One charge of driving without a valid tax disc. Two warnings for possession of a controlled substance, but they didn’t find enough weed to do him for intent to supply.’

‘Agnes? ’

‘Choirgirl, compared to him. She was given a warning the week before she went missing — local production company filed a complaint about her breaking into their film studio. A Mr Alexander Clark from ClarkRig Training-’

‘Wait: Alexander Clark. Zander Clark? ’

‘His name’s on the complaint. They had to get security to eject her three times, then she broke in.’

‘Why was she breaking into a porn studio? ’

‘Porn? ’ DCI Steel’s mouth twitched at the corners, nostrils flaring, eyes widening. ‘Seriously? ’

‘Got thrown off the set three times. Then she broke in.’ Logan hung his jacket on the back of his chair, then settled in behind his desk. Some sod had dumped a big pile of interview transcripts in his in-tray, as if he didn’t have anything better to do. .

Steel clapped her hands together. ‘Well, don’t just sit there: get us a pool car and we’ll go a-visiting!’

Logan stared at her. ‘“Being a DI’s no’ about running around”-’

‘Oh, don’t be such a whinge. You said this Andrea’s a suicide risk, right? ’

‘ Agnes . Do you ever pay any attention to anything I-’

‘Be derelict in our duty if we didn’t follow up on an important lead that could save a young woman’s life. So get your arse in gear. I’ll come along and. . supervise.’

‘I don’t need you holding-’

‘No, no,’ she held up a hand, ‘I insist. A good senior officer knows when to step in and lend a hand with the troops.’

‘How very team-spirited of you.’ He didn’t move.

Steel bounced up and down on the spot, like a horny terrier. ‘Porn, porn, porn, porn, porn!’

Like working in a kindergarten.

He hauled himself up and pulled his jacket on again. ‘If you’re going to do that all the way, you’re going in the boot.’

‘Porn!’ She did a little hop-skip, then turned and trundled down the corridor. ‘Been ages since we’ve seen the chunky monkey. Think he’ll still remember me? ’

Logan closed and locked the office door. ‘Wish I didn’t.’

‘I heard that.’ But she didn’t stop.

He followed her down the stairs, through the station’s rear doors, and out onto the rear podium car park. It was bordered on two sides by the concrete bulk of Force Headquarters, the mortuary on the third, and the back side of King Street, turning it into a sun trap.

A couple of uniforms were lounging against the little dividing wall that ran along the ramp down to road level, faces turned to the sky, sunglasses glinting, their bare arms going an angry shade of Barbie pink.

Steel hauled out her cigarettes and popped one in her mouth. Then patted down her pockets. ‘Arsebiscuits. .’ She looked at Logan. ‘Well? ’

‘Thought you’d given up.’

‘Quitting is for wimps. Besides, if I’m going to be stuck with your miserable mug all afternoon, I’ll need a wee nicotine buzz going. It’s this or the whisky.’ She cupped her hands around her mouth in a makeshift loudhailer. ‘Hoy, Chuckle Brothers, either of you got a light? ’

Someone tugged at Logan’s sleeve. ‘Guv? ’

He turned, and there was PC Sim, blinking in the sunlight. She sneezed a couple of times, like a shotgun going off in a bath. Then wiped her nose. ‘Sorry.’ Another sneeze. A blink. Pause. ‘Big Gary says you’re not allowed out till you’ve seen your visitor. Sir.’

‘I don’t have any-’

‘Sorry, Guv, it’s. .’ She screwed up one side of her face and then the sneezing was back.

Logan left her, doubled over by a battered police van, and hauled out his phone. Punched in the number for Sergeant McCormack. ‘What visitor? ’

‘ Aye, and hello to you too. Sim get you? ’

She was still at it — sneezing and sneezing and sneezing.

‘What visitor, Gary? ’

‘ The visitor who’s been waiting in the reception room for the last twenty minutes. ’

He stared up at the building, looming in black and grey over the car park. ‘You could’ve bloody said! I’ve been in my office for the last-’

‘ Your guest’s getting a wee bit tetchy, by the way. Might be an idea to come see them before you sod off with old Wrinklechops. ’

‘Who? Who’s waiting for me, Gary? ’

A pause. ‘ You’ll see. ’

By the time Logan had reached reception, Big Gary was standing behind the desk, a huge fat smile on his huge fat face. He grinned through the safety glass, then pointed off to the right. ‘In there.’

The reception-room door was shut. Logan keyed his passcode into the pad mounted on the wall beside it, then stepped inside. .

Sod.

Hissing Sid was sitting at the little grey table, arms folded across his chest. Shirt and suit jacket immaculate beneath the scowl. The lawyer checked his watch. ‘I have been waiting here for precisely twenty-two and a half minutes. Do you have any idea how inconvenient this is? ’ A sniff. ‘There isn’t even a wireless network for visitors.’

Logan nudged the door shut behind him. ‘Reuben’s guilty and you know it.’

‘If you had any evidence to that effect, you wouldn’t have had to let him go, would you? ’

‘He punched me in the face. I was there. I bloody well saw it!’

Hissing Sid brought his chin up. ‘I don’t appreciate your tone, Acting DI McRae.’

‘Think you’ll appreciate my boot up your-’

‘I’d love to sit around listening to threats of police brutality, but thanks to you I’m running behind as it is.’ He reached down beside him and came out with his briefcase. Clicked it open, then pulled out a small brown envelope and placed it on the tabletop. Then went back in for a standard white DL one. He placed it beside the brown one, then pushed them both across the table towards Logan. ‘These are for you.’