Stuart MacBride - Close to the Bone

‘Don’t be so wet.’

‘Remember, I’m only staying for the one. Got to go up the hospital.’

‘Wah, wah, wah. Get us a table.’ She stuck out her elbows and waded for the bar.

‘It’s packed, how am I supposed to. .’ But she wasn’t listening, she was barging through the crowd like a wrinkly icebreaker that stank of cigarette smoke.

Well, maybe someone would be sodding off soon? Then he could nick their table. He did a slow three-sixty, staring through the mass of bodies. . then stopped. Someone at a table crowded with empty glasses was standing up and waving at him.

‘Guv? ’ PC Guthrie had changed out of his all-black-ninja-police officer uniform and into a tweed sports coat and a pair of jeans, as if he was channelling the spirit of Jeremy Clarkson. He smiled, the fair hair and pale eyebrows looking like mould on his happy potato face. ‘Over here.’ Guthrie shifted his chair over a couple of hops, and pointed at an empty one beside him. ‘Great band, eh? ’

Logan settled into the seat, the other three people at the table rearranging their chairs to make room for him. PC Hannah had a big droopy smile on her face, eyes heavy and lidded in her wobbly head, dark wiry hair sticking out in a frizzy crash helmet. PC Stringer covered his mouth for a belch, blinked a couple of times, then went back to making little knots out of empty crisp packets. Forehead creased up in concentration.

Contestant number three was Dr Graham, sipping what was either a huge gin-and-tonic or a pint of sparkling water. She leaned forward. ‘I should have a face for you by mid-morning tomorrow.’

Stringer patted her on the shoulder. ‘Your round, April. Can we. . can we have more crisps? ’

Hannah banged a hand down on the table, making the empties clink and rattle. ‘Eating’s cheating!’

‘Making a night of it then? ’

Guthrie shrugged, then drained the last of his latte. ‘Supporting the troops.’

Another thump. ‘Drink!’

‘OK, OK. Drink it is.’ Dr Graham stood and gathered up an armful of empties. ‘DI McRae? ’

‘Not for me, thanks. Got one coming.’

She shuffled off, looking as if she was carrying nitroglycerine rather than a few empty glasses, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth.

Up on the wee stage, the song jangled to the end and applause crackled around the room, along with the occasional whoop.

The singer let it die down, then her voice boomed out of the speakers. ‘ Thanks, guys, here’s a number we haven’t done in a little while, it’s called “The Importance of Being Idle”.’ And off they went again.

Logan turned and peered over his shoulder, through the crowd. ‘Is that Constable Sim up there? ’

Guthrie nodded. ‘Every other Monday. Good, aren’t they? ’ He cleared his throat, leaned in close, not quite shouting over the band. ‘Have you talked to Rennie recently, only he’s on a real moan about this tramp thing.’

‘It’s all he ever does these days: moan.’

‘I know, but he looks up to you and. .’ Guthrie sat upright, cranking up the smile. ‘Chalmers, thought you weren’t going to make it? ’

DS Chalmers stood to attention, nodding at Logan. ‘Sir. Can I get anyone a drink? ’

‘Nah, you’re good — April’s just gone up for-’

There was a crash of broken glass, then a cheer and some swearing. Dr Graham strikes again.

Chalmers looked left, then right, then marched off and came back a minute later with another chair. Parked it next to Logan. ‘Hoped I’d bump into you, sir. I went through DS Rennie’s notes for the hate crimes, and I think I’ve got a connection. All the victims are male, from the Far East, and none of them are prepared to make a statement.’

‘ That’s your connection? ’

‘No.’ She opened her mouth. Then closed it again. Had another go: ‘Well, yes it is, but think about it: if you’ve been attacked by a bunch of racist morons, why lie to protect them? Why not cooperate with the police? Wouldn’t you want them arrested and locked up? ’

He shook his head. ‘Not that much of a shock, is it? Whoever beat them up threatens to come back and finish the job if they speak to the police. Poor sods are too scared to stick their hands up and ask for help.’

‘But what if it’s more than that? What if our victims are involved in something illegal too? ’

‘And they can’t talk without incriminating themselves.’ Possible.

‘What if-’

A gravelly voice sounded right behind her. ‘Hoy, Curly-top, budge up.’ Steel was back.

Chalmers stood. ‘Sorry, ma’am. Would you like my seat? ’

Steel smiled. ‘Blatant sucking up, but I’m cool with that.’ She thumped a pint glass down on the table in front of Logan: black with a white head.

He sniffed at it. ‘I don’t drink Guinness, I drink Stella. You know that.’

‘Tough nipples. They’re no’ giving Stella away half-price if you flash your warrant card, are they? ’ She creaked into the vacated seat, clutching a large white wine and what had to be a triple whisky. ‘Anyway, it’s good for you.’

‘You drink it then.’

Steel shuddered, then took a sip of wine. ‘No chance. Bloody stuff tastes like licking a leprechaun’s bumhole.’

Chalmers shuffled her feet. ‘I like Guinness.’

Logan pushed the pint towards her. ‘Knock yourself out.’

‘ . .thanks, everyone! We’re Burn this City Down, and we’ll be back after a short break: Jane needs a pee, and the rest of us need Tequila!’ A huge round of applause went up, and the band followed the blushing bass player offstage.

Steel settled back in her seat and had a scratch at her left armpit, lips puckered, staring at PC Hannah. ‘Come on then.’

The constable gave her a slow-motion blink — one eye lagging behind the other — then smiled, chin pulled into her neck, giving birth to chins. ‘Shoot Jamie. Shag Nigella. Marry Delia? ’

Steel threw her head back and roared a laugh at the ceiling.

Chalmers wobbled her way through the crowd to the table with a chipped brown tray laden with drinks. ‘Right: one latte, one sparkling water. .’ She doled them out to Guthrie and Dr Graham. ‘One Jack and Coke for Sophie, one Stella. .’ That went down in front of Logan. ‘One white wine with a Grouse chaser. .’ Steel. ‘And two Guinness.’

She tucked the tray under the table for next time. ‘Cheers, everyone.’

Steel wrapped herself around a mouthful of wine. Smacked her lips. ‘Guthrie, your turn: Tony Blair, Ed Miliband, and Nick Clegg.’

Chalmers shuffled her chair closer to Logan’s. ‘Before I forget. .’ She dug about in her handbag, coming out with a white carrier-bag with a big ‘W’ on it. ‘Got you something.’

Ah. Logan stared at it. Well, this was awkward. ‘You don’t have to. . It’s. . I’m certainly flattered , but I’m seeing someone and-’

‘Oh God no, no.’ She held up her hand and shrank back in her seat, eyes wide. ‘I’m not. . It isn’t. . I just thought it would help with the investigation.’ She handed it to him. ‘Open it.’

He did. There was a paperback inside, thick as a house brick. Witchfire picked out in shiny gold above a ‘SIGNED BY THE AUTHOR’ sticker, another boasting ‘SOON TO BE A MAJOR MOTION PICTURE!’ and one more with ‘2 FOR?10!’. The actual book cover was almost invisible. ‘I see. .’

Chalmers took a mouthful out of her Guinness, leaving herself with a white foam moustache. ‘Tenet Two: “Know thine enemy, for knowledge is power and power is victory.” If Agnes Garfield is really that obsessed with the book, maybe we can use it to figure out where she is, or what she’s going to do next? ’