Stuart MacBride - Close to the Bone

Henry Scott stared off down Union Street, towards the East End. His voice was barely a whisper, the words hidden in a barrage of raw onion breath. ‘The dark angel. She swoops down from the sky in the death of night and she takes us.’

Sally stared at the sky for a moment, then sighed. ‘Don’t be stupid, Scotty, it’s not angels, it’s the government! The government took him, I saw them in their big black cars with their guns and suits. They took him to do experiments .’

Well, this was going well. They’d only been there two minutes and already they had new suspects: the angel of death, and the government. Welcome to care in the community.

Sally licked her lips again, her other hand stroking the pocket she’d hidden the vodka in.

‘It’s OK, I’m not going to do you for drinking in public. We’re really not here to cause any trouble. Just trying to find out what happened to Roy Forman.’

‘It. .’ She let go of Henry, fished out her bottle, unscrewed the top, chugged down a mouthful, put the top back on, and rammed it back in her pocket all in the space of three seconds. ‘Fusty was trying to get better. Seeing someone about his problems. Was going to get a job and a family and a dog called Savlon. Maybe they turned him into the government? ’

‘He’s deid, she killed him, he’s deid, he’s deid. .’

The arm went around Henry again. ‘Shhh, shhh, it’s all right. They can’t hurt him any more.’

‘Guys, it’s important: when did you last see Roy Forman? ’

Trevor hunched his shoulders inside his stained parka jacket, the fur trim all matted. ‘Friday night. Soup kitchen down the Green. That’s where I saw him. . I didn’t cause no trouble though! Anyone who says I did is a liar!’

Logan pulled out the photo of Agnes Garfield. ‘What about her? Do you recognize her? ’

‘Whatever she says, she’s lying. I never did nothing.’

Logan swapped the plastic carrier-bags from one hand to the other and squeezed out of the baker’s, past a pair of tracksuit slobs at the end of the queue and onto Schoolhill. Overhead, the sky was heading from grey to greyer, taking the granite buildings with it. He nipped across the road, skirting around the back end of an illegally parked taxi.

Then froze on the pavement.

A small knot of Strathclyde’s finest turned and stared at him: Steel’s National Police Improvement Authority review team. Two male officers and one female — all wearing Man at CID suits, with not a smile to be seen. The tallest of them, in a sharp black number, sniffed at Logan. His little evil-magician’s goatee was about three shades darker than the hair clinging to either side of a high creased forehead. He narrowed his hooded eyes. ‘Detective Sergeant McRae, isn’t it? ’

‘Superintendent Smith. Nice to see you again.’

Now that did get a smile. ‘I trust we’re not going to have a repeat of last time? ’

‘That wasn’t really my fault.’

‘DS Kelly still limps when the weather changes, don’t you Gerald? ’

A lump of muscle with a shaved head and big glasses glowered out from beneath heavy eyebrows. ‘He was supposed to be unarmed.’

‘And you were supposed to stay in the car.’

The third member of the trio’s mouth twitched, but she kept the smile in check. She’d aged a bit since the last time — filled out a bit too, but on her it looked good. Her long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail, frizzy around the edges, her makeup almost enough to disguise the dark circles beneath her eyes, but doing nothing to hide the crow’s feet. She nodded at him. ‘DS McRae.’

Logan nodded back. ‘DS Watson. And it’s DI now: acting.’

‘Congratulations.’ She still hadn’t moved.

Superintendent Smith sniffed again. ‘All right, that’s enough unbridled sexual tension for one day. I want to get lunch before the witch-hunt starts. We’ll be seeing you, DI McRae.’

‘I can barely wait, sir.’ Logan stayed where he was as they wandered off towards the Bon Accord Centre. Oh, today just kept getting better and better. .

Logan dumped the carrier-bag down on Steel’s desk, then sank into the visitor’s chair and let out a long sigh.

She stared at him. ‘Well? ’

‘Didn’t have any stovies, so I got you macaroni cheese instead.’ He dug into the bag and came out with a Styrofoam carton. Handed it over. Then went back in for the other one. Creaked it open to reveal a baked potato with tuna and cheese; savoury smells filled the office. ‘So far, last time anyone saw Fusty Forman was half-ten, Friday night, at the soup kitchen on East Green, where it disappears under Market Street.’

Steel opened her carton. A quivering mound of glistening tubes in a gloopy yellow sauce, next to a jumble of deep-fried potato. ‘You got us chips too!’ A smile deepened the wrinkles about her eyes. ‘There’s hope for you yet.’

‘Going to canvas the soup kitchen tonight, but-’

‘No you’re no’. Overtime budget’s bad enough as it is without you pulling a double shift.’ She balanced some macaroni on a chip, then shovelled it in, the words, ‘Get Ding-Dong on it,’ muffled by the mouthful.

‘How am I supposed to run the necklacing bit of the investigation if-’

‘There’s no “I” in team, Laz, but there will be my boot in your arse.’ She jabbed up a couple of chips. ‘Besides, if you’re up all night, you’ll be sod-all use to me tomorrow. Ding-Dong’s doing the soup kitchen.’

Well that was just brilliant: he did all the work and if something came of it, DI Bell would be the one who got all the credit.

‘Fine, Ding-Dong can do it, but if it leads to an arrest-’

‘Yes, yes: you shall have a gold star and a sweetie.’ More macaroni disappeared. ‘God, you’re such a whinge .’

‘Just remember, it was my lead.’ Logan ripped the top off a tiny sachet of pepper and sprinkled it over his tattie. Then did the same with one of salt. ‘The cast and crew of Witchfire have been volunteering at the soup kitchen, and do you want to guess who set the whole thing up? ’

Steel squinted at him for a moment, chewing. ‘Agnes Garfield? ’

‘Bingo.’ He pulled out the plastic cutlery and sawed a chunk off his baked potato. ‘We haven’t had any hits on her photo when we’ve shown it around, but for all we know this redhead thing is just the latest in a long line of changes. Could be altering her appearance every other week.’

Steel let out a cross between a sigh and a growl. ‘That’s all we need.’

‘Told you.’

‘Not helping, Laz.’ She popped a couple of chips in and gave them a sour-faced chewing. ‘Had a call from the hospital: Robbie Whyte’s alibi checks out, he was at his dear mum’s bedside right up till they called time of death. There’s no way he killed Fusty Forman or our torture victim.’

Of course he didn’t. That would make life too sodding easy.

Logan took a bite. The potato was hot, the tuna cold, the cheese like napalm. ‘They get an ID yet? ’

Steel blew a wet farty raspberry. ‘Face is that battered we can’t do a dental match, fingertips are pulped so we’ve no’ chance of getting any prints off him, and the IB says there’s about as much chance of us getting viable DNA from the body as Rennie has of winning Mastermind . Four days in a warm room and it’s all turned to mush.’ She shovelled in some more macaroni. ‘Might get some from the tooth-pulp cavities, but that’s it.’

‘What do you think: do another facial reconstruction? ’

Steel scowled at him.

Fine. Change the subject. ‘Never guess who I bumped into, coming out of the baker’s: the NPIA team.’