Stuart MacBride - Close to the Bone

‘Yes, Guv.’ She smiled, showing off those sharp little teeth of hers. ‘Thanks, Guv.’

‘Oh, and this soup-kitchen job: don’t think you’re getting any overtime for it, OK? ’

Standing in the corridor, Logan locked the office door. Closed his eyes. Rested his head against the cool wooden surface. Home. . Quarter to eight: forty-five minutes to get back to the caravan and get the lasagne in the oven.

His phone buzzed in his pocket: text message.

Do U want me 2 pick up some wine or something?

Logan thumbed in a quick reply, then froze.

A voice behind him: ‘Guv? ’

He slipped the phone back into his pocket. ‘Rennie, unless your head’s on fire, I’m not interested.’

‘Got something for you? ’

Probably another moan. He took the keys out of the lock and dumped them in his pocket. ‘Thought you were back on days now? ’

‘No, you’re going to love this one. .’

Logan turned, slumped back against the door. ‘I swear to God, if this isn’t good, I’m going to knee your testicles into orbit. Deal? ’

Rennie grinned. ‘You know you’ve got Chalmers looking for Stacey Gourdon? Well, guess who I found? ’ He contorted his face into a Popeye wink. ‘Go on, I bet you can’t. .? ’

The cell block reverberated with the sounds of what could almost be called singing. As long as you didn’t care too much about lyrics, melody, or adhering to any one key.

Kathy the PCSO led the way to the block of cells where they kept the female prisoners. ‘Still haven’t found anyone with Tourette’s, but the night’s young.’

She stopped outside the cell at the end of the corridor. Then slid the hatch open. ‘Stacey Gourdon: breach of the peace. Otherwise known as staggering blootered down Belmont Street at three in the afternoon with her dress hoiked up around her armpits and no pants on, shouting at random strangers to, and I quote, “Taste the rainbow of fruit flavours.” Uniform turned up and she tried to stab them with her high heels.’

Classy.

Rennie hooked his thumb at the cell door. ‘See? What did I tell you? ’

Logan stepped up and peered inside.

A young woman sat on the edge of the blue plastic mattress, holding onto the bed, staring at the other side of the room, mouth hanging open, blinking in slow motion. Her short black dress was rucked up on one side, her knees scraped red and speckled with scabs. Bruises made a violet tattoo on her bare shoulder. Short black hair sticking out in all directions, like a punk pixie.

Not dead then.

Logan knocked on the metal door. ‘Stacey? You up to answering a couple of questions? ’

Her voice sounded as if it belonged at the bottom of a well. ‘I didn’t do it.’

‘Didn’t do what? ’

‘Whatever it is you’re trying to pin on me. That’s the “what” I didn’t do.’

‘Anthony Chung.’

She turned to look at the hatch. Her mascara and lipstick was all smeared to the right, as if her head was suffering from motion blur. ‘Now that I did do.’

Stacey Gourdon sat on the chair with her knees up against her chest, picking away at her scabby knees. ‘This whole interrogation gestalt is so passe, isn’t it? What happened to the good old-fashioned smoky room, with the single light bulb? Sometimes there’s comfort in cliche, don’t you think? ’

Building Maintenance had given interview room two a fresh coat of paint. It was a bit like putting an Elastoplast on a tumour.

Logan sighed. ‘For the last time: you can’t have a cigarette.’

‘But I can have a lawyer.’

‘If you want one. But I’m not interested in you, I want to know about Anthony Chung and Agnes Garfield.’

‘Gagh. .’ Stacey’s mouth opened wide and down, as if she’d just swallowed something bitter. ‘They are so high maintenance. A sweet couple, but just. . completely. .’ Stacey stopped picking and twirled a forefinger at the side of her head instead.

‘You know they’re missing? ’

‘You’re not asking the right question.’

OK. . ‘What’s the right question? ’

‘Do I know where they are now? ’

Logan sat back in his seat. ‘And do you? ’

‘Nope.’ She went back to picking. ‘Next question.’

‘You haven’t heard from them at all? ’

A chunk of brown scab came loose, the skin beneath it pink and shiny. A dot of red oozed to the surface. ‘Of course, Anthony treated poor Agnes appallingly. She was obsessed with him and he wrapped her around his little finger. And you know what? She was just as bad.’ Stacey popped the liberated chunk of scab in her mouth and chewed. ‘Now, your next question is, “Did she know I was shagging dear Anthony at the same time?” And the answer is: of course she did. He told her.’

‘He told her? ’

‘Oh, he did more than that: Anthony arranged a three-way. Me, him, and fiery little Agnes.’ Stacey smiled at Logan, long and slow. ‘You might not think it to see me now, but I do scrub up very nicely.’

‘And Agnes was OK with that? ’

‘Well, she wasn’t really into the whole girl-on-girl part of proceedings, but she did her best. For him. And she did have a lovely little body. .’ Stacey sighed, then popped another scab into her mouth. ‘We met up every couple of weeks after that, until Anthony got bored. Always fluttering from one thing to another is our Anthony, like a little American butterfly with Attention Deficit Disorder.’

Logan frowned. OK, right now Stacey looked as if she’d slept in a skip and smelled like the floor of a pub after a rowdy night, but under the stale alcohol haze, the smeared makeup, messy hair, and scabby knees she probably was a very attractive young woman.

‘Agnes did it to please Anthony Chung, but what was in it for you? ’

A grin lit up her face. ‘Darling, he has the most wonderful weed you’ve ever smoked in your life. And it pissed Daddy off no end that I was shagging a Chinaman.’

Maybe not so attractive.

‘Well, your dad can rest easy: Anthony Chung’s dead.’

‘Ah. .’ The grin faded from Stacey’s face. ‘In that case, I think I will take that lawyer after all.’

DI Bell stopped in the middle of the corridor. He tightened his grip on the folder under his arm and narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you doing here? ’

‘And hello to you too.’ Logan locked his office door. Again . Second time lucky.

‘I don’t need you checking up on me, I’m perfectly capable of organizing a simple op at a soup kitchen. I was a DI long before-’

‘I’m going home, OK? Had to process someone who was sleeping with Anthony Chung. And Agnes Garfield.’

Ding-Dong sidled closer, big hairy paw fidgeting with the knot on his tie. ‘Why? ’

‘Because soon as she heard Anthony was dead, she clammed up and demanded a lawyer. Sound suspicious to you? ’

‘And you think this woman and Agnes are in it together? They both killed Anthony Chung and Roy Forman? ’

Logan stuck the keys in his pocket. ‘Or she’s just messing with us, because that’s the kind of thing she enjoys. Either way, I’m going home.’

Ding-Dong took a step back, looking away down the corridor in the vague direction of the cell block. ‘You think I should have a pop at interviewing her? ’

‘You can if you want, but it’s. .’ A frown. Wait a minute. . DI Bell’s suit looked immaculate, as if it’d just been pressed, the shirt freshly ironed. His shoes shone like new buttons too. And what was that smell? Logan sniffed: aftershave. Ding-Dong never wore aftershave. ‘What are you up to? ’

‘Nothing wrong with being a team player.’

‘Yeah, but you’re being all possessive about this soup-kitchen thing — a lead I turned up, by the way — you want to interview Stacey Gourdon, you’re dressed up like you’re off for a job interview, and you smell like a tart’s underwear drawer. . What have you heard? ’