Logan McRae Crime Series Books 7 and 8: Shatter the Bones, Close to the Bone. Stuart MacBride

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      Logan puffed out his cheeks. ‘Best guess? Someone thought she wouldn’t remember who to ask for otherwise. But the idiots didn’t even write it upside down so she could read it. Mind you, given how off her face she was …’

      The Chief Inspector drummed his fingertips on the desktop, the tendons and muscles dancing beneath the fur of his forearms. ‘And tell me, Sergeant, why did she think you’d hand the drugs over to her?’

      ‘Because she’s an idiot too?’ Logan shrugged. ‘She’s convinced the people her boyfriend bought the stuff from are going to hurt him if he doesn’t come up with the money. What else is she going to do?’

      ‘Hmm …’ Young stopped making thumpitta-thumpitta noises on the desktop. ‘And have you put anything in place?’

      ‘Well, Shuggie’s wanted on drugs charges from the Thursday morning raid, and it’s pretty obvious he’s still in contact with Trisha. So I’ve advised DI McPherson to put her under surveillance.’ Another shrug. ‘It’s his case.’

      ‘I suppose … there’s always hope.’ Young started drumming again. ‘We’ve not seen you up here for a while, Logan. I think Superintendent Napier’s missing you.’

      ‘Really, sir?’ He glanced over his shoulder at the Arch Bastard’s desk. All neat and tidy, everything carefully arranged in straight lines.

      The Chief Inspector looked off into the middle distance. ‘Tell me … how’s Acting Detective Inspector MacDonald getting on?’

      Silence.

      Logan shifted in his seat. ‘In what way, sir?’

      ‘Is he settling in all right? Getting on with his colleagues? Can be very stressful, suddenly moving up from DS to DI like that.’ Young wouldn’t make eye contact.

      ‘I’m sure he’s coping fine.’

      ‘Good. Good.’ A pause. ‘What with the McGregor case and everything …?’

      ‘Fine. Couldn’t be better. Doing a great job.’

      Another pause.

      ‘Well, then I’ll let you get back to your sex offenders.’

      Dodgy Pete’s wasn’t exactly what you’d call a watering hole for the bright young things. More a hospice: palliative care for alcoholics on their way to a booze-soaked oblivion. But it was a two-minute walk from the Munro House Hotel, and that was good enough for Steel.

      The scuffed linoleum made sticky noises, trying to hold onto the soles of Logan’s shoes as he followed her over to the bar. It was busy in here for a change: a dozen people scattered in pairs about the low room, staring up at a widescreen TV mounted on the wall. The Aberdeen versus VfB Stuttgart live from Germany: two-nil to the home team.

      The barman was huddled at the far end of the long hardwood bar, holding a muttered conversation with a thin girl in cargo pants and a camouflage hoodie. There was something laid out on the surface between them, but Logan didn’t have time to see what it was before she snatched it up and stuffed it into the black rucksack at her feet.

      Steel thumped her hand down on the bar and clambered onto a stool – the red vinyl held together with grey duct tape. ‘Hoy, Pete, stop perving up that young sex-pot and make with the drinkies.’

      The huge man sniffed. Then turned and lumbered over, a red Aberdeen University sweatshirt stretched to ripping point over his belly. Pete ran a hand through his Santa-on-an-off-day beard, and squinted at the three of them. ‘Usual?’

      Steel nodded. ‘And a couple brace of Grouse too.’

      ‘You paying for these?’

      The inspector stuck out her bottom lip. ‘Pete, I’m shocked. Are you suggesting Grampian’s finest come in here looking for freebies?’

      ‘Bloody right I am.’ He grabbed a couple of pint glasses from under the counter, stuck one under the Stella tap, the other under the Deuchar’s IPA. Then sniffed in Rennie’s direction. ‘What about the sunburnt wee loon?’

      The constable stuck out his chest. ‘I’ll have a pint of—’

      ‘He’ll have a Diet Coke.’ Steel pulled out her fake cigarette. ‘Driving, remember?’

      ‘But Guv—’

      ‘Give him a packet of prawn cocktail too.’

      Dodgy Pete stuck the pint of IPA onto a curling cardboard coaster, then picked up a couple of short glasses and clunked a double shot in each from the Grouse whisky optic, making a great show of waiting till the little plastic container filled all the way up each time. ‘Anything else?’

      The girl in the camouflage hoodie grabbed her rucksack and slipped quietly out of the pub.

      Steel turned and stared after her. ‘You’re no’ up to anything dodgy, are you Pete?’

      ‘My daughter. Not that it’s any of your business.’ He rapped a knuckle on the sticky bar. ‘Now are you paying for these or not?’

      ‘Lighten up, eh, Pete? No’ my fault the Shop Cops did you for serving short measures, is it?’

      They took their drinks through to the snug – pretty much a walk-in cupboard with two bench seats and a table wedged into it. Steel crumpled down, sighed, then took a huge gulp out of her pint. ‘Can’t hang about tonight, boys, I’m on a promise.’

      Logan pulled the reports out of his pocket and stuck them on the table. ‘Ninety-six RSOs interviewed today … So far we’ve got three with possible access to veterinary surgeries. No hospitals – turns out the NHS frowns on registered sex offenders creeping about the wards.’

      Steel had a scratch. ‘Who’s doing the vets?’

      The whisky tasted like a peat fire, burning its way across Logan’s tongue, making his gums tingle. Dodgy Pete must’ve stopped watering the booze down too. ‘DI Evans. No one’s reported any thiopental sodium missing.’

      Rennie crammed in a mouthful of crisps. ‘What if they bought it off the internet?’

      Steel stared at him. ‘Drink your Diet Coke. Things are sodding complicated enough as it is.’ Then back to Logan. ‘You sure about the hospitals?’

      ‘McPherson says—’

      ‘God’s sake, he’s no’ doing that as well is he? Talk about abandon-bloody-ship. I’ll have a word with Finnie, see if we can’t get someone else to …’ She creased her face up. ‘Marmite-flavoured arseholes. He’s no’ speaking to me any more.’

      Logan frowned. ‘Yeah, about that – why were we winding Maguire up? He’s not on the register, I checked.’

      ‘Because …’ She turned and looked at Rennie. Then dug out a handful of change. ‘Here, go get yourself some more crisps.’

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