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

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      ‘Search the archives.’ He patted Logan on the shoulder. ‘Ten years or so should do it.’

      Bastard. This was just Green’s revenge for making him look like an idiot last night.

      Logan turned to Finnie again. ‘You can’t be serious, this is a complete—’

      ‘In the meantime, I hear you have three sex offenders with access to veterinary practices. I take it you’re planning on doing due diligence to make sure they’ve been thoroughly checked out?’

      ‘But DI Steel’s already doing—’

      ‘Now, now.’ Finnie held up a finger. ‘Superintendent, would you excuse us for a moment? There’s something I need to discuss with Sergeant McRae.’

      ‘… because he’s a prick, that’s why. Hold on.’ Logan jammed his Airwave handset into the gap between the steering wheel and the instrument panel, changed down, and swung the pool car around the roundabout onto Mugiemoss Road. Windscreen wipers going full pelt. ‘You still hear me?’

      DS Doreen Taylor’s voice crackled out of the handset’s speaker, the volume turned up full, distorting the words. ‘I’m not sure I want to.’

      ‘How can re-interviewing everyone be anything other than a complete waste of time? Never mind how pissed off Steel’s going to be when she finds out we’re double-dipping on her perverts. Like I’m checking her sodding homework.’

      Rain hammered against the bonnet of the car, drumming on the roof, misting the space between Logan and the dirty big truck he was following. The River Don coiled grey and dark in the middle distance, like a slug. The streetlights glowing. Wasn’t even mid-morning yet.

      And his left palm ached, as if someone was grinding a hot needle into the flesh. So the weather was definitely going to get worse. Scar-tissue: the gift that keeps on giving.

      ‘Well, you’ve got no one to blame but yourself. You didn’t have to poke holes in his sunshine theory yesterday. Anyway, if you’re looking for sympathy you’ve dialled the wrong number. While you’re out gallavanting, I’m stuck in here listening to his posturing egotistical monologues.’

      Another roundabout. Grove Cemetery on one side, the little caravan park where Samantha kept her huge static Portakabin thing on the other. Not that there was any point in keeping it: she hadn’t been back in months.

      Heavy grey clouds blanketed out the sky, thudding ever more water down on the city.

      ‘And do you know what Finnie said?’

      ‘Logan, did you just phone me for a moan? Because—’

      ‘He said we’ve got to keep Green sweet, so he doesn’t bring in all his SOCA tosser mates and take over the investigation.’ Logan put on his best DCI Finnie impersonation – stretching his mouth out and down, like a disappointed frog. ‘“Can you imagine what would happen if Grampian Police had the case taken off them? Would the media write stirring articles about how clever and special we all are? Hmmm?”’ He changed down and followed the huge filthy truck across the bridge and past the sewage treatment plant. ‘And another thing—’

      ‘I’m going to hang up now, Logan.’

      ‘—explain to me why I always end up—’

      ‘Goodbye.’

      He frowned at the Airwave handset. ‘Doreen? Doreen, can you hear me?’

      The windscreen wipers groaned and clunked.

      ‘Hello?’

      She’d hung up on him. Unbelievable.

      He took the Parkway, around Danestone and into the Bridge of Don. According to DI Ingram’s notes, Frank Baker – the floppy-haired neat-freak they’d interviewed on Friday morning, the one who looked like a swimming pool attendant – worked in a fabrication yard in the Bridge of Don Industrial Estate. He was the first sex offender on Green’s list.

      Logan put his foot down, trying to get past the truck on the way up the hill, slithering back behind it as a Range Rover coming the other way flashed its lights at him.

      And then his phone went – the brief chirrup signifying a text message. He flicked the windscreen wipers onto their highest setting, then pulled the mobile out of his pocket, thumbing the little envelope icon. Holding the phone against the steering wheel, so he could read and drive at the same time.

      ‘I no where they is – jenny and her mum. If U want 2 C them alive, wee should meat.’

      Not exactly the most appealing of messages.

      Logan fiddled with the phone’s screen, trying to get the sender’s number up—

      A horn blared.

      Shite!

      He swerved the pool car back into the right lane. The bus driver coming the other way gave him the finger on the way past.

      Logan pulled over in the driveway of a little grey house, heart hammering in his chest. Jesus, that was close.

      He fiddled with the phone some more, got the caller’s number. It wasn’t one he recognized. He hit reply, and tapped out ‘Where?’ on the screen.

      ‘Ware R U?’

      Fine, if that was the way they wanted to play it. Why should he go traipsing halfway across Aberdeen to meet up with some time-wasting weirdo? He picked out the reply: ‘DANESTONE. THAT TOBY PUB PLACE ON THE PARKWAY. HALF AN HOUR.’

      Screw Superintendent Green and his ‘due diligence’.

      Half an hour later he was onto his second coffee and first sticky bun. The Buckie Farm was one of those chain pubs where you could get a carvery lunch for a couple of quid. Nice enough, even if it was a little soulless.

      Logan checked his watch again, then peered out of the window at the car park. No sign of the mysterious texter. He pulled out his Airwave handset and called Rennie.

      ‘Hey, Guv. You’ll never guess what that cock Green said—’

      ‘I need you to do a reverse look-up for me. Mobile telephone …’ He went back to the message on his phone and read the number out. Then waited as Rennie punched it into the computer.

      ‘Anyway, he was on this big speech about how kidnappers feed off fear, just like terrorists, when—’

      ‘Have you got a name yet?’

      ‘… Yeah. It’s a T-Mobile phone registered to Mr Liam Weller, Gordon Terrace, Dyce.’

      ‘Never heard of him. He on the sex offenders’ register?’

      ‘Erm …’ A pause. ‘No. But according to this he reported his phone stolen last week. Anyway, so Green’s giving this big spiel, when in marches Steel and …’

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