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

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      He hauled open his top desk drawer. ‘The hell’s this?’ Bob pulled out the pair of knickers Logan had stuffed in there last week – the ones he’d found clothespegged to his lamp along with all the socks.

      Bob turned them back and forth, flashing the brown streaks that covered the gusset. ‘Aye, aye, someone’s been a bittie manky.’

      Doreen straightened her back, pink rushing up her cheeks. Well, don’t look at me!’

      The door banged open and DI Steel grumbled into the Wee Hoose. ‘Sergeant Marshall, why aren’t …’ She frowned. ‘What are you doing?’

      He twirled the skidmarked panties around his finger. ‘Just discussing personal hygiene with DS Taylor, here. Superintendent Green’s never going to want to jump in her pants if she’s left filthy bumscrapes—’

      Doreen hit him. ‘Detective Sergeant Robert Marshall, I’m warning you!’

      ‘Behave, the pair of you.’ Steel chucked a manila folder at Bob. ‘General Enquiry Division just turned up a body on Gairn Terrace.’

      ‘Yeah?’ He pulled out the paperwork, flipped through it. ‘I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow, Guv, it’ll …’ A sigh. ‘Shite.’ He held up a photograph – a man’s face: nose bloated like a pockmarked golf ball, scraggly beard full of bits, unkempt hair, dirty red Aberdeen Football Club bobble hat. ‘Stinky Tam.’

      ‘Aye, so get your filthy panty-whirling arse out there and bring the poor bastard in.’

      Bob went pink. ‘Yes, Guv.’ He hurried out the door, taking the folder with him.

      ‘And as for you,’ she turned and poked Logan with a finger, ‘what the hell were you thinking?’

      Doreen stood. ‘Well, I guess I should really be off—’

      ‘No’ so fast.’ Steel slammed her hand into the doorframe, blocking the way. ‘You tell your new boyfriend Green, I don’t need somebody running around checking my work like I’m a bloody probationer. And if I catch him spreading shite around about anyone on my team again, I’m going to jam my fist so far up his arse I’ll be working him like a fucking Muppet. Understand?’

      Doreen nodded. Steel lowered her hand and the DS crept out.

      Steel closed the door, slowly and quietly. Now it was just her and Logan.

      ‘If you’re planning on shouting at me, don’t bother.’ Logan picked his jacket off the back of his seat and pulled it on. ‘I got enough of that from Napier and Finnie. I thought I could get the car back before anyone found out.’

      She poked him again. ‘If you’d bloody well called it in we could’ve tracked the car and grabbed Shuggie Webster before the Yardies got him! Probably hacked into a million pieces by now!’

      ‘It’s not like I handed him the keys to the bloody car and said, “Nah, you go ahead and borrow it, mate; I’ll just lie here in the pissing rain!” His dog nearly ripped my face off.’

      ‘See, you’ve got to keep your eye on wee shites like Shuggie. Got to keep them under control. Can’t bury your head in the clouds and expect them to behave themselves. That’s just common sense.’ She picked up her mug again, took a slurp. ‘You try a GSM trace?’

      ‘Of course I did. He’s only turning his mobile on for a couple of minutes at a time, then moving.’

      ‘No’ as daft as he looks.’ She sucked at her teeth for a bit, staring off into the middle distance. ‘Get a car organized.’

      ‘But the shift finished—’

      ‘We’re going to sort out your cock-up before it gets any worse.’

28

      Logan hauled on the handbrake. ‘How many more?’

      ‘Till we find him. And don’t be so sodding ungrateful.’

      Logan groaned. ‘Shift finished two and a half hours ago, and I’ve not had a day off in weeks. What happened to the Working Time Directive?’

      ‘Pfff, Working Time Directive’s for poofs.’ Steel crumpled up the map and stuffed it into the already overflowing glove compartment. ‘Don’t see me complaining, do you?’ She climbed out into the evening light. Fiddled with her fake cigarette. ‘Anyway, you think Jenny and Alison McGregor don’t want a day off?’

      ‘Thought you said Susan was up for sex again – how come you’re not off—’

      Steel scowled. ‘Don’t be so fucking personal.’ She turned and stomped towards the building.

      It was a tenement in Hayton, a long row of four-storey apartment blocks: bland, grey-frontage with a stripe of red or blue paintwork marking out the stairwells. As if that was going to make the place look any better. A handful of tower blocks loomed over the buildings, rusty-oatmeal monoliths with balconies and satellite-dish acne. Someone was having a party in the nearest block, the music thumping out from an upper floor. A red balloon drifting away into the misty drizzle.

      Typical: when he was in with Napier, or getting a bollocking from Finnie, it was blazing sunshine, but the minute he stepped outside FHQ – sodding raining again.

      ‘You just going to stand there looking gormless?’ She pushed through the brown front door. ‘Chop bloody chop.’

      The smell of frying onions filled the stairwell, making Logan’s stomach growl as he followed Steel up the stairs. ‘I interviewed Victoria Murray today.’

      ‘Oh aye, and what was Vicious Vikki saying to it?’

      ‘Sounds like Alison McGregor isn’t the paragon of virtue everyone thinks. Turns out she—’

      ‘Used to vandalize stuff? Drink? Shagged about when she was still at school?’

      ‘Oh.’ Logan paused on the landing, but Steel kept climbing. ‘You interviewed her too, didn’t you?’

      ‘Nope.’

      Logan hurried after her. ‘You must have. It’s—’

      ‘Don’t be a prick, Laz: it was in all the papers. How’d you think Vicious Vikki got her nickname: embezzling the housekeeping? She sold their dirty wee childhood stories to the Daily Mail. Big cries of outrage. Then OK! magazine did a spread – “Alison’s secret schoolgirl shame: ‘I was a teenage tearaway’, admits BNBS semi-finalist.” Or some shite like that. Can you no’ at least try and keep up with popular culture?’

      Steel stopped on the third floor and puffed on her e-cigarette for a bit. ‘Right, same as last time. Only try no’ to look like your arse is eating your face, eh?’

      ‘It’s not my fault Susan won’t shag you.’

      ‘Just knock on the bloody door.’

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